Briefly Gorgeous (my mended quilts)

Sunshine and shadow quilt 1987, given to my father for his 70th bithday in 1993
He went horizontal on it throughout the day and wore the fabrics out. 
I began mending it with velvet when I visited him, until he passed away in 2017.
I finished mending it in 2022 and the family loves to use it for comfort.

My sister got married in 1976 and I made her a quilt from new fabrics.  It is my second-ever quilt and is very badly made.  It started to fall apart from age, but also because of my beginner quilt making skills.
I asked her to give it back to me so that I could mend it and plan to use velvet this time too.
I hope to finish it by July as that would mark her 50th anniversary.

 

I Saw A Butterfly is a quilt I made in 1988
and gave to our middle daughter when she went to university.
It became very soft with use and the fabrics and batting were disintegrating, so first I taught her how to mend it, and then I finished mending it myself in 2022.  (with velvet of course)

Sometimes I mend quilts that I didn't make myself, and that is the case for this one.  It was a white whole cloth quilt, beautifully stitched with thick blue thread in a hearts and flowers pattern.  
I replaced the distingrated batting with two kinds of wool batting, one of which would felt, and I also replaced the white backing with a rayon and silk one dyed with plants.  
Poet in Love, mended 2022

There were many holes in the quilt and so I covered them with large brightly coloured velvet circles and ovals.  When I quiltedthe piece, I followed the original blue threads.  And then put the piece into the washer and the distortion happened. 
Poet in Love  Mended (or something like that) in 2022 

I made the dresden plates in the early 80's, probably 1982, and appliqued them to a white background made from old sheets.  We used the long rectangular quilt as a lawn blanket for sun bathing for a long time but when the white background fell apart, I unpicked the plates and appliqued them to squares of naturally dyed wool and silk.  I like how the plates are so faded and pastel, they are remnants from my high school and newly-wed sewing projects.  Those that disintegrated have been replaced with, you guessed it, velvet.  I finished mending You are a Single Star in 2024.

We've been using You Are a Single Star on our bed, and it has been lovely.  Large and heavy.

But just this week I discovered that the backing cloth is wearing out.  
The backing cloth is an old damask table linen that was mailed to me from a Canadian textile artist who was decluttering her studio.  I loved it because of its softness, and that quality gave me the title for my Festival of Quilts exhibition in 2024, Softer and Dreamier.  Now, I see that the backing cloth is fading away.  It is disappearing. 

But part of the reason why I think that quilts are such an important and profound art medium is because they are like the human body and will not last forever.  The fact that they carry their own death with them all the time, even while they care for my loved ones and are so beautiful while doing that, is what makes them authentic and meaningful for me.

Quilts are, to borrow from novelist Ocean Vuong, who wrote the exquisite book in 2019,
 Briefly Gorgeous.   
When I mend quilts, I am continuing the work of these visible, touchable documents about care.
I may be able to extend the life of them for 50 years or so if I used new cloth,
but cloth eventually gets old and wears out, no matter what we do.

a tisket a tasket

I'm getting very side-tracked with my grandomther's basket quilt.
I worked on it for most of Monday, our first day home after Mexico trip.

I thought of mending each square before working on it.
nah

I questioned why I felt that I needed to do anything with it.
I tried to do something with it back in 2007 and ended up making a paper quilt.
Folded the real one up for twelve more years.

The thing is, it's quite badly made.

Machine stitching is mixed with hand stitching - and this is for both applique and the quilting.
It's as if my grandmother, my mother's mother, didn't know what she was doing.
She was just going for it

 I think she stopped working on it because she didn't know how to proceed.

I've been told that I am a lot like her...and handling these patches makes me feel her more closely.
She's right here.
She doesn't mind that I decided to cut her work up.
She's glad that I am working with it.
She was an amazing gardener.  and painter.

This always happens to me when I come home from a trip.
I'm faced with a house FULL of artifacts of our long life together,
and I start to put everything in order.

By making new things out of them!  It's so foolish. 

What I need to do is turn my back on it all and get back to me.
pure me....moving forward.

But instead I wallow in my - our- past.
My grandmother's quilt is just a passing phase.  I will get over it.
But for now, it is what I'm working on.

I'm thinking of treating the patched and mended piece like a Japanese boro
densely stitched with big threads.
Lord, save me from myself.

The physical act of making is a way of clearing the mind from demands of the outside world.  Somewhere between the heart and the mind is a state of concentration out of which ideas and insights emerge. 
Mary Jane Jacobs 

Alicia Henry

I went back to the Powerplant last week to see Alicia Henry's powerful exhibition, Witnessing for the second time.

 "Henry creates two-dimensional singular figures and group compositions that are commanding in their grace and expressiveness. "

 "Tender renditions of mother and child appear, as do groupings of more females that signifiy formations of families within communities"

 "Through their direct gaze and erect composure, Henry's multigenerational survivors exude a powerful strength and confidence.  They stand in anticipation of an egalitarian future - a utopian goal that underpins much of Henry's work"

 I am visiting the Powerplant in Toronto more this year because our daughter April (in above photo to demonstrate the gigantic scale of these wall mounted figures) is working right next door at Harbourfront craft and design studios as a resident artist this year.

I want to share the powerful simplicity and the confident handling of materials by Alicia Henry.  I was really moved and inspired by this exhibition. 

All text in quotes is from the pamphlet provided by The Power Plant.