I’ve been immersed in a new project for a few weeks, exploring
a quilting technique called portrait quilting. Totally engaged, I think about
it constantly and work on it feverishly. That some of the work is purely mental
doesn’t detract from my focus on the project. What is it about a new idea that
won’t leave us alone once it arrives?
It’s all about the joy, for me, of discovery and
invention. In that regard, today’s post is a cousin of my April 6th
post, The Art of the Dilettante. There
I said, “[Dilettante] applies to the lover of an art rather than its skilled
practitioner. It usually implies elegant trifling in the arts and an absence of
serious commitment.”
But a lack of formal commitment doesn’t mean you can’t
surprise yourself — even the first time you try something.
My latest adventure in quilting started because Women in
the Visual and Literary Arts (WiVLA) opened the registration for its
forthcoming collaboration show. Every other year, visual artists and writers
work together to create companion pieces around a theme set by WiVLA.
Working with another person stimulates the brain and
creative centers, leading you into new ideas and novel thinking. I’ve been in a
dozen or so WiVLA collaborations over the years and have enjoyed the experience
every time. Sometimes I join as a writer; other times as a visual artist.
Either way is immensely rewarding.
This year the theme is Wild. Wow, that opens up a lot of
possibilities, doesn’t it? I thought about Wild after they announced it, but it
didn’t resonate with me at first. Then a friend, a wonderful, award-winning poet,
asked for a visual artist to partner with. Working with Sandi would be a singular
opportunity; I decided to jump in.
Making that decision immediately engaged my brain and turned
on feverish thoughts as soon my head hit the pillow that night. Instead of
drifting off, I drifted down a river of ideas until one whacked me on the side
of the head. Wham—a moment of brilliance hit me.
When I shared it with Sandi, she saw it too: what could
be wilder than the two of us—her
21, me 18—in 1968,
engaged in a world vibrant with potential, opportunity, and contradiction? We
had a vision and I had an inspiration.
During those tender years of college, someone took a long-shot
photo of me walking with a friend. Striding is the better word. Oblivious to
the photographer, I moved forward with confidence and chutzpah that I probably
hadn’t earned. The world was mine for the taking and I intended to grab it.
That young woman, that me I can barely remember nearly
60 years later, would be the centerpiece of my artwork for the show. But how could
I turn a black and white photograph, a little fuzzy around the edges, into a
quilt? I started researching portrait quilts.
I’ve seen them at quilt shows. They always seemed out of
my reach, too intricate and detailed for me to accomplish. Although intrigued,
I never tried to make one. But now, a portrait required making, so I had to learn
how. I dove into YouTube tutorials, only to find myself overwhelmed by the
sheer volume of information.
Serendipity struck. My quilt guild offered a portrait
quilt class in two weeks! I signed up immediately, followed the instructions
for preliminary preparations, and girded my loins for the experience.
The teacher, Deb Atchison, did an exemplary job of
teaching the craft, the value layers technique, using a method developed by
Shannon Brinkley. I’ll spare you the details, but it is a way of seeing an
image in distinct layers that can be translated into fabrics. Learning to see
my younger self through those layers felt strangely intimate — as if I were
rediscovering her piece by piece.
I’ve spent many hours working on 1968 me and I am
tremendously pleased with the result. Now I am back in the groove of midnight
cogitating about the best background to surround her with. I want to show the
vibrancy, the potentiality, the wildness of 1968.
And what a contradiction 1968 was—from the summer of love to the civil rights
movement, from women’s lib to anti-war protests, from riots at the Democratic National
Convention to assassinations of the best of us. And I need to capture this, in
fabric, on my sewing machine!
How can this not be a joyful, invigorating experience? How
could I miss the chance to engage my brain and my skills in this endeavor? I
surrender to the joy of creativity and add a prayer that when I’m finished,
something else will grab me in its teeth and shake me out of my daily humdrum.
What’s tugging at your imagination these days — and how
might you coax it into the world?
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My mother always says, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I agree.