A message from Alison 1

Recently I struck up an email conversation with Alison Schwabe, an internet pal who lives in Uruguay, whose blog I read.  She announced that she got into Quilt National 21 and lamented the fact that this time around she probably won't be able to go to the opening festivities next spring, as she had for all the previous QNs she was in.  I sent her congratulations and mentioned that I couldn't remember which of those celebrations she and I both attended -- the only time we have met in person, to the best of my recollection.

Alison wrote back and said "I think we might have both been at QN09 where your wonderful piece Memorial Day was hung so impressively there in prime position near the entry! ...I imagine it is in a collection now?"

Funny she should mention it, because just this month Memorial Day went off to its permanent home, at the International Quilt Museum at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln.  IQM is attempting to acquire as many as possible of the big prizewinners from all previous Quilt National shows, thanks to a grant from the Robert and Ardis James Foundation, and my quilt qualified because it won the Quilts Japan Prize at QN09.

It was a bittersweet task to pack up Memorial Day and send it away forever.  Yes, it will be seen by many, many more people, and be taken care of in much more archival fashion than it has been for the last nine years, packed in a box under my guest room bed.  But mothers always worry a bit when their babies grow up and leave home.

Here's a peek of it, still beautifully wrapped in a sheet from when I last had it out in public, and as it went away to Nebraska.  (Because the quilt consists of 4,083 tiny bits, hanging by threads, it's extremely difficult to fold it properly.  When I sent it off to QN I had three friends and a very large table to help me.  When I took it off the wall almost four years ago, my son and I struggled for a long time on the floor to get it refolded.)

Alison said she looked up Memorial Day in her QN catalog, "and remember being amazed that each of those tiny patches is a suggestion of a US flag, of red/white striped fabric with a tiny little piece of navy fabric in the top LH corner of each.  You had several different red/white striped fabrics, and I think each piece was double sided?  I didn't remember that the final row was incomplete... and I can't even wrap my mind about how you made that!"

She's right, each of the thousands of flags is a little quilt, made with red/white stripes on the front, plain green denim on the back, and a lot of stitching.  I had found a bunch of different R/W striped fabrics, and a bunch of different navy fabrics with little white stars or dots or random speck patterns to simulate the union of the flag.  And I had also bought a yard of an old Nancy Crow fabric with actual tiny flags to accurate scale (and made my homemade flags in the same size).  

The final column of the quilt was incomplete because the quilt marks the number of US troops who died in Iraq.  The count starts at our invasion in March 2003 and ends on Memorial Day 2008 -- 4,083.  All the columns had 70 flags except the last one, with only 23.

How I made that -- yes, it's hard to imagine the process.  It took me several "postage stamp" quilts to work out a process, and if you're interested, here's how I do it.  But after you've figured that out, it's just a case of sewing, sewing, sewing, sewing.  As I was trying to finish this quilt in the summer of 2008, I realized one day that my right knee was extremely unhappy.  Who knew that the sewing machine foot pedal was enough work to cause repetitive stress injury?  I finished the quilt with my left foot on the pedal (surprisingly difficult) and the knee rested up to normal, so a happy ending.

Thanks, Alison, for prompting my walk down memory lane -- and congratulations on your QN triumph!   

Last month on Art With a Needle -- Designer DIY

It's been a while since I caught up with the comments that you all have left on the blog.  

I've gotten many comments on my snarky remarks about the Designer DIY series in the New York Times, which has appeared on and off on Thursdays since springtime.  It disappeared for a few months in late summer, reappeared for two weeks this month, and then was AWOL this past week -- I hope for good. 

Shannon spoke for many of my readers when she said "the horribleness of these makes me think surely they are tongue-in-cheek, yet they seem so self-serious..."  Marilyn wrote: "I'm on a news fast this weekend, the news is so miserable, and this is a perfect antidote.  Funny!  Do you think anyone really makes these things?"

Several people snarked at the "ironic Amish" designer who would have us cut up pillowcases to make dresses.  Shasta wrote: "This is a good way to make clothes when you are under 9 and haven't figured out how to use the sewing machine yet.  I am still trying to figure out 'ironic.'  My nephew took my old TV for his dorm room because he said it was ironic."  LES wrote: "My parents were Amish as children, and I can tell you, that ain't Amish, ironic or not.  Pillowcase dresses are for 3-5 yr olds, not grown women.  Once again, thanks for the laughs!"

Rena wrote: "Thoroughly enjoyed your critique.  First gut-busting laugh this year.  Would be fun to see photos from NYT readers modeling their pillowcase creations..."

And yet... I got an email from my friend Susan who said, "But the truth is, when I was in my teens, and much scrawnier than now, I did make a few sleeveless summer dresses out of (not very worn) king sized pillow cases.  I opened up the seams at the top center and top of each side, and then used the seam allowances as facings for the boat neck and armholes... and they came pre-hemmed.  Thanks for the memories!"

Several readers have commented over the months of the Designer DIY feature that I could do the job better than the editor/writer.  I will modestly point out that it's much easier to make fun of the finished product than it no doubt was to wrangle articles out of prima donna designers who clearly have no idea of how to actually make something.  But thank you for your kind thoughts!  Norma wrote: "Kathy, I love reading your critiques of these articles.  Can there really be an editor that approves of these?"  Bea wrote:  "You might compile these blogs in a book and send to the Times?"

Bea, I'm way ahead of you.  During the summer I wrote a long message to Vanessa Friedman, the fashion editor of the Times, pointing out how lame this series has been.  I sent links to all the blog posts I had done to date and begged her to pull the plug on the series.  "If your purpose in this series is to win brownie points in the fashion community and give some designers a bit of free ink, then you have probably succeeded, especially among readers who don't actually try to do the projects.  But if your purpose is to give your readers projects they can succeed at and feel proud of, your are failing miserable," I wrote.  "I apologize for the snarky tone of these posts, but Ms. Friedman, you have certainly asked for it.  Properly executed, this could be a wonderful series.  But instead it's a laughingstock among people who know sewing, embroidery and crafts.  And probably it's a great disappointment among people who don't, and looked to you for guidance that didn't work." 

I suggested that she let people who know how to do handwork write the instructions, or "better yet, let somebody who does actual handwork come up with the ideas too, so you could present projects that are doable and attractive."

I received no response, of course.  I have spent a little time thinking about what kinds of projects I could dream up for housebound readers with little or no experience in sewing or working with fabric if indeed I were running this project.  Easier said than done, especially when you realize that most people out there, unlike you and me, don't possess fabric, needles, thread, embroidery hoops, pins, sewing machines or any of the huge array of stuff that makes our projects possible.  Nor can a lot of them sashay down to the local fabric store and stock up. 

So what projects would you recommend if you were in charge?

 

Designer DIY -- almost great!

I've gotten so used to mocking the Designer DIY feature in the New York Times that it's a big surprise to find one with not only a good idea but pretty good execution.  In fact, some useful hints that might help you in many other contexts of your art life.  This week's designer is Dries Van Noten, who only inches away from the DIY feature had a shout-out for this strange outfit, but we won't hold that against him.

Photo and drawings -- New York Times

Today you're going to take a cotton T shirt and paint it with flowers.  In contrast to the skimpy directions usually found in this series, you're given extensive guidance on how to tape paper onto your work table

and how to put cardboard between the layers of the shirt so the paint doesn't bleed to the back.

The part that I like is the hints on how to paint the flowers.  You should draw three circles on the shirt, and for the artistically challenged, he suggests where to put them.

Yes, the drawing has right and left confused, but never mind.  Here comes the good part.

"Starting at the end of the line closest to the circle, paint a curved line in a fluid motion toward the other end of the line to create one side of the flower petal.  Repeat this step on the other side of the line.  The flower petal outline should resemble an elongated raindrop."  After you have turned all the straight lines into petals, "use the long edge of the sponge brush (dipped in paint) to place straight lines sporadically around the flowers to illustrate the stalk, pistil and stamen of the flower."

Then you draw some leaves "around and between the flowers to the three separate flowers connect into one fluid design.  The leaves can extend onto the top shoulder and upper arm of the shirt."

The illustrations, as always in the Designer DIY series, don't help much, but they do seem to tell you to use a brush when painting the flowers.

I like this advice on how to arrange and paint flowers.   (Previous designers in this series would have kissed this off by saying "now paint beautiful flowers all over your shirt!")  I've drawn a bazillion flowers in my life, and this advice about first sketching the straight midline of each petal and only then putting the curved edges around it would have greatly improved most of them. 

But I have one serious complaint about this feature: what it says about the paint.  It calls for "dispersion paint, in any contrast color."  What is dispersion paint, you might ask, as I did.  I googled and discovered that it's water plus solid particles of pigment.  But the google page is ominous, including such phrases as "stabilization of a pigment dispersion requires time and energy" and "paint physical properties (rheology, stability flocculations...) etc." and "the pigment agglomerates are broken up by flocculation/deflocculation" and linking to websites like coatings.specialchem.com.  

I somehow suspect the average NYTimes reader who hasn't had any experience painting on fabric might wonder what this means, and more to the point, wonder if anything already lurking around the house would work or if they need to buy something.  And if so, what they should buy.

Unlike every other consumer product that I have ever googled, when I type in "dispersion paint," the top of the results page does NOT show me five products available from amazon.  Which leads me to suspect that "dispersion paint" is a phrase the designer ran into once in art school but has never had the occasion to actually purchase or use. 

If I were editing this feature, I would have cut back on the third drawing of a paint brush amid a sea of flowers and said something like: "Use fabric paint if you have it; it can be heat-set and then washed, and will leave your shirt soft and drapable.  If not, use regular acrylic paint sold for crafts or kids' art projects; your shirt will be a little stiffer and will probably do better with hand-washing.  In a pinch, use house paint, but understand that your shirt will be a lot stiffer and more susceptible to cracking.  Don't use tempera paint or anything described as washable."  But then, I'm not writing these features.

As always, the watercolor of the finished project looks beautiful.  This time I think some of the actual projects will look pretty good too. 

 

Designer DIY -- for your vacation

Today's Designer D.I.Y. in the New York Times tells us how to make "A Vacation Accessory With a French Attitude."  I'm not planning any vacations in the near future, but maybe you are, so faites attention!  This week we're going to make a handbag from a square of fabric, as directed by Roland Mouret, apparently famous for this dress, this year's model of which you can get for $2650.  

Mouret used denim cut-offs for his 20-inch square of fabric but if you aren't willing to repurpose your pants, "a thick cotton-like denim works particularly well." (I wonder what cotton-like denim is really made of.)  No mention of how to cut the square if you are indeed using your pants, because where the seam falls will have some effect on the ease of construction.  But you'll certainly figure it out after your first square doesn't work.

A hallmark of the NYTimes series has always been confusing directions, and this installment does not disappoint.  Follow along, if you can:  "Lay your fabric square flat.  Taking two diagonally opposite corners, fold toward the middle with a significant overlap until a point is created at one of the remaining corners.  The fabric will now be in the shape of a kite.  Knot the corner of the fabric where the point has been created."

Illustrations from New York Times Thursday Styles

If you're a bit lost, consult the diagram.  Hmmm.  What do you see in the diagram?  If you're "taking two opposite corners," why are the two hands holding adjacent corners?  Which of the remaining corners is making the point?  Are you making a point from the corner in the left hand or the right hand?  Where is the kite shape?  Why are you folding the fabric in the first place?  If you want a point in one corner, why not just grab it and let the rest of the fabric hang?  

The next diagram shows you how to tie a knot.  Or gives an approximate impression of tying a knot, because it's not very clear what is what in this drawing.  But it's pretty.

Moving right along, now you repeat to make a point and knot in the opposite corner from the first one.  "This will be slightly more difficult now that the other corner is already knotted," the Times says, presumably because the knot somehow interferes with the unnecessary folding into an unnecessary kite shape.

Almost finished.  Now you take the two other corners and knot them together, if you can figure out how to make points without kite-shaped folding first.  (If you've forgotten how to tie a knot, here's another diagram.) 

"An optional step here is to place a foam or cardboard rectangle at the bottom of the bag to create a flat base.  If you wish, you can glue the base into place."  Hold on. Good luck on getting a piece of cardboard with glue on one side into the already knotted bag.  If you want a base, you really should have done it well before "here," shouldn't you?  Like before the first knot?  No hint on how big to cut the rectangle or how to place it on the big square, but here's where you get to be creative. 

Finally, you need a "heavy link chain or several long necklaces" for a handle.  Thread it or them through the knots at the two ends.  No guidance on how to do this, although "using a chain with a jewelry clasp is easiest as it will allow you to thread through the knots before closing the chain."  The only illustration of the finished bag, however, shows no clasp, just a single length of chain.  No hint on how to keep the ends of the chain from coming out of the knots.  No hint on what to do if you used "several long necklaces."  Be creative again.

You're done!  Mouret says the bag would go well "with wide leg trousers and a one-shoulder silk top for an al fresco drink with friends."  

Designer DIY returns!!

I know many of you, like I, have been bereft since the New York Times pulled the plug on its weekly Designer D.I.Y. feature.  Without it, how could we get ideas for how to produce sloppy, ramshackle low-tech craft items to adorn our bodies and homes?  If so, you will be happy to learn that D.I.Y is back in this week's issue, and it's every bit up to its previous standards.

This week's designer is Batsheva Hay, known for her "post-male-gaze prairie dress, an aesthetic that could perhaps be best described as ironic Amish."  I'm not sure what that means, but here's an example:

You will note that this dress is not one you would whip out on the sewing machine in a half hour.  It appears to be carefully made with standard garment-sewing techniques, which you would probably expect from a $400 outfit.  Hold that thought while we go to this week's project.

You're going to make yourself a dress out of your stash of "vintage Laura Ashley and Ralph Lauren pillowcases."  Batsheva explains that as a kid, she was showed by mom how to cut up old pillowcases that got holes in them.  

(I will pause for a minute to ask you how many pillowcases you have ever owned that got holes in them.  Sheets, yes, at the pressure points of toes and hands-grasping-below-the-chin, but pillowcases?  Perhaps her household was different.)

So assuming you have an old pillowcase lying around, you can turn it into a top.  It's easy -- and needle and thread are optional!

First make sure your pillowcase is wide enough to go around your torso.  I would recommend a tape measure, not a mirror.  I say this after more than one garment that looked like it fit in the store but didn't.  If it isn't big enough, get a second pillowcase, slice them both open on a side seam and sew them together "to your desired fit."

Now spread the case out on the table and "with the scissors, cut a neckline at the center of the closed end that's large enough to fit your head through.  Cut lines at the top of the left and right sides of the pillowcase large enough for your arms."

The second drawing shows how to hold a scissors, which may be helpful for some readers.

What do you want to bet that some people following these "directions" will (a) cut the neck hole too big, (b) cut the neck hole too small, (c) cut the front neckline too high or the back neckline too low, (d) cut the armholes to different lengths, and/or (e) not have the slightest idea how to get shoulder seams into the two-pillowcase combo that anybody with hip measurement more than 36" had to make?

If you didn't do any of the above, good news, "The top is basically finished."  But wait, if you want you can "sew the neck and arm holes neatly with a needle and thread or leave them raw, because that looks good, too."  Not sure exactly what you're doing when sewing the holes neatly -- overcasting? hemming? embroidering? but I'm sure people will figure out something.  (At least one person will probably sew the holes shut and then wonder why she can't put the top on.)

Hey, you can also add embellishments like buttons or trim!  

If that hasn't fulfilled your fashion wishes, Batsheva has another good idea -- add a skirt.  You can take another pillowcase, slit open the entire top end, step into it and pull it "up to where you would like it to rest, near your waist."  The designer, we're told parenthetically, "likes the skirt positioned a bit askew."  I think her wish will be amply fulfilled by the readers who get this far.

All drawings and photos from New York Times

"Using several safety pins, attach the two pillowcases together at the waist, adding a safety pin every inch or so, pinning all the way around."  

Do you worry that perhaps this "dress" will develop a few more holes the first time you try to sit down?  Especially since the safety pins aren't even positioned horizontally to get two pierces of the fabric instead of one?

Or perhaps you worry that if you wear this dress in public you will look like a 1930s urchin straight out of a cabin up the holler? 

The gauzy watercolor illustration of the dress looks pretty classy.  I suspect the actual dress, not so much.

Personally, I'd rather keep those vintage pillowcases as pillowcases, especially since you'll never be able to buy such good quality linens again at ten times what you paid for them back in the day.

Baby quilts 4 -- why I love stripes

In this baby quilt project I am trying to stick as much as possible with the fabrics that came from the children's great-great grandmother.  That means my box full of quilt blocks and a very small set of three-inch-wide strips (the red in the first quilt below), plus several yards of an indigo-and-white Japanese fabric printed with origami cranes.  As I have been making more and more quilts from this diminishing stash, I'm needing to augment the original fabrics -- but how to do so without changing the character of the quilts?

I have decided that the best way is to use either solids or stripes.  I'm a lover of striped fabrics, having made several huge quilts out of stripes.  Some time ago I panicked to discover that stripes had gone out of fashion at the fabric store, but was happy to find a lot online, and bought some of every single one available.  They fill three dresser drawers and ought to last me quite a while.

What I like about stripes is that they're graphic, and full of energy, and they seem to fit in with whatever other collection of fabrics you have already assembled.  They go with solids, they go with prints, they go with solids, pepping up whatever is there without being too assertive.  (But if you put them with other stripes, they go crazy!)

So I felt good about eking out my genuine Hawaiian-shirt blocks with stripes in my current project.

And stripes also make nice bindings.  (What else would go so well with large-scale tropical prints?)