Border Crossings

What a week. They've piled so much on me at work that my shoulders ache. This is usually not a problem (at least not too much of one), but for some reason this week I've felt utterly exhausted. I can barely drag myself through the day. Does that mean I haven't worked on arts & crafts? HA. I wouldn't be posting if that were the case, because I would be dead. That's the only thing that will stop me from picking up a paintbrush or flicking on the sewing machine stitch.

I'm traversing a strange border between traditional and art quilting. Or maybe, several borders: sort of a Four Corners of the art world, where traditional quilting, art quilting, painting, and collaging meet. Maybe this will make more sense if I post what I've been working on this week:

1) I found a great book called Creative Embellishments: For Paper, Jewelry, Fabric and More, by Sherrill Kahn. Kahn's work is vibrant and inspiring, and even though I've created many of the embellishments she demonstrates in the book--fabric beads, paper beads, shrink-tags, angelina fibers--the ways she puts them to use in her art are wonderful. I made bead-wrapped beads, yarn-wrapped pipe cleaners, and melted-plastic & thread shapes. Then I was inspired to paint a canvas and add embellishments to it.

2) I'm trying to finish up something practical: placemats for the breakfast-room table. I find it fascinating that my house is completely decorated in these muted earth-tones, yet my art is much more vibrant and contains lots of blues, greens, and purples. The only blue in my house is painted on the walls of my craft room, which is a holdover from when it was my grandson's room. I whine every day about how I should have repainted it before filling the room up with so much stuff.

3) I'm painting fabric. Not just painting as in coloring it with fabric paints, but actually painting on top of that with geometrics, flowers, whatever pops into my head.

4) I've started a miniature art quilt; not really an art quilt, more like a practice art quilt (I'll post a pic soon; battery is dead on the camera). I dislike the design intensely and am debating on whether I should cut the center section (which I like) out and reattach other fabric as borders, or whether I should push along until its done. Sometimes I hate something 1/2-way through, but then end up loving it by the time I've finished futzing with it.

Is this more of my inability to focus on any one thing for too long? I like to think that all these interests will one day converge into something that fits nicely with who I am and what I love; maybe a little border-town of creativity that draws from the best of many worlds (and harbors a few eccentric characters and a couple of crazy outlaws; but what's art without them?). For now, I'm traversing back and forth across the borders of my various interests, but the lines are starting to blur a bit. Sometimes, if you're not paying attention, southern Texas looks just like northern Mexico, and quilting begins to look a little like painting, and vice-versa.

Off the Beaten Path

Sometimes I get frustrated with myself because I feel like I'm a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none. I always have a ton of projects going at any one time. The good thing about that is that I'm never bored . . . .

I started my drawing class last Saturday and have only had one lesson, but my drawing has already improved dramatically. This is not due to any innate talent on my part--drawing is very hard for me, but the instructor says she loves teaching this class because students see rapid improvements. I tried to do one drawing every day this week (although it was a hectic week so I did miss one or two days).

I'm still trying to work in my art journal occasionally. Earlier this year, I spent a solid month working every day in an art journal, and at the end of that time I had a collection of drawings, paintings, collages, and other crafty endeavors that I was really proud of--not because of the quality, but because I let myself be free and play and experiment. I still have an art journal handy to "catch" leftover paint, thoughts, and doodles. The background on this page was some leftover Setacolor paint I had used on fabric; I couldn't throw it away, so I slapped it in the journal. This week I drew the flowers, inked them (India ink is fabulous! It's waterproof, so once it dries you can keep painting over it), then added watercolors on top.

I've also been reading whenever I get a chance. I'm still working my way through Alice Hoffman novels. I've now read Seventh Heaven, Turtle Moon, and Blue Diary, and I've started Here on Earth. I managed to slip in an Anita Shreve novel a couple of weeks ago (Body Surfing); I was wary, because I've been so disappointed with her last couple of books, but this one was pretty good.

All in all a fairly satisfying reading season, until I got to the book I just finished: Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. This pushed my reading experience right over the top. It was the most amazing book I've read in a long time (maybe ever?). It's non-fiction, and Gilbert describes the year she spent in Italy, India, and Indonesia (Bali, specifically). It's beautifully written, engaging, intriguing, uplifting, and inspiring. I'm buying a copy for everyone I love.

One for the Dog

When I was young and my Mom made pancakes, she would always say the first one was "for the dog," which was confusing at those times when we didn't have a dog. Nevertheless, what she meant was that, while the pancake was edible (I know, I snuck a bite once), it was the tester. It might look ugly, or be a little too doughy in the center, or maybe too tough. It was the one that she wouldn't serve to anyone because it always took one pancake to get everything right: the heat, the batter, the cooking time. But everyone knew the dog wouldn't care, and would love the pancake--no matter what it looked like, no matter that it might be a little under or over done.

I think the same thing happens in quilting.

This isn't my first quilt. The first one was blessed with a great deal of beginner's luck, I think, and when I gave it to my DP she swore it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The second one was for my 7-year old grandson, who would probably eat the first pancake without even commenting on it, were I to serve it to him.

But I'm running out of people to give my quilts to who love me so much that they oooh and aaaah and get all shivery at my gift and pretend like there isn't a single thing wrong with the quilt. And believe me, there is plenty wrong with this quilt. Too much to list here in detail--or maybe I just can't bear the humiliation of pointing out every flaw in detail in such a public forum. Let me just say that I understand now why trimming blocks may not be such a good idea (especially when I'm no better at trimming blocks than I am at piecing them); and that yes, I probably should take that machine quilting class, if for no other reason than to learn how to correctly set my tension so that my top thread doesn't "bleed through" to the back fabric where I've free-motion quilted.

So, that just leaves the dog. In this case, the dog is Max (short for Maxine), who seems to like the quilt almost as much as she does pancakes. She doesn't seem to mind in the least that her new quilt has quite a few flaws. And, we both agree that she looks very nice perched on the quilt.

By the way: I said a month ago that I wasn't making any more pieced-block quilts; instead, I was going back to freeform, patternless quilt-making as with my first quilt. What I discovered is that I really don't like block quilts, but they're good for me. I can practice cutting, seaming, and pressing, and I know when I'm off because my blocks are off. I still don't know how NOT to be off, but at least I know I need a lot more work in those areas. So maybe I will occasionally make a block quilt, like this one--or better yet, not like this one, but like one that is right. I only have so many dogs.

Friendly Natives

After my drawing class this morning (which was fun; we drew hands and feet. Either my foot is very ugly or my drawing is--or both), I stopped by The Quilt Store on Anderson Ln. in Austin. Everyone was very nice and offered assistance. They have a wonderful array of fabrics, and tons of fat quarters and 1/2 yards. I bought a lot of 1/2 yards of batiks to play with. I'll definitely go back! They've restored my faith in quilt shops.

Unfriendly Natives

I visited a quilt shop for the first time yesterday. Well, not the first time ever--last year at this time we were in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and a charming little quilt shop in a charming little square beckoned to me. From outside, the fabric colors looked like candy, and I couldn't resist stepping inside to run my hand across the bolts of cloth. I was enchanted by the beautiful mix of colors in the bundles of fat quarters; at the time, I had no idea why these little squares of fabric were mixed and bundled together, but I loved them.

Several months ago, we were having lunch in Salado, and my DP pointed out that the quilt shop next door might have that mini-iron I needed for melting crayons and chunks of wax. The quilts on display were amazing, and once again, I tried desperately to think of something I could with these beautiful pieces of cloth--something, of course, that didn't require sewing.

I guess I should say that this was the first time I visited a quilt shop since I've been quilting. We had been to Reunion Ranch in Georgetown for my DP's company picnic, and heading back, she exclaimed, "hey, it's a quilt shop!" Not that she has any interest in things crafty--in fact, her standard response when I just "drop by" Michael's or Jo Ann's or Hobby Lobby for that one that thing I desperately need is, "I'll wait in the car. Take your time." But, as I've written here before, she's incredibly supportive and never complains that I'm spending us into destitution with my hobbies.

So I whipped into a service station, fed a couple of quarters into the air/water machine, and proceeded to wash my feet. We had been gifted with a huge thunderstorm at Reunion Ranch during the picnic. Yes, I know "gifted" seems like a bizarre word to use, but typically it's in the mid- to upper-90s at this time, and we dread the picnic because we know we'll sweat buckets and come close to passing out from heat exhaustion. This year, we ended up huddled together--all 300 or so of us--on the covered pavillion, shivering as the temperature dropped into the low 70s. It was wonderful. Slogging through the mud to get back to the car was less wonderful, and we rinsed out sandaled feet with bottled water well enough to drive home.

A visit to a guilt shop, though, required more care. After my feet and shoes were spotless, I brushed my hair, since it had curled up in the rain and was alternately stringy and springy. I checked my mascara to make sure it hadn't run. I felt like I was getting ready for a date. We turned around and headed to the quilt shop. The minute I stepped into the shop, I was magically rendered invisible. Women were chatting at the cutting table about fabrics and quilt guilds and piecing. I was lost for a while in amazement at all the beautiful material. Before, it had just been pretty stuff; now, my mind was whirling, imaging various patterns and colors in finished quilts. I wandered and fondled and occasionally glanced up to offer a perky smile to the shop staff, but they were always busy greeting someone who had just walked through the door.

I thought at first maybe they all knew each other; Georgetown is fairly small and has always seemed like a friendly place. We drive the 20 minutes from Round Rock every couple of weeks to visit the shops or eat at Monument Cafe. But that didn't seem to be the case.

I wished I had some of my UFOs with me, because I was certain I would find the exact thing I needed here to turn them into lovely, finished quilts. I picked up a beautiful bundle of fat quarters and shivered a little at the price, but thought about all the amazing things I could with them. At that moment, I glanced up and saw one of the shop's staff in her perky little apron eyeing me. She turned away to greet a woman who had just walked in. I put the bundle back and left.

I'm still baffled by this treatment. Even coming from a rained-out picnic and wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and sandles, I'm pretty sure I don't look destitute, nor like a shoplifter. I wonder if I somehow offended them by allowing my 7-year old, 1/2-Hispanic grandson to accompany me into the store, after gentle reminders not to touch anything. He took one look around, didn't see anything that interested him, and headed back to the car to wait with his Mimi. I wonder if they sensed that I'm a lesbian and that the beloved waiting for me wasn't a DH, but a DP. But most people assume I'm straight, so I really didn't think that was it. I wondered if there was some secret sign I was supposed to have flashed to let them know that I was a fledgling quilter. Mostly, I wondered why I felt snubbed. The only thing I'm certain about is that I won't go back, and that this shop won't be helping divest me of my disposable income for the next several years.

I'm headed this morning to a drawing class I've signed up for. It's in the opposite direction from Round Rock--south to Austin rather than north to Georgetown. I think I'll stop by a different quilt shop on the way home, and see if the natives there are any friendlier.

Littered Landscapes

I convinced myself, when I began quilting, that I would never be plagued with these things quilters call "UFOs"--unfinished objects.

Never mind the piles and boxes of glass projects waiting to be "finished" in the workshop.

Never mind the stacks of hand-painted paper, embellished journal covers, and 1/2-finished collages in the craft room.

Quilting would be different. For one thing, I wasn't going to buy a lot of fabric just because it was calling my name and begged to be part of a stash on a shelf or crammed into a cubby. For another, I really needed to focus on all the skills required to complete a quilt, from cutting to piecing to quilting to binding. Quilting would be my methodical hobby, where I started and completed projects in sequence.

HA.

I have a drawer full of painted and dyed fabric, but that can be easily justified: it's just more stash, waiting for the perfect project to come along. What haunts me more are the pieced blocks of various fabrics littering my dining room table (re-designated now as the sewing station); the quilt top that is waiting for backing & batting and machine quilting (that I'm afraid I'll ruin with my fledgling and amateurish machine-quilting skills); the beautiful harmonic convergence 22" square that refuses to cooperate and harmonize with any border fabric. And now, this convergence piece, made from two pieces of cotton brought to life with Setacolor and sunprinted. I have no idea what to do with it. Every day, I study it as if the next step will come to me if I just concentrate hard enough. I ponder adding borders, cutting it up to use as fabric journal covers, cutting it into horizontal strips and re-converging them. Nothing.

I'm not quite ready to relegate it to the UFO pile yet. But I can already feel the beginnings of wanderlust, the desire to open the drawers in my little stash cabinets and start laying out fabrics for the next project.