Feels Like Art

Quilts Under Construction

My maternal grandmother was always sewing and quilting when we were young. She’d spread fabric across her dining table and lay the tissue paper patterns on top. Instead of straight pins, Grandma would lay butter knives around the edge of the pattern pieces, to hold them in place while she cut the cloth. I have two quilts Grandma made. Pieced of inexpensive cotton fabric, they’re fraying at a seam or two. But that’s easily fixed. Well, once I’m back in Atlanta and have retrieved the quilts from storage.

When my Uncle Richard was a boy, he’d hang out with his grandmother and other female relatives as they sat around a frame suspended from the ceiling. Expertly, the ladies would quilt detailed designs on the quilt stretched in the frame. When it was time to start cooking, the frame would be hoisted to the ceiling until the next quilting bee brought it down again. At last year’s family reunion, we visited the Foxfire Museum in North Georgia. In the grassy yard of the log cabin museum, under a tent, was a gorgeous quilt in a frame. A woman in 17th century costume encouraged us to sit and try our hand at stitching through the layers. I sat next to my uncle as he described being a young boy and learning to stitch from his grandmother. Richard showed me how to stitch, exactly as my great-grandmother had shown him. We stitched away in the July heat, intent on making perfect, uniform, tiny stitches.

I’ve been quilting here in Kisumu. It’s not easy, quilting in Africa, because they don’t know what a quilt is. They’re not familiar with the concept of piecing scraps of cloth for the blanket top, nor do they have batting. Ah, in the US and elsewhere, batting comes in lovely sheets of varying thicknesses. Simply unroll it, sprinkle the wrinkles with water, allow it to dry flat and then place it between the quilt top and backing. In place of batting, I’m substituting three layers of thin white cotton fabric. It doesn’t have the fluff, but adds a little bit of weight and structure. Stitching by hand means I’m not dependent on electricity, which has been unstable in Kisumu this week. The lights went out at 7pm the other evening, the time it gets dark here, and so I had to stitch by candlelight.

What they have lots and lots of here is material. Beautiful Royal Wax from West African countries (I bought the fabrics for the two quilts in the above photo at a shop on the Kenya-Uganda border), Kukoi from the coastal Muslim communities and tons and tons of Maasai fabrics, the bright red and royal blues in checks and stripes. Oh, and lots of gorgeous Indian fabrics (yesterday, while Trish and I were in town looking at fabrics in two Indian shops, I asked the tailor --who had made my suit-- if he could save fabric scraps for me. He said yes!!! But he doesn’t speak English, only Punjabi and Kiswahili, and the shop attendant, who’s Kenyan, asked him for me and I’m not sure how good her English is to translate into Kiswahili —so we’ll see if he totally understands what I was asking for. When I tried to explain to them why I wanted the pieces, they looked puzzled and laughed at me).

In place of a machine, I’m hand-stitching the pieces. My first project attempt is a total experiment. It’s not really a quilt, more like a lap quilt or wall hanging. I measure each piece, mark sewing lines, baste to ensure alignment and iron throughout the process. Unsure of how to quilt through all layers, I simply place a coordinating button smack dab in the center. Not bad, I think. The results are quite pleasing.

Turns out Trish, who’s also from Atlanta and also in Kisumu for two years, has intentions of learning to quilt (we're threatening to start a weekly Quilting Bee). A few days ago, Trish loaned me two of her books, “Zen and the Art of Quilting” and “Amish Quilting: Discover the Beautiful Art of Amish Quilts.” And they are beautiful, those Amish quilts with their solid, dark colors and intricate quilting designs. While reading, I discover the seam allowance on quilts is ¼ inch, not 5/8. I also learn everyone has trouble with the binding. But most importantly, I realize with my first attempt that placing a single button in the center of the quilt totally leaves out the true process of “quilting,” which is to sew through all layers of fabric and batting (or cotton layers in my case). Duh. The binding is already on, which will make quilting slightly difficult. But I will quilt it through all the layers. First, I’ll practice on the second quilt I’ve pieced, a bubble gum pink and white diamond quilt for my lovely, adorable daughter Jaime (since the photo was taken this morning, I've added the inner cotton layers and the backing).

I’m learning as I go and mostly learning not to regret mistakes. Just cover them up somehow. Cloth is sometimes forgiving and always comforting to hold and pierce as its being pieced. Exactness isn’t necessary. One exquisite by-product of making quilts is the meditative state achieved through concentration. I want these to be beautiful and art-like, because each stitch is made with love. When I think of the people who will receive the quilts, who’ll throw them across their couch or across their laps while watching TV, I feel close to people and close to home. Feels like I’m creating art and creating love, stitch by contemplative stitch.