I love people who show me their quilt sketches. They have plans. They draw them out and then they execute them. It’s a great theory. I wish it worked for me.

It never has. I can plan all I want. Things shift and change under me, and the thing I’ve planned changes too. Quilt pieces shrink. Distort. Turn out to surprise me. All I can do is trim my sail to the wind.

I pieced up this split light source a couple of weeks ago. My hope was that it would go with my meadow owl. Unfortunately the owl was brown and the meadow was bluey green. That doesn’t sound bad but it just didn’t meld. They looked like two different quilts happening because they were.

The owl, with all of it’s purple shading ended up on a lovely purple/yellow backing.

The split light source piece lay folded up by the photo wall. And I looked up and found my left over koi.

These koi go back. They’re aged. I brought them with me when I came to Don from Porter almost 7 years ago. They were supposed to be a part of a koi pond that just never happened.

I’d tried several backgrounds, and they just weren’t easy to place. For one thing, they were red, white and black. That’s not my normal color scheme. I had a top started for them that was humongous. The whole thing left me quite overwhelmed. So they did what half finished pieces do in my studio. They traveled from the floor, to the photo wall, to the chair, to a suitcase, and back again to the photo wall. I don’t ever throw them out. You never know when their day will come.

Last Saturday was that day. I was trying out backgrounds for the owl. The pieced background did not make the cut for the owl. And there were those koi, hanging on the photo wall.

Splush! They fit right in. I made a batch of kelp. One of them was way too big, but the others slid around the fish in a lovely arch. Just add bubbles.

Could I have planned it?

Not a hope, not a prayer. But I’m thrilled.

Why do I think this happens? It could be part of my dyslexia. I’m not able to put things in order or sequence very well. But I have another theory. I think a piece of art has a life of it’s own. It’s more of a birth process than a conscious design exercise. I know pieces of mine have gone places I could not, done things I couldn’t have done. They have their own lives. They are not my children. But like children, they have their own path.