I loved it. My mother made me a red and white dress for the day, and you brought valentines for everyone, and then you filled their mail box with them and found your own filled.
I was not much of a social butterfly. And I’m not sure I would have gotten any valentines if everyone didn’t send them to everyone.
But most of all, I loved all that color in the middle of the snow. Red, pink, and orange warm my heart whatever the temperature. Add a dash of purple. I could get drunk on it.
Valentine’s day is sort of a bust for a number of reasons around here. Mostly, Don doesn’t do holidays. And if either of us really wants something, we just go buy it. But I still get off on the colors.
Don takes me for a color bath every fall. He drives me around the stately homes of Galesburg and I gasp at the amazing leaves. This time, I happened to look down at the red roses beneath the trees. Absolutely breathtaking. Red, orange, pink. I might as well be drunk. So I started with a batch of red roses. I’d been wanting to do a garden quilt.
I have several ways I make roses, but my favorite is with spirals.
After cutting spirals, I glue them to felt. The felt is red because the color will show through. That’s a promise.
Once they’re all stitched, you can see the form better from the back.
Here’s how they look cut out.
I intend a sunflower and some hollyhock for this quilt as well. Yellow birds as an accent.
This is just pinned up and the leaves for the roses and the hollyhocks aren’t finished yet. But I’m excited. With all those fall leaves falling, we’ll need a garden in bloom. It’s just like Valentine’s day.
I’m never really satisfied with my drawing skills. Drawing is like writing. The only way to get better is to keep drawing. I cut better than I draw. Which sounds stupid until you look at the cuttings Mattise did at the end of his life. He couldn’t paint with his limitations, so he did cut outs instead. They are magnificent!
I don’t know that my cut outs work that well. But I am more confident with them for floral/tree ideas. So when I went to make a rosiated spoonbill nest (which is basically sticks), I cut out branches rather than try to draw them.
Of course, they’re flat before you stitch them. There’s about three colors of brown hand dye in them. But the stitching is the definition.
Usually, I build bark with my stitching. With this much going on, it’s hard to see, but I added a layer and savaged it to make bark that pealed and curved.
This time I went for something a bit different.
Laws puts out drawing how-to and journaling books that I really like.
Not only does it show you how to draw an object. It gives you a thousand ways to see what it looks like at a different angle or at a different point of view. And how and why it changes. I turn to these books to push myself to better drawing.
Every piece involves an endless number of choices. Sometimes I think it’s fun to share them with you. Creation is a journey best taken with friends.
I love the woods. I can’t walk in them anymore. I can’t walk anywhere far at any length. But I can make the woods for myself.
I’ve been working on a roseated spoonbill for some while. I chose a fabric that had that deep wood blue greens in it. With a big pink bird on it, I knew I was on the right track.
I considered what kinds of trees I wanted. I wanted a deep wet swamp. Pine trees would work for that. I made beautiful deep green branches on them.
I pinned up my gorgeous trees and watched them disappear into the background.
Back to redesign. That kind of redesign takes me a minute. I left it up on the wall a bit to think. Yesterday I dusted the tops of the branches with the brightest light greens I had in my threads.
They looked much better.
Then I put them up and photoed them. They looked great on the photo wall.
Odd things happen with photos. I usually take photos of what I’ve done at the end of the day as a record of my process. I give the photos to the owners when they purchase a quilt to invite them into my process. I don’t always remember what exactly I did, so it’s a good practice.
This time the photos deceived me. The trees looked way too bright. But when I came back to the studio, they looked so much better.
I’ve had another problem with this piece all along. I couldn’t get the head pointed the right way. I cut the head off so I could reposition it, but it’s still not right.
Yes, you can cut embroideries apart. After enough stitching, who would know? I do it whenever needed.
So I separated the neck and tucked it in at a stronger angle. It pleases me more. She looks like the birds have disturbed her but she’s in motion.
Do I know what I’m doing? Don’t be silly. I try things, put them on the wall and stare them down until I’m sure.
The tool that makes this all possible is my photo wall. If I don’t take the time to look at it, I really won’t know when it’s not right. Why?
Because I don’t want to take the time. I want to get done. That doesn’t always work. Two days looking at the piece is infinitely better than knowing forever I needed to move something over 1/2″. Or ripping it out.
If you don’t have a photo wall, you should. You’ll never know what you’ve got until you really look at it. For more information about building a photo wall, look up Studio Essentials: The Glory of the Photo Wall
I think the most exciting moment for me when I’m planning a quilt is when I pull my threads for the coloring. Thread painting really does act like painting, with several small differences. You mix paint. You layer thread on top of other threads, and your eye mixes the colors.
Threads are tiny. This means that the colors can be brighter, darker, and showier than you might want for paint. Thread painting is for showoffs.
So here are our color choices. I’m tempted to let the frog be metallic, but the color choices are much more limited. I can dust it with metallic thread afterwards to make a sheen. But I want the full range of colors poly will give me.
The biggest difference is the background fabric I’ve chosen for a base. The background always shows through. The brown background will make the turtle much more brown.
This drawing has three color zones: the snail, the frog, and the turtle. Somehow we need to make those three zones demonstratively different from each other. That is done by contrast. We can contrast color, texture, sheen, and tone. We have to make them visibly different from each other.
Another question. Do I embroider them separately or together? I drew them in one piece. But each image is going to distort, but not in the same way. The textures need to be different so they will tug and pull differently from each other. So I can’t really predict what will happen. The images may distort a bit. So I separated my drawings to embroider them each alone.
I also can place the creatures exactly where I want them. That solves my problem. If I separate the drawings, they’re remain in proportion to each other.
The turtle is easy. There’s some rhythmic patterning in the shell. That can create a textural difference. I also want to lean into the brown/yellow greens that make it contrast against the blue-green water. So instead of blending these colors, I’ve laid them next to each other to create scales.
The frog needs to be the star here. I want to lean towards bright greens that lean into yellow and a smooth skin texture. So he’s on a bright green blue. Bright green threads will make him very green indeed.
Both creatures feature garnet stitch. Garnet stitch is moved in circles across the embroidery. The texture makes for lumpy bumpy turtle/frog skin. For more information, check out “The Variable Garnet Stitch: Building Texture
I used the same accent colors for both. The reds and oranges are exactly the same. I’m hoping that will help tie them together.
The snail is sort of the cherry on top. It’s naturally a beige and brown item, but something fun needs to happen here. Need to do some research. I haven’t stitched on it yet.
The other thing I want to do with this quilt is a water reflection. I’m not good at these, but they are so exciting. I’m going to try again on them. That’s next week’s blog.
No. I did not misspell that. All art, all creative process is a journey where we ask questions about design, color, shape, materials and techniques. Each piece we do is an answer for the question. Do I make a big moon or a small one? Out of Angelina Fiber? Or tulle? Or that strange gold brocade I just brought home? Do I make rays? Or a big circle, or spirals woven into each.
How do you do the black and white parts of a ladybug? Bobbin work again, but showing different directions.
Put them all together and they make a series. Series work helps us answer a billion and one questions.
There are no right or wrong answers. But each quilt gives you other questions to try. And since experience is the best teach, each quilt is a new experience, even if you will never do it again. Try a new thread. Will it work from the top or shall I put it in the bobbin? This machine likes this kind of poly monofilament. Will it work better with a cone holder? Horizontal or vertical? Endless questions that can only be answered by an endless dance of doing.
But the other reason is fascination. We regularly explore bits of the world that fascinate us. I’m fascinated by bugs of all kinds, but in red? Red? Where’s the red?
Well of course, I now have a reason to explore all those reds together. What if she isn’t really red?
Do I find repetition boring? NO! I find repetition changes everything as we put together the puzzle of each piece
So, if there’s something I don’t know the answer to, I sit down with a pile of new work that just might give me the answer. I’m not repeating myself? I’m on a journey. Who knows what I’ll find.
i had an uncle named Sol who was a born failure and nearly everybody said he should have gone into vaudeville perhaps because my Uncle Sol could sing McCann He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell Itself which may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable of all to use a highfalootin phrase luxuries that is or to wit farming and be it needlessly added
my Uncle Sol’s farm failed because the chickens ate the vegetables so my Uncle Sol had a chicken farm till the skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol had a skunk farm but the skunks caught cold and died and so my Uncle Sol imitated the skunks in a subtle manner
or by drowning himself in the watertank but somebody who’d given my Uncle Sol a Victor Victrola and records while he lived presented to him upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a scruptious not to mention splendiferous funeral with tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything and i remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol’s coffin lurched because somebody pressed a button (and down went my Uncle Sol and started a worm farm)
e.e.cummings
I’ve always thought of my creatures as being alive. Not in the sense of breath or heartbeat, but in having a purpose and a place of their own. They go places I can’t go. They do things for others I can’t do. They will live past me. I know I don’t control them, not even in the process of making them. They come from me, but I know they have lives of their own.
I also see them as beautiful. If it’s a beauty that scares me, that’s ok. I want to make them beautiful in what they are.
So when I make a piece, I build them the best world I can. Something that reflects their beauty in their place. And I always try to give them what they need. Along with the beauty of water and sky, earth and rock, I always supply lunch.
I’m a bit out of my depth when I do something like a flock of guinea hens. I see my birds, frogs, and bugs as splendiferous creatures with their own beauty. Barnyard stuff, not so much. But the point is to see something’s beauty in their space. So I provided the things I though would improve the barnyard esthetic. I added hollyhocks, ladybugs. and worms.
I’ve never done worms before much. But I wanted worms for my hens for several reasons. For one thing, they’re funny. I didn’t want cute worms with eyes. But these guinea hens remind me of the ladies at coffee hour after church. They are, by nature, silly. So the worm joke is practically implied.
I’d also noticed that the guinea hens, past their spots and funny hats are basically chickens with bad manners. They do like worms.
I also wanted a horizontal line feature that carried the eye in places across the canvas. Worms did that.
There was a small problem. The piece is purply brown. How do you make worms show up?
We ended up with some creative color choices.
I started with a medium brown, a red purple and then went into magenta, rust red, salmon pink, and a dusty rose for the highlights. The salmon pink looked way out of line when I put did that row. But the dusty pink settled it down to a proper worm color.
So now the guinea hens have their own buffet. Perfect for the after-church crowd. What a can of worms!
While working on my very brown guinea hens, they began to develop personalities. Frankly, they remind me of church ladies: the old biddy crowd. I began to realize that they are basically chickens with dots.
So I started working their background. It’s basically a barn yard.
I know. Not appealing. Very, very brown.
So I thought of the flowers my neighbors grew in their back gardens and alleyways. One of my neighbors had hollyhocks. They’re not currently in style, I guess. They’re in the same classification as sunflowers. They’re tough, tall, and grow in miserable soil. And, unlike sunflowers, they come in a rainbow of colors.
I loved them then. I love them now. My friends and I made hollyhock dolls and played with them endlessly.
I don’t get to garden very much nowadays. I don’t bend that well. If it doesn’t work into my raised beds, it won’t happen. But my studio garden can grow anything I want under my machine. I wanted hollyhocks to brighten up the barnyard. So I made a batch.
These are cut from hand-painted lace. Most lace and organza nowadays is a test tube baby. It’s usually made of nylon or polyester. Either way, it won’t dye with regular dyes.
These laces fuse on with Steam A Seam 2. I’ve placed them on a sandwich of felt and Stitch and Tear to embroider them.
They add some brightness just as they are, but the stitching can take it right over the top. I used some of the most neon colors out of the Madeira neon line.
The leaves are veined simply.
These flowers should shine some light on the barnyard. If I can’t grow them in my garden, I can sew them instead. And the biddy crowd loves them.
I don’t piece well. It’s not my skill. Anything that takes accuracy and careful cutting really isn’t my skill. The new 770 Bernina came with a foot that does make it better, but I don’t normally do large pieced tops. I know better. It’s not pretty when I do.
But there are rare occasions when I piece a split light source top.
Why? Why walk into accuracy land and piecing?
A light source brings you fabric with direction, and a built-in world. That world can be integral by itself. But if you want to filter the light as if it were through haze, woods, or shadow, you can piece two light source fabrics to create that shaded look. There are several approaches, with different effects.
Vertical Piecing
Where the Heart is
Where the Heart Is was pieced from two separate yards of the same blue/orange color range. I lay both pieces together on the cutting board and cut them in gradated strips, 2″, 3″, 4″, etc. Then I sewed them together with the narrowest light of one to the widest side of the other, in gradation. Set in a vertical arrangement, it makes for light flowing through the trees.
Horizontal Piecing with a Frame
Envy
Envy was one horizontal light source yard, split in gradations with a half yard cut in 2″ strips put between. The piecing creates a sense of space. The narrowest strip in the gradation defines the horizon line.
Piecing within Multiple Frames
Sometimes I split the two fabrics with the light at the widest on one side and the dark widest cut so they can carry the light across the piece. Twightlight Time was also double framed with a 2″ and a progressive border. Having a narrower border on the top weights the bottom of the piece.
Piecing Machines
Lately, Don found me a Singer 99 at a yard sale. For those of you not familiar with these darlings, they are a featherweight industrial drop-in bobbin Singer. They only straight stitch, but the stitch is impeccable. They are tougher, and faster and they use bobbins that are still commercially available. I’d never seen one before, but I fell in love instantly. It took a little work and some creative parts searching, but Don got it working for me and it’s perhaps the best piecing machine I’ve ever had. Did I mention Don is my hero?
So I pieced the guinea hen’s background on it.
How do you keep it straight? It’s tricky. If I get them out of order the fabric doesn’t progress correctly through its colors. I make all my cuts, leave the fabric on the cutting board until I can number the pieces all on the back side. Since there are two pieces of fabric cut, I label my fabric, 1a,2a, etc. and 1b, 2b, etc. and chalk in the sequence on the ends so I can always keep them in order.
Expanding Fabric Size
Sometimes there’s just a beautiful fabric that needs to be bigger. That’s been known to happen too.
I needed a background for What the Flock, a grouping of guinea hens. I’m low on fabric and money right now, so I have to make do. I found a purple piece that should make a great meadow, but a yard was just a bit small. So I pieced in another half-yard to expand it. I cut the half yard in 2.5″ widths and graded the yard-long piece in segments of 9″, 8″, 7″, 6″, and 5″,
Seam Rollers
For those of you like me, who hate to run back and forth to the iron, there is a seam roller. You can use this gadget to flatten your seams right where you’re sewing. Roll it over the seam and you’ll have flat, ready-to-sew seams without the iron woman run.
I don’t piece often, but these backgrounds are worth it. I love the shaded light and the action of light of the fabric across the piece.
I’m a big fan of hand dye. Like most things in art, it’s definative. You can tell who has dyed the fabric if you know their work enough. I’ve dyed my own fabric since I was 10 in some way or another.
for a long time I’ve used a sponge dyeing technique. I mix a number of dyes (30-60 colors) and sponge them one by one onto the cloth. It gives me a spectacular color range, but it is never predictable. Which means each quilt I make starts with an unique piece of fabric.
There are always occlusions and patterns within hand dye. Most of them are formed by the way the fabric goes into the plastic bag to cure. I usually focus on the flow of the colors in the design.
This time I really couldn’t. The background was so magnificent that I stippled it following the hand dye itself.
All metallic threads are more fragile than polyester or rayon. You always get more breakage if you put it in the top of your machine instead of the bobbin. Top thread goes through the needle 50 times before it lands in the fabric, Bobbin thread just gets pulled up once.
You can stitch the whole thing in poly or monofilament from the top and then restitch with metallic. I don’t like the texture from that. Too thick. And you can see that top thread under the metallic.
I’d rubbed oil paint stick over a ceiling tile to make the reeds in this piece. They were simple. I followed the paint marks with Poly Neon in matching colors.
The sky was not as easy as it sounds. I used a Madeira Supertwist thread for the stitching. It’s a beautiful metallic and stronger than most. But to follow the pattern in the cloth, I had to stitch from the top..
So I stitched from the top with a 90 Topstitch needle, endured endless thread breakage and went through a bottle of Sewer’s Aid. I think it was worth it.
Would I do it again? What wouldn’t I do for my art? If it needs it, that’s what we do.
I make my hand dyed fabric available for students and artists on Etsy. For more information check out Hand Dyed Fabric for Sale ir my Etsy Shop
