Here is a little quilt that I made about seven years ago completely by hand. I made it with friends and it took forever because I spent more time talking and eating than sewing most weeks. We were learning the art of quilting from a very patient woman who watched us all take months to complete what should have been weekend projects. Actually, I had been helping my grandmother sew quilts from the time I could hold a needle, but I decided to play it dumb since no one else knew a single thing about it. It's little and it's well made, cute and sweet.
I like it on some levels. It's earth tones and I designed the pattern myself. But looking at it is as powerful as looking at a photo to me. Not only is my home decor not really quiltish but I can't hang it because I feel like I would be hanging a diary page. No one else would see it, of course, but I can't bear the thought of displaying what is so intensely personal.
When I look at these four little squares I see the events going on in my life at the time that I made it. What a year that was. Hubby lost his job and his dad lost his fight with cancer. My son was diagnosed with autism, and we left the church that we had attended for years. We had met and married at that church. It was not a bad place but I found that after I graduated college I couldn't fit in with the adults. I guess you were supposed to give up those quaint little adolescent efforts at being yourself and conform.
I am soooo bad at conforming.
It wasn't until a year later that we struggled with our infertility issues but for some reason I see that in the fabric too. That doesn't mean that I see it and feel sad. Actually I see those warm colors and feel like a war veteran. I feel like anyone looking at that quilt would need me to lay out all of the events behind it so that they would understand the significance of it. Everyone would need to know that I survived that year and those events and still made something beautiful.
Quilts are personal things, I have always heard. In the past they were often made from old clothes and had history from that. There are prayer quilts and heritage quilts, quilts that commemorate events. They take a long time to make and they tell a story from your point of view. It will rarely mean more to anyone else than it does to the actual maker and everyone reads the story a different way. People admire the colors, the patterns and general craftsmanship, flaws are even sought out because they bring humanity to fabric. If the quilter chooses they can tell the back story, but even that changes with memory. That I think, makes quilts very unique. What other kind of art form can do all of that and still be carried around by a child, warm you on the couch, be used by the pets or decorate your bed.
There is another art form that I admire and strive to learn. You can carry it anywhere, to the beach, the theater or restaurant. Kids can have it, barring adult cover or content. They can be about pets and their care or adventure or romance or anything else that can be thought of. If there is a quilt warming you on the couch they are an excellent accompaniment. They even do well in a relaxing bath if you have good hands and won't drop it. Books have colors and craftsmanship, patterns and flaws. They have back stories that only the author knows. Everyone reads a story and plays it in their head through their own unique filter. They are admired and criticized, displayed and collected.
Both make a home and both have their own way of carrying history. Long and involved to craft, they require hours and days and months of care. I wonder if there are ever conferences that get quilters and authors together. Probably not, unless it is an author that has written about quilts. But maybe there should be. I'd bet they have lots in common.
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