Sew first, plan second

When Kathleen Loomis sat down to write her book about designing quilts she must have had a lot of fun because this book is chock-a-block full of hints and happiness. She has taken a simple traditional block, the Rail Fence block, and turned it on its ear. Never will you see so many variations of striped blocks.

Not only is Kathleen a master quilter, she is also a seasoned teacher and writer. She speaks to my heart when she says Sew First, Plan Second. I've never been patient enough to sit down and plan, map and build a quilt. The few times that I did that the life went out of my studio. I felt like I was a prisoner wrapped in freezer paper. Just can't do it. Kathleen's experimental layouts and clear diagrams of different settings make thinking about your own design as simple as, well, jumping a fence.

But wait! There are bonus sections. Kathleen generously gives us some very sage advise on choosing colors, mixing values and using focus fabrics. Hints for assembly give us a hint on how she approaches her own work. Her questions and answers will serve beginners and experienced quilters alike.

So, if you are also impatient to get it going, take a look at this book. Through easy to follow diagrams, samples and questions, Kathleen will make designing your own quilt an easy and exciting new venture.

See Kathleen's blog here.
See her award-winning work here.

Reading through Kathleen's book these past couple of days made me get out some of those scrap rail fence blocks in my stash. I think I may have moved too fast! Maybe I need to re-read a couple of chapters.

Here is one of Kathleen's rail fence quilts, this one all in plaid.

tool kit and two weeks

I am preparing for an artist's residency at the Indiana National Lakeshore in September. Rounding up the essential tools is actually a bit challenging. Do I need my sewing machine? Should I bring my computer? How much fabric? Will I work on new ideas or bring an existing project?

Can I cut fabric without my self sealing mat and t-square? Should I focus on ideas rather than production? Will I be able to change my focus from my studio practice to a more free-wheeling experiential style?

They are all good questions. But the answers won't be clear until I get there. So I have narrowed the selection down to these essential hand tools: Black and white YLI thread, chalk marker, machinger gloves, Mr. Tweezerman tweezers, an assortment of hand needles including two self-threading versions, rotary cutter (and blades), fabric pencil, seam ripper, scissors in two sizes, silicone thimble, extra bobbins and my phone for recording images. Those will all fit in a small bag.

I won't bring the t-square but I will take a small mat to cut on. I will bring linen napkins to use for compositions, some white and black Kona cotton, a roll of cotton batting and my sewing machine. I'll borrow my husband's laptop so that I can still upload photos and write my journal. I won't have a design wall, a fabric stash or large cutting and ironing tables. I won't have my day-to-day routine or chores to do to keep the studio and house going. 

I will have new horizons, new climate, new input. Turning the head to a different focus is a good thing.

details

Working on the last bits of a piece can be like standing in line at a government bureaucracy. Tedious buzzing calculations — how many more stitches for that one last line of stitching? Will the employee behind the counter tell me I am in the wrong line after standing (im)patiently for an hour in the first line? Can the exhibit use a staple gun to put my piece up instead of me having to stitch a sleeve to the back?  Tedious buzzing reminders that this is a slow art.

Tying this piece every two inches with crochet thread has given it a new dimension as well as a blister on my left middle finger.

I start to question my sanity when I work on little details for days on end and then tear half of them away. Or when I decide to add another layer to an already complicated collage. Is this layering saying something about my state of mind? Short answer: yes.

Pollinators is an assemblage of details tied together with details.

The rewards? Meditation, escape, complexity, depth, and mystery. I let the thread lead me.

This piece on nuclear arms testing had to have some olive branches drifting to the edge.

Breakthrough

Threw away the fence. 

Tired of forcing it. Then I went to yoga and had a vision. 70 years of nuclear testing, 70 years of throwing radioactive junk into the atmosphere and water, 70 years of trying to figure out how we live in peace as neighbors. 

So I spent the day throwing blobs of acrylic ink at it. 

I'm feeling much better. Thank you, Japanese artist Isao Hashimoto (click on his name to see the video he produced).

The fence will come in handy somewhere else. For now I am focusing on finishing.

All fenced in. Now what?

The completed tulle and silver thread fence for my refugee project is ready for final attachment to the piece -- which starts a new inner dialog. Is it too pretty? What the &%#! does it mean? And where do I go from here?

For some reason this simple cloth has challenged me at each stage (see other articles here and here). Should I do a map (again)? How does pretty influence meaning? What do other people see in the work? What did I mean by the piece in the first place? And the second place? and the third?

Have I lost the string?

View fullsize

The tulle and silver thread weaving creates the look I was after, a fence that supersedes the space it defines.

I think I am closer with this iteration. But I will still look at it with peripheral vision for a while just to be sure. I know this: It's too pretty. It may need to be three-dimensional. It may need to float in space. There needs to be strife. Meanwhile, some detail shots for your consideration. Tell me what you see?

These olive branches on the edges of the original tablecloth were part of the reason I used the cloth. I haven't yet figured out how they will connect to the primary image.