Properly appreciative 4

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about a pile of baby quilts I made for the grandchildren of my dear friend from graduate school, using quilt blocks that my friend's grandmother had made many decades ago but never sewed together.  She always made the same block, although in different sizes and color combinations.

Here are three of the quilts in use!

Isaac, the oldest, was the first of my friend's grandchildren and got the biggest quilt, six years ago.  Hazel and Silas, his sister and brother, got theirs last month.

The quilts are getting a bit smaller as I don't want to run out of quilt blocks before we run out of babies.  So far I've made six and a new baby arrived last month who needs a quilt too.

Properly appreciative 3

I mentioned last fall that we have a new baby in our family.  I don't have an ironclad practice of making serious baby quilts for every new child, but I do have an ironclad practice of making each one a newborn quilt.

Newborns don't see colors for the first two or three months of their lives, but they are enthralled by the stark contrast of black-and-white.  It is amazing to see a tiny baby looking intently at a B&W composition, his brow furrowed in concentration, almost as if he is reading.  So I make each new baby a tiny B&W quilt.  Not big enough to suffocate him, so it can go in the crib or be propped on the sofa within reading distance.

I once thought that it would be nifty to make kits of B&W fabric that could be sold at Houston or other big quilt shows, with directions for sewing it up, along with a brochure explaining the physiology and neurology of tiny babies' fascination with this color combination.  If any of my entrepreneurial readers would like to seize upon this opportunity, take the idea with my blessing.  I can provide lots of photos of babies who love their B&W quilts.

Here's our newest family member, Luke, with his newborn quilt.

Properly appreciative 2

I wrote yesterday about how I'm choosy in whom I give handmade gifts to.  Unless I think somebody will appreciate and take care of my work, I won't give it to them.  However, I've come to that realization over time and I know that some of the things I gave away decades ago weren't taken care of or loved at the level that I expect today.

So it's especially nice to come upon stuff that I madeand gave away a long time ago, still being loved and used.

We briefly visited my sister-in-law on our way to our Christmas beach vacation and I was amazed to find things in her house that I know I made, once upon a time, but had frankly forgotten all about.

Two quilts were hung somewhat unorthodoxly in windows, since she didn't have curtains and needed to block the sun.  Had these been works of art I probably would have been offended, but they were only "goodbye quilts."  And they looked quite nice in backlighting.

Many years ago I realized that my stash was full of fabrics that I had outgrown, or that I never loved in the first place -- how had they ever gotten here, and why was I continuing to feed and clothe them?  So I made a long series of what I called "goodbye quilts" -- their major quality was speed of completion.  My rule was that if anybody said an unsolicited word of praise for one of them, I would finish it instantly and give it to the praiser.

Some of the goodbye quilts were donated to the Holocaust Museum in Houston, where Rachel Brumer had an exhibit in 2001.  She wanted to provide a quilt for every visiting child and solicited contributions from people on the Quiltart list.  I sent two or three.

Others went to friends and family, but not unless they first said they liked one.  Apparently I gave two to my sister-in-law, although I don't remember either one.

It was almost Christmas, so she had also brought out a log cabin quilt that I had made about 30 years ago.  I made similar Christmas quilts for everybody in my family with the same three-color, 16-block design but different fabric combinations.  I hadn't seen this one in many years so it was fun to be reacquainted.

Finally, I was in the closet searching out an extra blanket one night and found this afghan on the shelf.  Back in the days when we had only one TV set and no VCR, and I was a busy working woman, I was in the habit of curling up on the couch in the evening to watch TV and crochet.  This was especially nice in the winter, because the growing afghan would keep me warm as I worked.  I cranked out hundreds of afghans, some nicer than others.

This was one of the nicest ones, quite dense and warm.  It used a fancy stitch where I changed color on each row, and chose to deal with the ends by tying them into luxuriant fringe.  Seems that she's still saving it for good -- doesn't look as though it has been used for picnics, warmed the cats or been through the washing machine ten dozen times.

A worthy recipient, she definitely will get more fiber art gifts in the future.

Properly appreciative 1

I don't give quilts or other handmade things away very often, having been disappointed in the past when people didn't properly appreciate the magnificence of such gifts.  I have occasionally found my quilts spread out as tablecloths or my afghans used as a nice soft doggy bed.  In situations like this, I believe in one strike and you're out -- no more handmade stuff for you.

But when I know that people understand and value what goes into a piece of fiber art, it's a pleasure to give them presents.  Not surprisingly, fellow fiber artists make excellent recipients.  They know what skill and effort are required for such projects, and they are attuned to the subtleties of the techniques and materials.

Towards the end of last year I made two little quilts as gifts for good friends.  Both of them are fine fiber artists, both of them make quilts themselves, and I knew that the quilts would be in good homes.

As it turned out, both were made from leftovers from my summer-long quilting marathon.  When I like a quilt, I enjoy working with the same fabrics for a while longer.  My method of using tiny pieces always results in a lot of extra fabric, because it's so much easier to cut a lot of strips in advance than to try to gauge exactly how much will be needed.  So I feel quite righteous using up the bits and pieces in a small project.

Blue Ohio, 17 x 15"

Morning in America, 14 x 15"






Update:  Linking this to Nina-Marie's blog -- check it out to see what other fiber artists are up to this week.

Photo suite 62 -- fun couples

(they're separated)

Art from the street

I haven't gotten much fiber art done recently -- not that I haven't been busy in the studio, but I've been on a different plane.

Let me explain.  For many years I've been picking up interesting junk from the street as I walk.  I'm always amazed at the quantity and nature of stuff that people are willing to throw away as they walk or drive along.  Often I suspect, from the placement and size of the piles, that people occupy themselves while waiting at red lights by emptying their ashtrays, changing batteries in their flashlights, sweeping out their pickup beds or fieldstripping their weapons.

I am intrigued by the stuff that ends up on the street.  I've taken to carrying plastic bags with me in case I find some appealing junk.  I'm not a hoarder -- not much intrinsic value to dead batteries -- but I have always had a vision that this could become art.

Over the years I found a kindred spirit, my friend Debby Levine, who like me is primarily a fiber artist but who is also an avid walker and an avid picker-upper of junk.  We try to walk at least once a week, each armed with our bags and with a sharp eye out for interesting detritus.  And on one of our walks we  had a brilliant idea -- hey, kids, let's put on a show!

Our show opens today at the Firehouse Gallery in Louisville, and for the last month we've both been busy getting that junk looking spiffy for the occasion.  For me it has been exhilarating, challenging, satisfying and most of all, a lot of fun.

Unsealed (Combine with Eagle)

Although one of my pieces is mounted on fabric, the others are presented against wood panels in a sort of bas-relief sculptural effect.  That has required me to take up woodworking, a skill that I have possessed in a crude way for many years but not practiced much since we got old and rich enough to hire people to fix the things that go wrong in our house.  This show has forced me to get my saw, drill, wirecutters and glue gun out of retirement.

Fortunately my son is a whiz with wood and power tools, so he has made me the platform/supports for all my junk work. And in keeping with the spirit of the show, he is also a lover of picking up junk from the streets, except that where I pick up a half dozen rusty washers, he picks up whole pallets.  So the supports are genuine street junk, just like the stuff displayed on them.

Street Person with Dueling Scars


















What has been fascinating to me is how working in 3-D, and with a whole new array of tools and techniques, has given me a huge shot in the arm.  I still think of this as a frivolous sideline while my fiber stuff is my "serious art."  But I'm dreaming about junk art, and it's been a long time since I dreamed about quilts.

After the show is hung I know I'll need to get back to the fiber art sometime soon, but for now I'm on a wonderful vacation with my junk.

If you find yourself in the vicinity of Louisville between now and April 8, please drop in and see the show.  If you'd like to visit at an unconventional hour, send me an email  
[      artwithaneedle@gmail.com     ]          and I'll come let you in.