I’ve spent the last couple of days turning some patchwork blocks into a quilt top. I’d made the blocks by hand in class, the last of them has 2005 embroidered on it, I remember stitching it on the day of the London Tube Bombings on the 7th July. What I’ve done won’t win me any prizes. It was a rumpled rag-bag that I found, all wonky odd sizes, poor colour scheme, non-matching points. The most surprising thing about the work is the lavender colour scheme. It’s not a colour I have anywhere about the house, neither is it one of my favourites. As I stitched today, I puzzled over what had made me choose it, reluctantly attributing my poor health at the time to the poor choice of a feature fabric of lavender heartsease.
My Mum rang to talk to me about Nan’s armchair. It is a jazzy raiser recliner that I bought for my Nan at a time that she was so ill she couldn’t get up to walk to her bedroom. She used the chair to sleep in for several months while we tried to come to terms with the possibility that old ladies in their nineties may not need chairs for long. When I paid the bill, we talked as a family about how little use the chair might get. Five years on, and my Mum was ringing to say that the chair was broken and that she had replaced it with an ordinary fireside chair as Nan, long since back on her pins, no longer uses the rise or recline. We celebrated that Nan had confounded us and outlasted the chair.
It was then that I remembered that heartsease is my Nan’s favourite flower, and that I had chosen the soft colours with her in mind, hoping as I stitched that she might have use of the finished article. I have a week or so to get it done before I go down to visit, with the reasonable hope that although she is ninety-nine (and a half, she points out that if you are under ten and over ninety the halves are important) she will see another five years and wear it out.
Showing posts with label sewing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sewing. Show all posts
Friday, 16 July 2010
Monday, 14 June 2010
UfOs and WIPs
Stitching is a great hobby. I don’t generally feel the need to write about it because to do it is an end in itself. I like hand stitching best, and my favourite things are patchwork and freestyle embroidery. In the past, I did loads of cross stitch, made clothes for children, and took a massive C&G creative embroidery course. Like most people who sew, I do most of the work as gifts, so aside from my overstocked work room, you wouldn’t know that I spend around 20 hours a week with a needle in my hand.
Another thing I have in common with almost all fellow stitchers is that I have masses of UfOs (that’s Unfinished Objects). Sometimes they’re unfinished because the project just isn’t working out (I could write a book on desasters in felt-making), sometimes because I’ve lost half the materials or the instructions (I have enough lavender quilt blocks to make a double sized quilt, but it was a class project from five years ago and I’ve lost the instructions for making up), more often though, I’ve just gone off the colour. The most dangerous thing is to get hold of a new book with nice pictures. That tends to get me all excited by a new idea and before I know what’s happened, I’m on to a new project and my WIP (Work In Progress) is a dusty UfO.
I have two current WIPs. One English patchwork that I’ve been on for a few weeks. A simple design that I stitch while watching TV. It will be a quilt for H, and I’m allowing myself two years to complete it. The other is Nina’s college quilt. I started it when I was poorly and it was put away as a UfO for a few years (I went off the colour and lost a template). When I got it back out, I decided that the colours weren’t too bad, so I started to experiment to see if I could re-make the template. Nina saw it and fell in love with it, so it became her quilt. It has to be completed by September. I’m quilting it at the moment, so if I keep working as I have been, it will be ready.
Trouble is, I have a UfO that is coming to mind. It’s one I started three years ago, intending it to be for myself to take to Cornwall when I was looking after my Nan. It is a machine sewn patchwork and I ran out of time to complete it, not wanting to take my machine with me, so it has remained in a carrier bag, sewn into strips, the strips ready to be joined, border added, quilted and bound and then it would be done. I got to thinking about it because Nick’s Dad is poorly and feeling the cold even though it is summer. I’m not sure about the colours though, spring green, yellow, sherbet orange, purple and white. 1950’s repro prints. Too girlie for an 82 year old man? Nick says it would be OK, Nina says not. Does it have to be blues and browns for boys? Wouldn’t it be quicker to just buy him a throw from the supermarket and pop that in the post? I’m fighting the compulsion to get some fabrics out and try them against what I have so far. It’s getting harder to stop myself though. I’ve already looked at the shelves. There’s a dark green leaf design that isn’t girlie, and a spots on sherbet that’s geometric. I could go with a plain yellow.
Poor Nina. I’d better quilt extra fast, otherwise she might have a cold time in Swansea.
In other, non sewing related news, I’ve booked the B&B in Edinburgh. Tania Guest House on Minto Street. £70 per night. I could hear Mrs Roscilli sing ker-ching and do a little dance.
Another thing I have in common with almost all fellow stitchers is that I have masses of UfOs (that’s Unfinished Objects). Sometimes they’re unfinished because the project just isn’t working out (I could write a book on desasters in felt-making), sometimes because I’ve lost half the materials or the instructions (I have enough lavender quilt blocks to make a double sized quilt, but it was a class project from five years ago and I’ve lost the instructions for making up), more often though, I’ve just gone off the colour. The most dangerous thing is to get hold of a new book with nice pictures. That tends to get me all excited by a new idea and before I know what’s happened, I’m on to a new project and my WIP (Work In Progress) is a dusty UfO.
I have two current WIPs. One English patchwork that I’ve been on for a few weeks. A simple design that I stitch while watching TV. It will be a quilt for H, and I’m allowing myself two years to complete it. The other is Nina’s college quilt. I started it when I was poorly and it was put away as a UfO for a few years (I went off the colour and lost a template). When I got it back out, I decided that the colours weren’t too bad, so I started to experiment to see if I could re-make the template. Nina saw it and fell in love with it, so it became her quilt. It has to be completed by September. I’m quilting it at the moment, so if I keep working as I have been, it will be ready.
Trouble is, I have a UfO that is coming to mind. It’s one I started three years ago, intending it to be for myself to take to Cornwall when I was looking after my Nan. It is a machine sewn patchwork and I ran out of time to complete it, not wanting to take my machine with me, so it has remained in a carrier bag, sewn into strips, the strips ready to be joined, border added, quilted and bound and then it would be done. I got to thinking about it because Nick’s Dad is poorly and feeling the cold even though it is summer. I’m not sure about the colours though, spring green, yellow, sherbet orange, purple and white. 1950’s repro prints. Too girlie for an 82 year old man? Nick says it would be OK, Nina says not. Does it have to be blues and browns for boys? Wouldn’t it be quicker to just buy him a throw from the supermarket and pop that in the post? I’m fighting the compulsion to get some fabrics out and try them against what I have so far. It’s getting harder to stop myself though. I’ve already looked at the shelves. There’s a dark green leaf design that isn’t girlie, and a spots on sherbet that’s geometric. I could go with a plain yellow.
Poor Nina. I’d better quilt extra fast, otherwise she might have a cold time in Swansea.
In other, non sewing related news, I’ve booked the B&B in Edinburgh. Tania Guest House on Minto Street. £70 per night. I could hear Mrs Roscilli sing ker-ching and do a little dance.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Quilt, Herring Herring, Quilt. Part 1: Quilt
Monday was a chance for me to indulge in the two obsessions that cost me the most pocket money in the last couple of years: the comedian Richard Herring, and patchwork quilts. I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep the night before. There can’t be many people who would be so overcome by the thought of some old bedding and an internet sketch show. Just as well I’m not a fan of Metallica and cocaine. I may need to get my life into perspective.
Quilts is a temporary exhibition at the V&A museum, London. I was looking forward to seeing for real the work that I had only seen in books. They had many famous historical pieces on display, as well as some contemporary art. I’ve been thinking a lot about stitching lately. The stars quilt that is Nina’s going-to-college gift is sandwiched now. I hope that the back is square with the front, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to tell. It would help if the front was even, but it isn’t and there’s no way of correcting it now. The star quilt didn’t start out as something for Nina. I think I began it three or four years ago, with the vague thought that it might be a sofa throw (it has dark blue in it that was intended to go with the living room). Mostly it began because I wanted to have something to do with my hands while I watched TV, the top is kite shapes worked around papers cut from old envelopes and junk mail. As I went on with it, Nina took to it, so we decided it could be hers. She picked the fabric for the borders and back.
At the exhibition, I was struck most by the volume of people. It was an unremarkable Monday and yet the rooms were crowded, mostly with women. In the way in which, the other day, I realised I was now on the upper age demographic for New Look, so I realised here that I was at last within the median. I’m not used to that. Until now, I’ve been about the youngest at every sewing event I’ve attended. It was quite nice not to stand out. Although I was overtired, having been badly affected by soporific travel sickness tablets once again, I had a good look around. It was quite a difficult exhibition to see. To protect the art, the lighting was hopelessly low. Clearly, things can’t be touched, so it wasn’t possible to look at the backs of the quilts (which is of key interest to a quilter). I had looked forward to seeing the Tracy Emin work, To Meet My Past, but it had been positioned badly so that it could only be seen from the front, end on. There were several of us ageing biddies shuffling and muttering politely. Did the other sensibly shod women think ‘Oh, for fucks sake’, but not vocalise it? Probably not, judging by the titters at the inscription of 'weird sex' at the head. It's proper art though, supposed to represent Emin's dark past, and an honest thing, in my very humble opinion.
Lots of what I saw has stayed with me. Almost everything was made with smaller pieces and thicker fabric than I had imagined. I also hadn’t previously taken into account that almost everything, all the way up to the early 20th century was designed by drawing out lifesize on paper, cutting out, wrapping fabric over, and whip stitching back together. This makes things stunningly accurate, but would have been slow, slow, slow. I was also impressed that pre the era of cotton, people thought nothing of combining fabrics as diverse as silk, wool, linen, and velvet, all in the same work. This goes far against current received wisdom to use fabrics of equal weight.
Highlights? I enjoyed seeing Joanna Southcott’s quilt. She was a religious nut, convinced that she would give birth to the new messiah. Refused admission to court, she cursed the king with every stitch. I had heard of her before, but it was a thrill to stand within a foot of her stitches, her anger radiating from those floral prints. I enjoyed sitting on a bench amongst the Welsh quilts that were peaceful in their plainness, listening to the voice of a woman who had been part of a group which worked them, selling them on to London Hotels to make a few pence for food. There was a kind of resigned tranquility there, at least, that was how I imagined them. I couldn’t see much of it, but I liked Tracey Emin’s bed the best of the modern work, and I wouldn’t mind seeing more of her stuff given the opportunity.
Coming away, I felt my own poor work connecting with the past. I think that the value of a quilt is in the making. The slowness is for thinking, and for distraction. Quilts were always made over a long period, so they get imbued with what was going on around them. Nina’s quilt has some of the sludge browns and bright reds that I bought at the depths of my depression but that were stitched in good times, it has the blue of the TV room of her teenage years, the blue tie died fabric from Bali speaks fo our shared hippiness and of Cornish seas. It is laid out even now on the table upon which we eat Christmas dinner. It is us, and our time in this house. I came to the decision that I will hand quilt (I had previously thought I might send it out for machining, or at least machine it myself) in simple lines, but I‘ll enjoy the over and under of the needle better. I hope she uses it until it is a mess ot threadbare darns and patches. The exhibition quilts (especially the ones made for patriotic reasons) were pristine. Good to for the 21st century to see, but what a waste for the stitcher left squinting and blistered. Maybe after years of making to commemorate a coronation long over, their work seemed too dated, or maybe they couldn't indulge in fallatio under the face of the reigning monarch.
Later on in the day, I found the perfect quote for the back of the stars quilt. I can’t tell you though, it will be a secret until the last stitch.
Quilts is a temporary exhibition at the V&A museum, London. I was looking forward to seeing for real the work that I had only seen in books. They had many famous historical pieces on display, as well as some contemporary art. I’ve been thinking a lot about stitching lately. The stars quilt that is Nina’s going-to-college gift is sandwiched now. I hope that the back is square with the front, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to tell. It would help if the front was even, but it isn’t and there’s no way of correcting it now. The star quilt didn’t start out as something for Nina. I think I began it three or four years ago, with the vague thought that it might be a sofa throw (it has dark blue in it that was intended to go with the living room). Mostly it began because I wanted to have something to do with my hands while I watched TV, the top is kite shapes worked around papers cut from old envelopes and junk mail. As I went on with it, Nina took to it, so we decided it could be hers. She picked the fabric for the borders and back.
At the exhibition, I was struck most by the volume of people. It was an unremarkable Monday and yet the rooms were crowded, mostly with women. In the way in which, the other day, I realised I was now on the upper age demographic for New Look, so I realised here that I was at last within the median. I’m not used to that. Until now, I’ve been about the youngest at every sewing event I’ve attended. It was quite nice not to stand out. Although I was overtired, having been badly affected by soporific travel sickness tablets once again, I had a good look around. It was quite a difficult exhibition to see. To protect the art, the lighting was hopelessly low. Clearly, things can’t be touched, so it wasn’t possible to look at the backs of the quilts (which is of key interest to a quilter). I had looked forward to seeing the Tracy Emin work, To Meet My Past, but it had been positioned badly so that it could only be seen from the front, end on. There were several of us ageing biddies shuffling and muttering politely. Did the other sensibly shod women think ‘Oh, for fucks sake’, but not vocalise it? Probably not, judging by the titters at the inscription of 'weird sex' at the head. It's proper art though, supposed to represent Emin's dark past, and an honest thing, in my very humble opinion.
Lots of what I saw has stayed with me. Almost everything was made with smaller pieces and thicker fabric than I had imagined. I also hadn’t previously taken into account that almost everything, all the way up to the early 20th century was designed by drawing out lifesize on paper, cutting out, wrapping fabric over, and whip stitching back together. This makes things stunningly accurate, but would have been slow, slow, slow. I was also impressed that pre the era of cotton, people thought nothing of combining fabrics as diverse as silk, wool, linen, and velvet, all in the same work. This goes far against current received wisdom to use fabrics of equal weight.
Highlights? I enjoyed seeing Joanna Southcott’s quilt. She was a religious nut, convinced that she would give birth to the new messiah. Refused admission to court, she cursed the king with every stitch. I had heard of her before, but it was a thrill to stand within a foot of her stitches, her anger radiating from those floral prints. I enjoyed sitting on a bench amongst the Welsh quilts that were peaceful in their plainness, listening to the voice of a woman who had been part of a group which worked them, selling them on to London Hotels to make a few pence for food. There was a kind of resigned tranquility there, at least, that was how I imagined them. I couldn’t see much of it, but I liked Tracey Emin’s bed the best of the modern work, and I wouldn’t mind seeing more of her stuff given the opportunity.
Coming away, I felt my own poor work connecting with the past. I think that the value of a quilt is in the making. The slowness is for thinking, and for distraction. Quilts were always made over a long period, so they get imbued with what was going on around them. Nina’s quilt has some of the sludge browns and bright reds that I bought at the depths of my depression but that were stitched in good times, it has the blue of the TV room of her teenage years, the blue tie died fabric from Bali speaks fo our shared hippiness and of Cornish seas. It is laid out even now on the table upon which we eat Christmas dinner. It is us, and our time in this house. I came to the decision that I will hand quilt (I had previously thought I might send it out for machining, or at least machine it myself) in simple lines, but I‘ll enjoy the over and under of the needle better. I hope she uses it until it is a mess ot threadbare darns and patches. The exhibition quilts (especially the ones made for patriotic reasons) were pristine. Good to for the 21st century to see, but what a waste for the stitcher left squinting and blistered. Maybe after years of making to commemorate a coronation long over, their work seemed too dated, or maybe they couldn't indulge in fallatio under the face of the reigning monarch.
Later on in the day, I found the perfect quote for the back of the stars quilt. I can’t tell you though, it will be a secret until the last stitch.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
Wednesday 17.6.09
This is my second go at writing today's blog. The last one disappeared into the ether when internet connection was cut. It couldn't be saved. I went to bed in disgust. It was a beautiful blog too. All about taking a look at some of my half finished sewing after four carrier bag years, and how things I thought weren't worth pursuing are now looking brilliant. Apart from the things that just look embarrassing now. All gone, and I'm not going to write it all out again.
The day seemed mostly horrid. I was feeling let down by several important people, quite angry and sad. Now, with just a few hours perspective, I feel warm and loving again, concluding that people let me down, but it wasn't personal. It was just them living their lives. I'm glad I held the anger in. It would have done some damage I would have had to repair the next day. As it is, I am calm, order is maintained.
Billy Bragg tomorrow. My friend H is coming. We are looking forward to it. I'm also a bit nervous, it's at Wolverhampton after all.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Tuesday 5.5.09
I'm still obsessed with French Fancies. I bought another box today, and began to think it had all gone too far when I justified myself to Nina by saying that I was trying to manage on a box every other day.
I'm beginning to think its the colours that are the attraction. The pinks are just so perfectly pinky pink. Girlie pink, sugary pink, the colour of pink sugar mice, and pink beads in little girls necklaces, the colour of the frivolous and the feminine. The pinks are the best. Next best are the yellows. Sunshine and daffodils and the centre of a daisy. They have a faintly lemony taste, which puts me off them just a little bit. Who needs the taste of fruit? Thankfully, they don't taste of banana (or maybe it would be better if they did), I find the taste of banana flavouring repulsive, so I wouldn't be able to eat them then. Last to go are the browns. They are vaguely cocoa flavoured, but although they taste nice and I should love them as they represent chocolate, they look a bit dull next to their more cheery friends. I shouldn't hold that against them though, as after all every group of friends has a 'quiet one'. Last year, there was a limited edition range all in pink, and I missed the browns (although inexplicably, I didn't miss the yellows).
I was buying a cardie at the supermarket and Nina did our regular debate about a colour that may be blue but in my eyes is definitely 100% green. I got to thinking that its over a year since I've done any sewing. I've done no patchwork since the project that I started just before I went to Cornwall. I abandoned the cross stitch of an eagle within weeks of moving in with Nan, there wasn't enough light, and in any case, I was fed up with all of the shades of brown.
I have a theory that colour is the reason that almost all cross stitches that are made up look tacky. Those bright clashing, cheery colours are the most enjoyable to work with, and it matters as cross stitch unless you are a super-quick pro, happens at about one hour per square inch. There are only so many hours a day anyone wants to look at brown. Its a shame that for home decor, stitched pictures of cats on backgrounds of pinks and yellows has never caught on.
My new hobby seems to be french fancies, maybe I should go back to sewing. I can't just yet though, there are still two pinks in the box.
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