Messing around with a little practice needle-turn this afternoon. It ain’t perfect, yet, but so what? I love applique! Photo: Me.
Over the years of being around quilters, hearing quilters’ stories, and telling my own, I’ve come to believe that for those of us who come to quilting later in life—by that I mean people who did not grow up sewing and making quilts—there are two paths that lead us to the quilting life: joy…or pain.
Think about it: happy events like the birth of a baby, a graduation, or nuptials are perfect occasions for the gift of a quilt and indeed, many quilters point to such an occasion as the reason they got started in the first place. The baby quilt is such a popular rationale for a person’s first quilt, we in the business like to joke that it’s “the gateway drug.
Intrigued? I hope so!
That’s an excerpt from my latest Quilt Scout column, which went up today. My friend and colleague Rhianna — named after “Rhiannon,” the Fleetwood Mac song, how awesome is that?! — at Quilts, Inc., said it was her favorite column I’ve written so far. Thanks, Rhi.
Click over and read the full piece if you like, then swing back through the ol’ PG and tell me: How did you come to quilting?
“Pieced Quilt” by Phyllis Palmer and Ann Saunderson; 85’’ by 104’’. Plate 16, Quilts & Coverlets: A Contemporary Approach, by Jean Ray Laury, 1970.
I was working for some time on a post about the folks who hang out in my alley by the Lou Malnati’s Pizza dumpsters. More and more often they are there; there are more of them all the time as the temperatures fall.
But such a topic requires much thought and sensitivity and the post just isn’t ready. It’ll be done by tomorrow for sure, but for now, I’m going to direct you to my latest Quilt Scout column. This is certainly not some kind of sloppy seconds; my column for Quilts, Inc. is far more professional than the ol’ PG. I mean, Quilts, Inc. doesn’t have a monkey as a mascot for heaven’s sake.
The first column for December is about weird quilts and how much I love them (and you should, too!) I suppose the piece is also a book review, but the book came out in 1970: ten years before I was born. It’s a good thing there’s no expiration date on weird.
A Four-Patch Star. Block by Marianne Fons, scan by me.
You may have noticed the pastfewposts offer scanned-in quilt blocks as the featured image. What can it mean?
Quilt blocks are pretty much 100% good. I’ve never met a quilt block that was made in anger, represented anger or resentment, or had an opinion about an election. And there’s so much anger out there, so much resentment, and so many opinions on either side about the long, long, explosive election, I feel like a quilt block is a life raft.
Everyone — on either side, in every corner, everywhere — can use a life raft. Sometimes it looks like we need one less, sometimes it looks like we need one more, but the truth is, we always need one: We just panic and reach for it at different times.
Also, quilt blocks are pretty, and this must never be seen as unimportant.
My mom made that block up there probably 15 years ago. She gave me a few loose blocks for a class I was teaching on color; she used the same blocks when she was out on the road. It’s cool to use some of the same teaching materials she used when she was out on her grind; talk about a legacy.
This one finished 6” — that’s pretty small! Block and photo: Me.
The election is over, and Grand Canyon seems tiny in comparison to the divide between US citizens today. I’m at Midway Airport, headed to the Kansas City Modern Quilt Guild. The airport is a strange place right now.
A very close friend of mine supported the candidate that I did not support in the election. There came a terrible day when I told him I didn’t want to talk to him anymore because of his position. I straight-up stonewalled him, told him I couldn’t be his friend. I was wrong to do that.
Thankfully, I figured out how dumb that was — there are benefits to being in one’s late thirties —and about a day later (okay, maybe two), I called him up, apologized, and listened to him. I really, really listened. I learned why he felt the way he felt. Then I asked him if he would listen to me. He listened. He disagreed but understood a lot more about how I felt by the time we were done with the conversation. We hung up saying, “I love you,” and we meant it. We still mean it.
The quilt block up there is a Union Square quilt block, but I actually am dubious about this; a google search of the Union Square block will yield a different-looking block but I swear, that’s what the thing was listed as when I made it some years ago for a Quilty episode.
It’s a good one. Three fabrics. Forty-five pieces. Geometry. Harmony. With effort, concentration, choices, and interest, I made that block. A lot of people helped me get to the place where I was able to make that block: teachers, mentors, helpers, students, designers. Lots of folks.
Union. The word looks weirdly like “Onion,” come to think of it. And “union” is not dissimilar to an actual onion: complex, multi-layered, useful, problematic if you have an allergy or something…and yes, my analogy ran out but I am very tired.
I meet so many people on the road. I love you and all those beautiful quilts.
In my Quilt Scout column earlier this month I took on the “Are quilts art?” question. Being in art school, I’m approaching this question differently than I have in the past; turns out I still feel the way I did before but for better, sounder reasons.
The thing is, “Are quilts art?” might not even be the right question — but it’s true that quilts do occupy a funky place in the art/craft conversation and it’s more than worth turning over in your mind for awhile, especially if you have cookie bars and some binding to do at your next retreat.
Consider a Mariner’s Compass from 1890. Though beautiful and artful — impressive technique, intelligent color placement — it’s argued by some that it’s still just (!?) craft, because the Mariner’s Compass doesn’t have a deeper meaning behind it. There are no implications, no ironies, no symbolism. It’s a blanket. Sure, it’s a stunningly beautiful blanket, but but the woman who made the quilt wasn’t like, working out her grief about the death of her child through the patchwork in the quilt.
…Or was she?
That’s the trouble. The people who make determinations about what art is or is not are usually not the people making the quilts, recording the stories, or keeping the “blankets” safe. See what I mean?
Over the summer, I started making a quilt and with a deeper meaning behind it. Will someone know that in 100 years? Will someone keep the records? I can’t know. But I know that my quilt, “Bachelorette,” is a monochromatic Log Cabin I’m making using all my old sheets and pillowcases and my favorite white shirts from the past five years.
A lot has happened to me in the past five years. Divorce. Illness. Career stuff. Tens of thousands of words. So much love. Heartache. Moves. Moving back. So much travel. School. Change, change, change. And I was going to get rid of some old sheets in June and I was replacing some worn-out old white (and off-white) shirts in June and I stopped myself:
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said (out loud, of course.) “Not so fast.”
It’s going to be a big quilt. The paper-pieced blocks you see finish 7”; I have made 64 of them. I have 26 left or something daunting like that. I’m stitching in labels from clothes that I wore during — well, I’ll write the whole story later. That’s part of this quilt: The story of it, on paper.
It’s white, like paper. It’s softer, though, and lived-in. And it’s definitely art.
The flyer passed ’round the state (and beyond!) Image courtesy Iowa Quilt Museum. Visit www.iowaquiltmuseum.org for more info than you see here!
This week, between classes and going to press for the third print issue of the year for the school paper, I’ll be making a quick trip to Iowa to help raise funds and excitement for the absolutely, positively, most-beautifullest hometown quilt museum in the world: The Iowa Quilt Museum.
The Iowa Quilt Museum is in Winterset, IA, where I was born and raised. In fact, the Museum is about a two-minute walk from my house! Where my mom and stepdad still live! (No, I will not tell you which house.) The Iowa Quilt Museum opened earlier this year and it’s gotten great reviews, lots of visitors, and is two doors down from Pieceworks Quilt Shop! Pieceworks took over the old Fons & Porter quilt shop space and is expanded, fully stocked, and fancy, fancy, fancy. You can get all of my Small Wonders fabrics there and so much more. Special guests are doing extraordinary talks and demos all week. Sandy Gervais will be there!! I love Sandy Gervais!!!!
If you’re within sane driving distance (sane = less than 400) or you have so many frequent flyer miles you just need to get rid of them for heaven’s sake, why not take a trip over to Winterset this week? You can see the new John Wayne Museum, which also just opened. You can see the covered bridges of Madison County, as Winterset = Madison County. You can take a peek at the movie theater Mom bought and is rehabbing and renovating with my brilliant younger sister Rebecca. You can eat at the Northside Cafe opposite the Quilt Museum where they filmed scenes for the movie “The Bridges of Madison County” and where I had my very first job in life as a waitress at age fourteen. Betty and Vicki taught me how to smoke cigarettes and make a good pot of coffee at Northside. It’s the real deal. It’s Americana, straight up. Also, great beer and great pie.
There’s more!!
If you come on Thursday, you can hang out with me all day at the Museum while I do demos, sign stuff, and get to know you; I would love this. Then, that night, when you’re full of Northside Cafe biscuits n’ gravy from, roll yourself back on over across the square to the show that night at the Quilt Museum! I’ll be giving my “10 Things I Know About Quilting & Life” lecture, which is really funny and also inspiring. I made a lady name Gretchen cry in VA this weekend during this lecture and it was before 10am! Just think how teary-eyed you’ll get after dinner and a beer! That’s such a good feeling. This is reason to take a trip to Iowa. The gorgeous leaves changing are 1000 trillion other reasons. (Note to self: How many leaves are there in Iowa?)
“Mary,” you say, hesitant. “I really want to go.”
“Yes,” I say, nodding my head so vigorously you are slightly concerned about my neck. “You do want to go. You should. Why are you hesitant?”
“Well, it sound wonderful. But I wish I would’ve known about it sooner. I mean, I could still come. But it would’ve been good if you had told us about this earlier.”
I take your hand. I pat it. Then I do something strange and I actually start patting my own head using your hand. Because I need you to pat me.
“You’re right,” I say, enjoying your sweet, gentle, loving patting, how you’re smoothing my hair and calming my very soul. “I should’ve told you before. But I am drowning in things. I should set a reminder on my phone for next time. Please. Don’t stop patting my head.” Now I’ve sort of slumped into you and you have no choice but to put your other arm around me and say something like, “There, there. It’s okay.”
I suddenly realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry!” I say, jerking away, embarrassed. “I apologize for not letting you know about it before!” I begin to gather all nine of my totebags and head for the door to my next meeting, apologizing on the way out the door.
You are wide-eyed as you reach for you phone and dial your husband. “Honey?” you say, when he picks up. “Do we have anything going on on Thursday? No? How about a drive to Iowa?”
Sampler Friendship Quilt. Maker unknown. Pennsylvania, c. 1860-1880. Image: Wikipedia.
I had a marvelous day in Ashburn, VA today at Sew Magarbo. We learned how to make the Sweetpea Star block, a partial-seam block that is the coolest block in the land. We drank wine. (Just a little; later in the afternoon.) I connected with two ladies that I already knew or knew of: the brilliant Carol, who sent me pencils in the mail last year and the always effervescent Meredith, whom I met in Beaver Dam this spring when I had a revelation about my career.
Though everyone I spent the day with is officially a pal at this point — it’s automatic — special shouting-out must go to Marj and Jim.
The couple came in this morning but only Marj was taking my class; Jim just wanted to pop in and say hi because he’s a PaperGirl fan. I’ve encountered this before; some quilter laughs at my trials with my printer and the day I squeezed the avocados and the spouse finally goes, “Well for crying out loud — what’s so funny?” and suddenly she’s forking over her iPad. For a blogger, there can be no better compliment than two people fighting over a tablet that has your latest post on it. (One lady I met awhile back told me her husband reads two things every day: The Wall Street Journal and the ol’ PG. Fabulous!) Jim was an absolute sweetheart, as evidenced by his love for Marj and his cap.
For her part, Marj helped me perfect a very important “line” I say a lot. I put quotes around “line” because while I don’t work with a script in class or onstage, there are certain things I say over and over again that take on a kind of shape. This is what I said at one point today and what have been saying lately because it’s true:
“I’m not interested in making perfect objects. I make quilts. I make quilts for people to use and love. My quilting is not amazing. My piecing is pretty good at this point, but it’s not perfect. I don’t want to be perfect. If I wanted to make perfect objects, I don’t know… I’d be working at NASA or something.”
The sentiment is right on, but it needs a little editing, a little revision to really get to the point, which was eluding me. So I say all that today and then Marj, in a quiet, non-interrupty, matter-of-fact way:
“If you wanted to make perfect objects, you wouldn’t be using fabric.”
I gaped at her. Then I smacked my forehead. Yes! Marj! That’s it!
If I wanted to make perfect objects, I wouldn’t use fabric. That is exactly right. Because fabric is woogy and mutable and stretches and gets wet and shrinks. Threads are different, dyes are different. Material gets torn. Fabric is not perfect. Neither am I. Neither is Marj, though I’m suspicious.
Marj, thank you. The credit is yours. You helped me craft a line, sure, but you helped me discover a truth about myself as a quilt maker — as a person, even. If I wanted to make perfect objects, I wouldn’t be using fabric. Incredible.
At the end of the day, Jim came back to pick Marj up and we all shot the breeze for awhile. I’m proud to report I completed two partial seam blocks while chatting with four people between sips of red wine. I only had to un-sew one seam twice.
Image: Illinois Humanities Council and me adding text.
You know how yesterday I talked about having a Big, Fat, Grand Plan for contributing to the world of quilting in a bigger way, if the world will let me? Remember how you all said wonderful, encouraging things and looked amazing while you said them? Whatever you were doing, keep doing it: Yesterday, I got an email from the Illinois Humanities Council congratulating me for being accepted as an Illinois Roads Scholar!
Here’s what the Humanities Council says of this program:
“Our Road Scholars Speakers Bureau invites Illinois authors, artists, and scholars to share their expertise and enthusiasm with people in communities throughout our state. It also enables local nonprofit organizations to present compelling, free-admission cultural programs to their communities at little cost to them.”
How cool is that?? This is a tremendous opportunity because it does exactly what I was talking about yesterday: It gives me an opportunity to answer the question, “What can a quilt do?” for an entirely new audience.
The lengthy application was due in June and I only heard yesterday evening that I got in. Apparently, the competition was extra fierce this year and stuff just takes a long time. I pitched a talk called “Quilts: America’s Greatest Creative Legacy” and now I get to do it! For money! At venues that will be packed (hopefully) with both quilters and non-quilters who will see quilts in a new light. Maybe those people will be inspired to make a quilt of their own; maybe those people will at least find new love for the quilts and quilters in their lives. There is no way under the sun this Roads Scholar Speakers Bureau is anything but a win-win-win-win for all.
Thought I’d share the good news. And for all my friends in Illinois, I think you can request me? I’ll be doing orientation and on-boarding stuff in the coming weeks. I’ll see you on the Road!
Larkin, detail. I have a knot I need to fix. Don’t look at it! Photo: Me.
I have fallen in love with a needle and thread.
A few weeks back, I directed you to a Quilt Scout column announcing my leap into hand quilting. When I wrote that column I had quilted just a few inches of “Larkin” and was still afraid I was about to ruin the whole thing and regret the decision to try this thing. Indeed, I was not thrilled with the results at that point; I definitely didn’t feel like I had found my new best friend. Then three gigs bore down on me and it was shipping quilts, taking airplanes, teaching classes, and so on, so I left “Larkin” on my recliner, put my anxiety in a compartment labeled “Deal With Later”, and went off to work.
But hand quilting this Kaleidoscope quilt is on my summer goal list and I don’t play around with summer goal lists, people: I mean business with to-do lists. So when I got home from Minnesota, I unpacked, locked the door, put on my favorite black cashmere pants and my halter top, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and settled into my favorite recliner with my quilt. I took a deep breath. I logged in to Netflix. And I started in — for real this time.
Guess what? I didn’t get up for four hours. Turns out, I love hand quilting.
Rocking a needle in and out of layers of fabric is an ancient gesture. Quilted textiles are featured on ancient Egyptian statues.. Stitching is a natural man/tool combination, like chopping wood with an axe or pumping water from a well. Using a simple tool creates simple pleasure. The act of loading stitches — going up, down, up, down with the needle through the fabric and then pulling the thread all the way through — and then doing it over and over until a pattern (and a quilt!) begins to reveal itself, this is inexplicably entertaining while putting a person in a tranquil place. You can’t type and hand quilt. You can’t cook and hand quilt. You can definitely binge watch The Office (both US and UK versions, though I’m working on the US version at the moment) and hand quilt, but that’s about it. It feels good.
The next morning, I stitched for two more hours and only stopped because my index finger was sore. In the evening, it was me and Larkin again, parked in the mid-century black leather recliner I found (in pristine condition!) in Washington, D.C. at a Salvation Army. This is what the chair was meant for: It was destined to be the chair where I quilt this quilt. If I sound like a convert, I am. I’m converted. I’m obsessed! I’ve worked on this quilt at least three hours every day since Sunday. Is my first attempt at hand quilting “good”? No, of course not. But that is so not the point. This is about doing something for the first time and enjoying it. I will never have another first-attempt. You know?
The Scout column got a big response because there are a lot of hand quilters out there. Well, ladies and gents, count me among your numbers. If you want more proof: Today I finished “Charlotte,” a spiderweb quilt top, and I made the back and basted it just so it would be ready for me to hand quilt when I’m done with Larkin.
Serious question: Is there a club I can join? I want a card in my wallet to announce my love to the world. Or a promise ring. Anything.
The first half of the acceptance letter; the second half told me how much money I needed to give them to secure my spot for enrollment. (Letter: SAIC, scan: Me)
I’ve written and rewritten this post three times. It’s too special, I’m too excited, and as a result, nothing is coming out right. That’s ironic, because the School of the Art Institute of Chicago (SAIC) thinks I’m good enough at writing to let me into their Writing MFA program this fall. By then, I’d better have my act together because I’m officially enrolled.
It’s been terrible keeping this secret; I got my acceptance letter in March. Claus was here, and when I opened the envelope and saw the good news, it was like I had a rocket pack on. Claus caught me and spun me around and around.
I waited to tell you because I wanted to share this properly. It’s a big deal, and not just because the SAIC is one of the finest educational institutions in the world, which it is. It’s a big deal because my life is changing with this. I engineered it that way, really; one day last fall when I was in Iowa to film TV, I burst into tears in the middle of my mother’s kitchen and admitted to myself that I wanted to study writing. I couldn’t deny it any longer and I began to research grad programs that very day. It became clear right away that the SAIC was the only school for me. I didn’t apply anywhere else.
So, the Art Institute of Chicago is the big, famous art museum downtown with the cool lions out front. The School of the Art Institute of Chicago actually started first, way back in 1866. The art the founders collected for students to study became the museum.
At the SAIC, a grad student can study textile art, performance, art therapy, art restoration, sculpture, painting, arts journalism, art history, interior architecture, writing — there are other departments I’m not thinking of. What’s extraordinary about the SAIC (one of the many, many extraordinary things) is that they encourage interdisciplinary study. They want performers to take sculpture classes. They want writers to take textile arts classes. They are legendarily good at educating creative people because they understand how creative people learn (i.e., by doing, usually by doing many things that appear unrelated.)
I submitted portfolios to Writing, Textile Art, and Performance. I had all the materials for each program because my entire life is interdisciplinary. But I wanted writing. I decided that if I got into textiles or performance, I wouldn’t go. Even if I could take writing classes while technically studying fiber arts or stage stuff, it wasn’t enough. I wanted to be a Writing MFA candidate. From there, I could study my other loves. And I got my first choice. So now, I can.
The School has a longarm in the Textiles department. What will my quilts become, now that I’m going to be in art school? What might it mean to use quilts in, say, a one-woman play? Will I write a quilter’s memoir? Will I create my own poetry magazine and if I do, will there be patchwork quilts on the cover? I’ll tell you that if I make a poetry magazine, there most certainly will be quilts on the cover. These are the sorts of synergies that are sure to occur when I begin school. I cannot wait. I am counting days.
My job is not one you quit — and I have no intention of doing so. I’ve got teaching and speaking gigs scheduled into 2018. New fabric is coming out in a few months. The Quilt Scout is going strong, I’m making quilts like crazy, I’m working on a pattern project, I’m curating a quilt exhibit at Spring Quilt Festival, I’m on the board of the Study Center. My career in the quilt world isn’t going anywhere — but it is changing (you’ll see me less on TV, for example.) But you watch: these changes will be nothing short of wonderful. You’ll see it all happen, right here. (Psst: it’s all for you, anyway.)
I’m scared. It’s so expensive. I’m taking out loans. It’s two years. It’s gonna be hard. But if I don’t do it now, when?
Rally flyer for AIDS activists in California, c. 1989. Image: Wikipedia
It’s surprising how infrequently the AIDS Memorial Quilt comes up among quilters. That’s not an admonishment, it’s just my experience. I realized recently the only time I talk about the AIDS Memorial Quilt is when a person outside the quilt world (someone on an airplane, maybe) says something like, “You make quilts? That’s cool. Hey, what about that AIDS quilt? What happened with that? Are people still doing it?” For a long time, I’ve cocked my head and gone, “Yeah, the AIDS Quilt. I need to check up on that, actually.”
No kidding, Ms. Ima Quilter.
The NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt (usually referred to as “The AIDS Quilt”) was launched by The NAMES Project in 1987. If you follow the timeline of the Great American Quilt Revival, the AIDS Quilt was a significant moment in the third phase of it. Quilts were back in the cultural landscape and the quilt industry was booming.
And people were dying of HIV/AIDS. Dying within months of a diagnosis. Dying without any medical care to speak of. Many were dying alone, rejected by society — even by their own families. Entire communities, friend groups, clubs, were wiped out by a disease that no one understood or could control. Look:
The first time President Reagan said the word “AIDS” in public was 1986. Friends, lovers, partners, teachers, doctors, neighbors, artists, businesspeople, servicemen and servicewomen — these were the people dying every day, but nothing but silence came from people in power. This was “the gay cancer.” The sorrow, silence, rage, fear, and helplessness, this drove those whose lives had been touched by the ghostly hand of AIDS to take action. Money was raised, initiatives were launched to increase awareness about the disease and promote safer sex; there were marches in the streets, pleas in Washington from parents who were burying their children.
What else? What else can ever be done to make sense of senseless horror? What would you do if six of your closest friends died in a single month? If you got diagnosed today with a fast-moving disease with a 100% mortality rate? What would you do to show people in charge that you and your people are literally dying for help?
The AIDS Quilt, a handmade tribute to those who had so far died of HIV/AIDS, was unveiled on the National Mall in Washington DC in 1987. On that day, there were thousands of panels in the quilt, which was as large as two city blocks. More than 2,000 names were written, painted, stitched, pressed, glued, poured into the fabric. Many names on the quilt were only first names, as the shame of being gay was too much for the families who still needed to memorialize their beloved son* with a panel in the softest biggest memorial in American history.
It’s hard to research this. It’s more than that: it’s devastating. The pictures from the hospitals. The testimonials. The statistics. I’m lucky, though: I’m not researching the AIDS epidemic, I’m researching the AIDS Quilt. The quilt is doing for me what it was created to do: it takes sadness and reshapes it into hope in the human race in the fight against pestilence and suffering. Over 48,000 panels have been made today; pieces of the largest quilt in the world travel around the globe to raise awareness that HIV/AIDS has no cure and help people understand how not to get the disease. The quilt continues to grow, even as HIV/AIDS treatments are light years ahead of where they were when the first panels were made.
The lecture will be finished this summer. I hope the sorrow that led to the AIDS Quilt doesn’t keep people from to requesting it. The AIDS Quilt is not a gravestone; it’s a celebration of life.
*AIDS did not claim — and does not claim, present tense — only homosexual male lives. Children, as well as women both gay and straight were/are casualties, too. The majority of the victims at the time of the first unfurling of the quilt, however, were gay men.
Wanged the back of my leg so hard I whined about it for 30 minutes
The to-go coffee I got was lukewarm
Someone stole my cell phone
I can’t talk about that last thing. There was weeping. When anything goes wrong with my mobile phone, I am reminded how much I resent them for having to exist, to be on my person, and to function perfectly at all times. It’s just a cell phone. But still.
The last thing zeroes out any woe I might’ve had about modern technology because modern technology is to be thanked for the whole podcast thing. If you don’t know by now, my mom and I have started a call-in advice show for quilters. You don’t have to be a quilter to enjoy it, but if you are a quilter, you will freak out.
Here’s hoping you find some things in your day that are so good (e.g., good falafel, good hair, good heavens, etc.) they cancel out any bad things (e.g., bad apple, bad dog, bad company, etc.) That podcast will make you smile, so there’s that.
Me and Mom, goofin’ on the mic. What can it mean? Photo: Joe Mazza, BraveLux, Chicago, IL.
My mother and I are embarking on a New Endeavor. It’s big. It’s bold. It launches this week.
Mom doesn’t need another project. I don’t either, but at least I’m not renovating a movie theater. But we can’t help adding another worthwhile project to a stack of others because we’re people who love to do stuff that sounds exciting and we love to make things that feel good to make. We find room.
I can’t tell you what it is just yet, but I’ll tell you very soon. And when I do, you should have your phone in your hand. Most of us have our phone in our hands all the time, so that won’t be hard. “But wait,” you say, scratching your head with your phone, “Why would I need my phone for an announcement? Are you guys on American Idol?** Do I need to text my vote?” I think the only way to handle this until I can tell you is to play Mad Libs.
“This week, Mom and I are launching a [NOUN]. We’re sure that our [PLURAL NOUN] will love it and will [VERB] every week. We’ve been working very [ADJECTIVE] for many months on the [NOUN] and feel ready to announce it to the [NOUN] on Thursday. The best way to learn what the [ADJECTIVE] [NOUN] is? Read PaperGirl and check in on Mary’s Facebook page and get ready to [VERB] and [VERB] and [VERB]. See ya later, [ANIMAL]!”
Anything worth announcing to the public should be put through a Mad Libs process first. Not only does it get people actively involved in the event, there’s no way the actual announcement won’t be received well. If your work with the passage above looks like this, there’s no way you won’t be relieved when you learn the truth:
“This week, Mom and I are launching a FROG. We’re sure that our POTATO CHIPS will love it and will DROOL every week. We’ve been working very STUPID for many months on the UMBRELLA and feel ready to announce it to the BOARD OF TRADE on Thursday. The best way to learn what the STINKY BOOGER is? Read PaperGirl and check in on Mary’s Facebook page and get ready to CHOKE and WORK and SUFFER. See ya later, DUCK!”
*I’m sure this is a) not how American Idol works; b) hilarious because American Idol was canceled six years ago or something; or c) extremely offensive because American Idol is run by a fascist dictator. I assure you, I don’t know.
Look at that pretty background! Look at the girl trying to smile through great pain. Photo: Friend at Fabric World
The good news is that Fabric World is selling through Small Wonders yardage at a right clip. The store is enormous and the World Piece line is right up at the front of the shop. There was a lot of Small Wonders yardage cut at Fabric World today, let me tell you, and I’m so glad. The fabric is getting a lot of love and I’m grateful for that — thank you! (Visit my Instagram page over the next few days as I add more photos of the fabric used in class, on display, etc.)
The bad news is that a box of my most precious quilts are lost in a sea of brown UPS boxes in Arizona. They never got here. I am a wreck.
I shipped on Monday, three-day guaranteed delivery. But the quilts did not arrive on Thursday night. They didn’t arrive at any hour on Friday, either. I shipped to a secure location with a front desk, staffed with people who could sign for the precious cargo. Nothing. So I made frantic calls. Did frantic tracking on my computer. There were hot tears and there was (still is) much lip chewing.
A “truck failure” in Nebraska occurred, apparently. UPS said they would deliver my heart, soul, teaching materials, and life’s work (!) by Monday. But I will not be here on Monday. I will be in Chicago. And my quilts, which are more or less lost now, will be lost for longer, with more miles between us. I’ll get them back. There are scannable things involved. But… My Churn Dash. My Dutch Summer quilt. Whisper. The cloth doll that my friend Kathy made me out of the Netherlands line. It’s very difficult to type this right now, actually. I need to stop or I might start choke-crying and flapping my hands again.
My mother had a box of quilts lost, once. I called her earlier for pointers.
Don’t you just love quilt shops? Interior shot of The Sewing Studio, Maitland, FL.
Florida peeps! I’m on my way!
Well, I’m in Arizona right now. But next weekend, I’ll be at shop of (sweet and successful) Kelsey: The Sewing Studio in pretty Maitland, Florida. It’s not too far from Orlando — that’s the airport I’m using — so if you’re around that area or if you’re within spitting distance, or if you’re willing to drive a patch, guess what awaits you? You can, in any order:
– shop for fabric
– have a tasty lunch
– listen to excellent lectures (well, they are!)
– hangout with me (there’s always time for this — I’m there all day)
– learn stuff
– hopefully snag a new BabyLock because you know you want it
– take a selfie with the machine you want to send to Santa’s Instagram
There you have it. Maitland next weekend. I’ll be speaking at the Quilt Guild of the Villages on Monday, but that’s a club thing. So we meet at Kelsey’s and have snacks.
I made a little pal. He’s got a soft, fuzzy cape! He is nestled in combed, pre-washed love! It is a happy day. (All fabric: Small Wonders.)
If you’re new around here, you might want to start reading PaperGirl last February and get caught up. What is there to do the day after Thanksgiving but tidy up, eat cherry pie out of the tin, and sit down with your laptop? Don’t say, “Brave the crowds for the coffeemaker Mee-Maw wants because I have a coupon.” The PaperGirl story leading up to now will help you understand what I’m about to tell you. At the very least, if you haven’t read yesterday’s post — Part I of the pre-wash discussion — definitely do that first.
When I knew I had to come home to Chicago, I began to brood more than usual. What was I looking for over the last 1.5 years? Did I find it? and what did it cost? What did I gain? If I come back essentially the same person after the odyssey, were all the moves and the disorientations just sweat-and-blood-producing effort? Or did I make life? And did my tenants destroy my house? At least I know the outcome of that.
But I did know I had to reclaim this city and reclaim my home. Like, deep reclamation was needed to touch the ground, to be here, to be back. I left so much fabric when I left. I couldn’t take my entire stash to New York City. The NYC experiment was to be one year. I rented this place furnished in order to afford to go. After the year, I’d make a decision to come back or stay away and at that time, I would gather my stash and make a permanent move. But I did come back. I touched my fabric again. I saw the colors. I saw the palate I use to make quilts which is what a stash is for a quilter: a palate. I saw the all the fabric I left behind.
And I knew I absolutely had to wash it. All of it. Washing every scrap (every scrap over 5” square or so) would click my brain into place, would work to say, “I left, but I’m back, and I’m changed.” To handle each yard, each fat quarter, to take inventory, to wash my entire experience and have proof that something happened — even though I can’t possibly know what that is, yet — that was I had to do. To go from a non-prewasher to a pre-washer, that was concrete. Did I really go away? Yes, I can say. Because look at what I am now: I’m a pre-washer. And I wasn’t before. How come?
When people ask me, “Why do you pre-wash?” I can’t tell them, “Well, I met a wonderful person and upended my life. I moved to New York City but it all failed. I left for Washington, D.C. and lived there and loved it, but I had to come home to Chicago and my heart sang when I did, but I needed proof I left and returned because it hardly seemed real. I washed my stash so that the experience was real, to prove I had changed, indelibly, and for good.”
I can’t tell them all that. I’ll just tell them I like how it feels.
Tomorrow, the third and final installment of this story, I’ll tell you about my process. There is a lot to know about pre-washing fabric and I need to take you through all the tips I’ve gathered from quilters across the country. I’ll discuss pre-cuts, the process you need to go through before putting the fabric in the wash, post-production, and more. Thanks for listening.
If Small Wonders fabric was pretty and sweet before; washed and dried, it’s angelic.
For PaperGirl readers who are not quilters, you are about to learn that quilters are a divided people. We are locked in a brother-against-brother conflict so deep, so indelible, generations of quilters from now will bear the weight of our differences. And it all comes down to how a quilter answers this question:
“Do you pre-wash your fabric?”
When a quilter gets home from the quilt shop or opens the UPS box, she has a choice to make: will she pop that cotton into the laundry first or will she just take it all to her fabric stash and just pull it out when she’s ready to use it? There are strong cases to be made on either side. What’s most important to know now is this: if you pre-wash some of your fabric, you must pre-wash all of it.
That’s the hard and fast rule. You can’t be a little bit pregnant and you can’t be an on again-off again pre-washer. This is because pre-washing pre-shrinks. If you make a quilt with some pre-shrunk fabric and some that isn’t, you are in danger of ruining your quilt. Stretching, pulling, snapped threads, rippling: fabric stitched together that shrinks at different rates wreaks havoc. If you care about what you made — which of course you do — don’t cross the streams.
Here’s the pre-wash argument: pre-washing gets rid of fixative chemicals from the factory; it obliterates any fear of dye bleed when the finished quilt is washed; you’ll use fewer pins because pre-washed fabric sticks together way better; if you use fabric softener it smells amazing; best of all, it feels incredibly soft and nice and it’s fluffy.
The non-pre-wash argument: you have to be insane to do more laundry what is wrong with you; any fixative used on the fabric is negligible; no one wants to wait to use new fabric; you’ll endure Thread Hell from unraveling edges; fabric from the dryer is super wrinkled and you have to press everything. No way.
It is a rare, rare occurrence indeed when a quilter leaves her team for the other. It’s like a Confederate soldier joining the Union Army. A Packers fan with a Bears jersey in his trunk. My friend Susan switching to Pepsi from Coke. (Never!) Aside from the convictions held by quilters on their respective side of the aisle, it’s a really, really big deal to stop or start pre-washing. Either you start in and pre-wash all of your stash one day, or you have to give away/donate all of your pre-washed fabric and resolve to not wash any fabric you bring into your home from here on out.
But I switched.
Right now, at this very moment, six washing machines in my building’s laundry room are sloshing and swishing yard after yard of fabric. Right now, four dryers in that room are tumbling, fluffing the material that I use to make quilts.
I’m doing it. I’m pre-washing my entire stash. I’m switching teams. I’ll tell you why tomorrow.
On Thursday, I’ll be getting in an airplane and flying to Denver. That evening, I have the pleasure of giving a lecture to the Denver Modern Quilt Guild. I can’t wait to meet you all.
Then, on Friday and Saturday, I’ll be at Above & Beyond Sewing, frolicking among the BabyLock machines, doing lectures, demos, and a robust trunk show. My friend Bari said my life sounded glamorous, flying from here to there, working on a stage, flying through TSA pre-check. I corrected her and I’ll make sure you know: I love doing these events (love) but the glamour factor is pretty low, at least regarding the travel part. I wheel multiple suitcases full of quilts and often an extra duffel bag of them. I have to keep track of receipts, so when I pay for a coffee, I pull out a big, pink plastic envelope. The Starbucks guy is surely thinking I’m either a hoarder or a serious cheapskate. And I know the insides of a lot of Courtyard Marriotts. Which are actually really nice, but I like a Holiday Inn Express a little better.
Whatever the hotel, I’m thrilled to go on this trip and look forward to meeting all the Colorado quilters I can meet in the three days I’m there. Come on down; let’s hang out.
Did you know Colorado has an average of 300 days of sunshine every year? Did you know when I get back from Denver I have 1.5 days to finish packing before Claus comes to help me move to Chicago? Did you know I tried to hire an army of lilliputians to help me but they were booked?
I still think I should have a scout hat on my head in the picture. Don’t know what a scout hat is, but there must be a standard-issue one.
“There are many misunderstandings about quilts in this country (e.g., they are made with yarn). But one I am on a crusade to correct is the notion that early American scrap quilts were made by women patching together little scraps from anything they could, scrimping and saving every fiber that was leftover after making Timmy’s britches. Not true.
In fact, scrap quilts cannot be made unless there is a lot of fabric available, not a little. Think about it. If you’ve got a quilt with 40 different fabrics in it, you had 40 different fabrics in your scrap bag. That’s not scarcity: that’s abundance.”
Like these two paragraphs? Well, you can read the rest of them over at Quilts, Inc. in the latest Quilt Scout column. If you don’t learn anything (but I think you might!) you’ll definitely see a picture of a bag of my scraps and my feet show in that picture. So, I mean.
This post is not about Quilt Market, but look: Brian Wacaster and Terri Thom from Springs Creative with our Best Merchandising Award!
There are a number of booth awards handed out at the show each year; this afternoon, the Mary Fons Small Wonders booth won the Best Merchandising Award, which to me is one of the best awards to get, of course. It means your concept was clear, your goods were presented exactly they way they should have been for ultimate easy-viewing and shopping enjoyment, your design was pitch-perfect and, frankly, that you got good taste. Thank you to the Academy — I mean the judges — and thank you to the whole Springs team. We did it!
But enough of all that for a moment. It’s impossible to believe while it’s happening, but there is a world beyond Quilt Market. Indeed, it’s good to remember that. The show is over tomorrow afternoon. Dust will settle. Everyone just calm down. This means me.
In less than a month, I’ll be opening my Chicago door. Claus is going to help me with the move, which is even better than winning the award today — that’s saying a lot. I cannot lift any more boxes by myself. I won’t make it. The last time I moved (the fourth time) I was carrying a too-heavy box and the bottom fell out in the hallway. Everything spilled out. I cursed the best one-word curse you can curse, then I sank to my knees to put things back together.
“I can’t do this alone anymore,” I said out loud. “I need help. I need a partner.” After I said that, well, it was Miss Mary’s Pity Party and I invited all my friends and no one came, boo-hoo, boo-hoo.
I don’t have a partner but I do have Claus*. He’s going to fly to Washington and help me drive a small truck from Point A to B. He grew up on a farm in Germany. He is very tall. He is very efficient (see: Germany). He says adorable things, so if he drops a box on my foot, I can’t be mad at him. Examples of adorable things:
1. When we have an argument: “Are you mad on me?”
2. When figuring out logistics: “If we must be at the airport at 7am, we must stand up at 5am. Oh, god…”
To say stand up is brilliant; wake up doesn’t mean much. Until you stand up, you’re not going anywhere. Isn’t that great??
3. When I whisper something sexy to him when we’re out getting sandwiches: “Mary, please do not say forbidden things.”
I know. It’s so hot.
Anyway, the move is happening in the middle of the month next month and you may have noticed that it is almost next month. I have a number of jobs before this happens and I’m even hesitant to say so; it appears I can only do things the hard way. But I didn’t plan on moving home next month, so I’ll be going to Williamsburg, Denver, and Charleston before Claus and I get in that truck. It’s a good thing I’m so deliriously happy about going home or I’d have to lie on the couch for a few days just staring at the ceiling, eating packets of instant miso soup mix by licking my finger and sticking it in the pouch.
This had to go through the censors. They’re very strict!
What could it mean? You’ll see very soon. I leave for Quilt Market Thursday. The sneak peek “Schoolhouse” sessions and the insane “Sample Spree” both happen Friday. The big, multi-pronged, gorgeous Thing will be revealed Saturday, bright and early, when the Market opens.
It’s getting more and more uncomfortable having to keep the secret now that the launch is so close…. Okay. Forget this. I have to tell. Damn the consequences. Ready?
For the past four years, I’ve been training mice to sew. No, no, that’s not the surprise. Everyone knows I’ve been training mice to sew. The real surprise is that I’ve developed a sewing machine that runs on olive oil. No, that can’t be it: corn oil make a superior fuel. Fine! Enough pulling your leg: I bought Quilt Market. I own it. The whole show. I just woke up one day and was like, “I want to buy a trade convention worth a bazillion dollars after I eat a bit of yogurt.”
Just kidding. We’ll both have to wait just a little longer for the truth.
This picture of me was taken at Market a couple years ago in one of the hundreds of gorgeous booths at the show. Those pom-poms were edible! Just kidding.
International Fall Quilt Market is next week!
Fall Quilt Market is the biggest trade show of the year for the 4 billion-dollar-a-year quilt industry I accidentally started working in five-and-a-half years ago. It’s a Quilts, Inc. production and it is intense. Here’s what people do at Quilt Market:
– Wear their Sunday best
– Write business
– Take meetings
– Schmooze
– Booze (Not at the level of a pharmaceutical sales rep convention, but there’s a little drankin’ and aren’t you surprised? Mm? Quilters drink liquor? Scandal?)
– Go to dinner
– Make deals
– Take names
– Chew bubblegum
– Break hearts
So really it’s just another day in the life of a quilter who took her/his hobby to the Next Level. Hey, speaking of Next Level, this Quilt Market is a big one for me. Maybe the biggest one yet. For years — years! — I’ve been circling a dream project and for months — months! — I’ve known that the dream project would launch next week but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. At this point, the pain of withholding the thing is almost physical.
Do you want to know what the big project is? Do you? Are you ready to freak out? Are you ready for totally amazing, fully incredible, head-slappingly gorgeous images to flood your cerebral cortex? It will all happen so soon! I’m the world’s worst secret-keeper; if I wasn’t in fear of mucking up the whole thing for me and the brilliant company I’m working with, I’d just out with it.
But maybe I could tell you something else. Maybe I could let a different cat out of the bag. Maybe I could finally tell you the other secret I’ve got. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Here goes: I’m pregnant. No, no, no. That’s not it. I’m not pregnant. Let’s see, what was it… Oh, right:
Chicago! Quilters! And friends! And friends of quilters! And their pets:
Did you know there’s a new quilt shop in Chicagoland? You didn’t? Well, now you do. Katie and Lisa, both handsome and imminently capable women, have opened up The Quilter’s Trunk and I’m to be the first big, juicy event they hold. (That is a terrible sentence for several reasons but mostly because it makes me sound like I’m a pig they’re going to roast in a barbeque pit.)
The event is next Saturday, October 10th, starting at 10am at the shop. I’ll be giving two lectures — one in the morning, one in the afternoon — signing books, doing mini-demos, takin’ pics, and enjoying the company of fellow quilters. If you live in the area, you should come because you can:
1. support a new quilt shop in your area
2. shop for things to help you make perfect objects (quilts)
3. hang out with me
4. probably eat snacks
Go to the Quilter’s Trunk website for more info and contact information for the shop. The lectures will have limited seating, so I wouldn’t wait long to call.
If you start a Christmas quilt now, you will totally get it done.
This weekend I met hundreds of sweet, talented quilters at Meissner’s sew/quilt haven in Sacramento. Generous stacks of my book, Make + Love Quilts: Scrap Quilts for the 21st Century, went quickly, especially when you consider everyone in the shop was drooling over the newest BabyLock machines and waiting for my mom to come out of the bathroom so she could sign their first issue of Love of Quilting.
The good news is that there are books left! I’d love to sign a copy of Make + Love for you and send it to your house/apartment/yurt. The bookstore price is $22.95, but I’ll give you for $20, plus $5 shipping and handling. Yeah, it turns out to be about the same amount of money, but it’s signed. Can’t get that on eBay! (I hope.)
The book is my first and includes 12 original scrap quilt patterns for bed-sized quilts and a lot of sparkling content. You get full instructions, tips, and various extras in the book, including this quote from Marilyn Monroe: “It’s not true I had nothing on. I had the radio on.” I’m serious, that is in my quilt book. You’ll see.
Click on the Make + Love Book tab on my website. Scroll down and you’ll find a PayPal button. You don’t need a PayPal account to buy the book. Click the button! PayPal will give me your shipping address. Please let me know who to make the book out to if the name is different from the person paying. I will get books out as soon as I can; my goal is within three (3) days of ordering, but with my travel schedule, be kind. I’ll let you know if it will be much longer than that. Books will be sent media mail.
Isn’t it nice to buy something not through Amazon? If you haven’t done that lately, give ‘er a shot.
*If you live in a country that is not the USA, I’ll happily send a book, but we have to get together on shipping. So put a note in your order when you click it to me.
My kitchen is just on the other side of this picture. Photo: Me
Last night, until about 1:30am and this morning beginning at 6:30am, I was sewing. I was sewing two baby quilts for The Big Secret Project that will be announced soon. Last night at 12:30am, I felt the announcement bearing down on me like a train. A train covered in a patchwork quilt, with a conductor who is running the thing on a sewing machine engine. If you’re not a quilter, you don’t know that some of these puppies (?) are so powerful, they could probably power a locomotive. Especially those BabyLocks. They’re engines that can. I have four.
Paper-piecing is my favorite way to make patchwork. Paper-piecing means to sew fabric to a paper foundation and then tear the paper off the back when the block is complete. You don’t have to do patchwork this way; there is “traditional piecing” as well, but I’ll not go on about all this too much for those of you who don’t care about patchwork, though you should.
I used to be afraid of the paper-piecing technique — used in quiltmaking for at least 150 years — because the process involves some brain training. Once I got the hang of it, however, I began to look at every quilt block and think, “Okay, yeah, yeah: but how can I paper-piece it?” It’s like starving guy on a desert island who looks at everything he sees as a steak.
The drawback to paper-piecing is that your floor looks like the picture above. All those bits of paper must come off before you join all the blocks together and the more blocks you have, the more you become a badger, scrabbling at the backs of your blocks with little claws, paper going everywhere, including in your hair. At the end of the process, if the quilt is large, you have a nest. You do sit in it because it’s comfortable there on the floor.
Such is the glamorous life of a quilter who makes quilts for shows or magazines, etc. Quilting under a deadline is not fun at all. It sucks all joy from the process, though the finished product is still rewarding, but mostly because you can breathe again and pry your shoulders from your neck.
