I've had a deep loss this month with the sudden death of my friend and art pal Marti Plager. Not only was she my oldest continuous constantly-in-touch friend -- dating back about 25 years -- she opened the door for my development as an artist/quilter. If you've ever done workshops at the Crow Barn or Arrowmont, or attended Quilt National or Paducah or Houston or Form, Not Function, or gone to a regional or national SAQA or SDA meeting, there's a good chance you met Marti somewhere along the way, because she was not one to let any person in the same room with her go unmet.
Saturday, October 16, 2021
Sunday, September 19, 2021
There were lots of comments on my two latest posts, and rather than just leave a reply comment of my own, where probably nobody would see it, I'll take this post to reply to everybody. (That's one feature that I like in Instagram: if you comment on a post, and subsequently somebody -- the original author, or another reader -- replies or likes it, the system will tell you, even if your comment was made long ago.)
I wrote about all the reading that I've been doing since lockdown, and how I have come to like e-books better than paper. Shasta Matova commented: "There is a time for both, so I don't try to make a choi8ce, but I too like ebooks especially when the library is closed. Besides the benefits you mentioned, they remember where you left off and give you definitions for words I don't know."
Idaho Beauty wrote: "There are times when (e-book) is the only way I can get a book through my library but I don't enjoy it nearly like I do holding an actual book and turning the pages by hand rather than by swiping (and I do hate that sound that is sometimes added to mimic the sound of an actual page turning)."
Idaho, I too would go crazy with that kind of sound effect. I always keep the sound turned off on any kind of device, turn it on only if I want to hear something. I'm sure there's a way you can adjust the preferences in your ebook to deep-six that feature. It took me several months before I figured out that I could stop the system from showing me passages that other readers had highlighted! First off, I don't care what other people choose to read and remember, and second, I was really cheesed at how stupid most of the highlighted passages were.
I also wrote about my newest quilt project, a memorial marker for all the U.S. military dead in Afghanistan since 2001, as well as memorials to those dead from covid. Robbie commented: "I applaud you for all your effort on these projects! Hope they can all be displayed and appreciated by so many." Norma Schlager wrote: "I especially like that you are using uniform material on one side and other fabrics on the back. Can't wait to see how this one turns out." Martha Ginn wrote: "Very appropriately dark, drab and sad -- an apt description of this conflict."
Cindy wrote: "I find your work a lovely tribute to those who are gone. Not morbid in the least."
Irene MacWilliam wrote: "I think my mind works somewhat like yours. I am living in N Ireland and wanted to do a piece in memory of all those who had died in our 'troubles' conflict between 1969-1994... This piece has just been bought by our museum which has a collection to do with The Troubles. I do a lot of work to do with conflict and how it affects families." Irene, good for you! I think that one of the most important jobs for artists is to witness to the stupid and destructive things that people do to one another.
Jenny wrote: "Lest we forget: Afghan casualties from Western intervention amount to around 240,000 whilst Iraqis account for around 200,000... a companion quilt perhaps?" Jenny, you're right, war tends to be far harder on the civilian population who just happen to be standing there in the way than it is on the actual soldiers. It has always been thus, but with modern weapons the killing power of each soldier is vastly greater than it was in past wars. I can't imagine how one might go about marking that number of deaths; once you get into five figures the total has outgrown any technique that I might use.
Since I last posted, I've finished all the little bits for the Afghanistan memorial -- 2,461 is the number I'm going with.
Thanks to you all for reading, and for commenting. It's always good to hear from those at the other end of the cyber-talk!
Wednesday, September 8, 2021
I wrote earlier about a project that I'm working on now, a postage stamp quilt to mark the US military dead in Afghanistan. But I am reminded of another quilt I made several years ago that is also about Afghanistan.
In 2015 I had the pleasure of attending and teaching at a big quilting show in Prague, along with my dear friend and art pal Uta Lenk. Uta had arranged for the show to display a bunch of quilts by International Threads, a group of quilters from four different countries (US, UK, Germany and Israel). After I said I would come to Prague, she promoted teaching gigs for each of us, which didn't make us rich but did pay for our hotel rooms and a bit of spending money.
|Uta in the International Threads exhibit|
In between teaching and hanging around our exhibit, we hit the vendors, and discovered a booth selling embroideries made by women in Afghanistan. We were intrigued by the work, and when we found that many of the embroideries were made by the same woman, Nasrin, we decided to buy eight of them for the members of International Threads, which would be the theme for our next project.
I chose the embroidery with the most abstract and geometric design, and when I made my quilt, I echoed the gray-blue-turquoise-white palette, the bold zigzags and the half-square-triangle sawtooth edging, adding some yellow to pep up the composition. I called the quilt "Nasrin's Magic Carpet."
With Afghanistan in the news again, I thought it would be a good time to pull out the quilt again and put it up in public. It's hanging at PYRO Gallery right now, through the end of this month. And of course I thought about Nasrin and her friends and family, wondering how they have survived through six more years of war and oppression.
After Uta and I bought the embroideries we sent them to our fellow members and I copied from the package the name of the nonprofit that distributed them: The Guldusi Project of Embroidery. When I looked it up on the internet this week I learned that the organization was begun in 2002 by a German artist. They have embroidery projects in several rural Afghan villages, and when I paged through the website I was excited to find exactly the kind of embroideries we had bought.
|Uta's Nasrin square|
You'll notice that the center portion of each square is a kind of mesh, the kind that's used to make the eye holes in a burka. The website confirmed that this type of stitching is called tsheshmakdusi (tsheshmak = eye, dusi = embroidery) and only a few women in a village in Laghman Province use this stitching in their work for sale. This had to be the source of our Nasrin squares.
|Red pin marks Laghman Province|
And yes, when I looked through the thumbnails of work on this page of the website, I found one using the same palette, chevrons and sawtooth border, that was labeled "03Nasrin." Unless there are many women with the same name doing very similar embroidery for the same nonprofit organization, this is indeed our artist. At least, that's what I'm going to believe.
Uta has also been remembering her Nasrin quilt recently; check it out on her blog.
Thursday, August 26, 2021
I have never been one for working on just one project at a time. Some of my art friends find focus by finishing up one thing before starting on the next, but that's way too controlled for me. I like to have several things going at once, picking up whichever one is closest to hand without walking up or down the stairs, whichever one is most conducive to stitching while talking with family and friends, whichever one fits my mood of the moment.
I've posted several times about my coronavirus memorials, marking each death in Kentucky with a french knot onto a roll of vintage bandage gauze. I finished the 2020 memorial a few weeks ago (2,662 dead) and almost immediately started on a 2021 version (7,575 dead and counting as of this week). I've finished January (1,083 dead) and am almost done with February (892 dead). But the small scale of the knots got to be tiring, and I yearned for something bigger, faster, and involving the sewing machine.
So for the last few days I have been working on a new project, a memorial for the U.S. military dead in Afghanistan. Longtime readers and pals will know that I did a similar piece in 2008 counting the U.S. military dead in Iraq, which traveled extensively with Quilt National '09 and is now owned by the International Quilt Museum in Lincoln NE. It had a flag for each death, referencing the flag-covered coffins that came home from that war.
|Memorial Day, 2008, 86 x 100"|
This one will be similar in format -- a single little quilted rectangle for each of the dead, held together with stitching in space -- but different in materials and concept.
|Memorial Day, detail|
At first I wasn't sure what to do with them but with the impending end of our Afghanistan adventure I thought that war needed a memorial as well for the troops who served and died. Cutting up the camouflage uniforms will give me the fronts of the small quiltlets for this memorial; the backs will be made from a large variety of fabrics, to remind us that every one of those uniformed dead was an individual, a person with hopes and dreams too soon cut off.
This compulsion to count the dead probably sounds morbid and obsessive. I don't think I'm particularly preoccupied with death, certainly not in my daily life, where I have been blessed not to be closely touched by the coronavirus or the war, and where I've lost only one close family member in the last decade. But the historian and journalist in me always wants to find out the facts and write them down, and the soldier's daughter in me always wants to remember how war is not glory, it's hell.
I'll write more about this project soon, because working with the uniforms has proven to be quite a surprise.
Thursday, August 19, 2021
Reading has always been one of the most important parts of my life; I can't recall any time since age 3 that I haven't had a book nearby, if not actually in hand. In fact, "bring a book" has always been my personal motto. Although my home is filled with books, many of them unread, I really love library books. And in the last year or so, I realize that I REALLY love library e-books.
When the public libraries were closed and staff furloughed for several months during lockdown, I had a momentary panic until I saw that the e-book collection was still going strong, with new titles added every day. I read a lot during lockdown, almost all of it digitally.
When e-books first started to catch on, in 2006 or 2007, I often announced that I would not like them. I said that I loved the feel of the physical codex, the turning of pages, the recollection of where on the page I had seen a name or reference. Reading on a device seemed far less serious and pleasant than reading "real books." But that changed when my sons gave me a Kindle for Mother's Day in 2014, just as we were heading off for a vacation to Britain and Norway. I was hooked immediately, especially at the thought of not having to shlep a dozen books along on a three-week trip.
Since then my e-book habit has kept me in reading matter around the globe. Because we refuse to pay the exorbitant internet fees on cruise ships, a shore visit would begin with finding the nearest wi-fi so I could get some new books. Sometimes that was at a hot spot on the dock (where you would always find a bunch of crew members calling home), sometimes a nearby bar, where I could simultaneously download content and drink beer.
But at sea or ashore, I realize how much I like reading on a device. It's easier to use at the table, where I do a lot of reading -- prop it in a little easel and it's perfectly on display. You can read in bed after the lights go out.
Best of all, you can search in the book to find out who in hell Geoffrey is, when he appears in the narrative after 200 pages of absence, or what exactly Geoffrey said when he was first interviewed by the police. You don't need a bookmark, or worry that your bookmark will fall out. You can mark any passages you like, even make rude marginal notes, without a pencil!
Since I started daily calligraphy two and a half years ago, I have written a passage from every book I read. It's the first time in my life I've kept track of what I read, and I think just keeping the list has added to the reading experience. If you want a recommendation, I have really enjoyed "The Premonition" by Michael Lewis, and "Nightmare Scenario" by Yasmeen Abutaleb and Damian Palette -- both about the pandemic and how the government dropped the ball on managing the outbreak. Depressing reading, yes, but informative and thought-provoking. Or if current events just have you spitting expletives, try "Nine Nasty Words" by John McWhorter, a linguist's take on the naughtiest taboo words in the English language. Not for those who clutch their pearls upon hearing "darn it."
What have you been reading lately? Anything about your reading choices or reading habits different now than it was before pandemic?
Saturday, August 14, 2021
I can tell you exactly when I decided that it was time to get worried again. It was on the morning of July 23, during my sister's visit. We went to two different art supply stores that day, and in each one the employees were masked. We had not brought our masks along, but we agreed that if we had, we would be wearing them. It just seemed that caution was in the air again, at a suddenly higher level than we had detected for months.
We didn't go cold turkey; we went out to eat that night (but were happy to be seated in a corner of an uncrowded room, far from other people) but we skipped the opening reception for the show by my fiber and textile art group the next day (and were happy we did, after we heard that the small room had been packed with maskless visitors). And this week I ate inside (but was happy that we were seated right by the door, with nobody at the adjoining table). I've been wearing a mask in the few stores I've been in, and today noted that at least half of the customers in the three stores I visited were also masked.
We're feeling particularly paranoid because the four-year-old started school this week. She was supposed to go last year, but her parents held her out and now she is totally excited about this new adventure. The kids are all wearing masks, but of course they're unvaccinated, in the midst of the delta variant firestorm. Apparently it will be months before the FDA gets around to perusing the data, and waiting for additional data, and maybe even requiring some more data before the little ones can get protection.
|daily calligraphy from Monday|
Early in the pandemic we took comfort in the fact that children seemed to be less likely to contract covid, and far less likely to suffer severe illness or die. Now that has changed. As of last week, 131 children under 5 have died, and 292 between 5 and 18 have died. Yes, I want the FDA to be careful before releasing drugs whose safety and efficacy are in doubt. But there's also a risk to doing nothing. And I tend to think we're now in a situation where the risk of perhaps dropping the heavy fire extinguisher on your foot is far less than the risk of letting the building burn down.
I also have to wonder why, if it's OK for parents to flout medical advice and keep their kids unvaccinated (whether for covid or measles or any other potentially fatal disease) it isn't OK for parents to flout medical advice and give their four-year-olds a dose of covid vaccine. Are parents the ultimate authority over their children's medical treatment or aren't they? If yes, then give the shots to any child who can walk or be carried into the place with Mom or Dad. If no, then require every child between 12 and 18 to be vaccinated. But when we want to have it both ways, we lose and covid wins.