There’s no help for it. If you are shading a pink bird, you’ll need to use pastels at some point. I’m not a fan. But you don’t get to throw out a section on the color wheel. Eventually, you’ll need all the values: tones, jewels, and pastels. Tones and jewels. Yes! Pastels. not that much.
Let me break down the color scheme for you.
There are six color zones, in the feathers of this bird, and then a zone for the neck and thighs, the feet, the head and the bill.
There are two progressive color themes going on. The pink under body and feathers, and the green overstitching. Both progress from dark to light.
Where did it go wrong? I chose the wrong yellow.
White objects are rarely pure white, unless you want a posterized deco look. They’re made up of other colors pale enough to be perceived as white. The bird itself is pink. I pulled in bits of lavender and yellow to blend it and to create a shadowed projection. I chose the wrong yellow. If you look at the top feather, you can see a strip of yellow that’s pretty loud.
You know that kind of Easterbunny pastel. Yellow, pink, blue, purple, and maybe green. It’s only appealing if you’re under the age of five. It missed here. I stitched some cream and natural white thread all over it.
Then I added the overstitching. The overstitching takes center stage, and the yellower bits back off. I think I’ve saved it. It also browns out the pinks a bit. They’re all there, but quieter for the green.
What should I have done? I should have lined up that yellow in a row with the other colors and taken a black and white picture of it. I would have known right there. But I’m happy with it now.
I’m ready for the next step, which is the background. And I think it needs yellow fish and birds.
This last year has been a disaster for my sewing machines. Most of my work depends on intense embroidery. Lately I’ve depended more and more on that stitchery for my images. I love it. But it does wear and tear on the machines. I had 6 major machine breakdowns. last year. I broke down 3 220s, my 770, my 630 and a 930. Some have fixed. Some have not.
I’m a Bernina girl from way back and have been a Bernina Ambassador for most of my career. I work with Berninas because they are tough and they stitch accurately. That doesn’t mean they don’t break down, Particularly if you’re sewing at speed demon speed for hours on end. I was told this is my fault.
I suppose it is. It’s what I do. I can either back away from this kind of stitching or find another way.
Zigzag embroidery allows for intense detail and color, I can’t step away from it. I also can’t keep breaking machines. So something has to change.
Don is my miracle in this. He’s a wizard with older small motors. He’s not specialized in sewing machines, but very mechanically savvy. He’s collecting manuals and parts machines. As always, he’s my hero.
I really can’t function though without a working machine and I prefer 2 backups. I’m not exa sane without a sewing machine.
Years ago I bought a 20 U Singer for intense embroidery. That’s not what these machines are known for. In a way, they’re the cockroach of the sewing machine world. Not in the sense that they hide under the cupboards, but because they are pretty much unkillable. You find them most often in dry cleaner shops for repairs.
It was a mixed success. This thing eats babies and cats, breaks thread constantly, and is fast—too fast—even with different slower pulleys. And it was the weight of a tiny elephant. When I left Porter, I left it in my studio, where it has sat.
Ken, the person renting my house, offered to bring it to me. That in itself is a huge glft But I’ve had my reservations about making this machine work. I first felt I was stepping backward, Is it an answer to the same problem? Is this machine tough enough?
Well, we know it’s tough. Can we make it work with embroidery thread? There’s the question. It’s also paid for.
It had its problems before. But things have changed. I now use stronger threads. I no longer work in a hoop. And we found that a servo motor would step down the speed. So it’s coming to the studio sometime this month, and we try it out. I’ve gone from feeling like I’m stepping back to seeing new possibilities.
You can’t step in the same river twice. You are different and the water is different.
I’m digging out the studio this week to make room, which is why I don’t have new work to show you. I’ll let you know what happens next.
Wish me luck. I think it’s time for another spoonbill.
What do you do when your techniques are killing your machines?
This is about component embroidery. Lately, I’ve leaned more and more on component embroidery to create large astonishing embroidered images. I love the work it creates. I am completely reliant on my machines.
I have a love/hate relationship with most of my sewing machines. I really love them when they work. I’m in abject hell when they break down.
Since I’m a Bernina girl from way back, I’m used to tough well-built machines. Yesterday, my ancient 930 had a moment. I thought it was a screwdriver fix; It was not. We’re playing mix and match between the two 930s in the studio. Neither is quite ready for prime time. It has brought to mind how intensive my work is.
That was underlined by the 3 220s I managed to break last year, and my 770 which has spent 7 months out of the last year in need of several kind of repairs. And is once again in the shop.
These are lovely machines. They’re built tough, and I’m still having them break under me like I was shooting horses I’m riding on in a battle. I’m devastated. I know better than to have only one functional machine. Because always, inevitably, something will break.
When I talked with my mechanic she said “You do know you sew more than other people..” Which means I stitch very heavily to make my images. Meaning perhaps I’m asking more out of a machine than it’s built for.
Which leads to the question, do I need a different machine? Do I need a commercial machine?
I went through this several years ago when I bought my 770 Bernina. It’s fast. It’s got that nice long arm and some lovely features. It does not put up with mad-speed sewing. I love it. I’m afraid of it too. It threw its hook at me through the door on the bobbin mechanism. I wish I were kidding. And I don’t know what to do about a machine that’s off more than it’s on.
So here’s my 2025 Challenge.
Do I change my work because my machine won’t do it? Do I find another way? Do I look for other tools? Or do I back away from a stunning technique that lets me do things past my earlier abilities?
Which leads me to humming something like a Sheryl Crow song. “Are you tough enough to be my sewing machine?”
Being an artist is only peripherally about making art. It’s mostly about developing skills, ideas and visions. The art is a byproduct. It is a picture of where your art is at a particular moment. This is why I can always let go of a piece of art if it raises my abilities as an artist. Any artist’s first creation is the skills, techniques, and vision you make art from.
I’m looking. I need a zigzag machine that is commercial grade I can control the speed on. And I need to find some money to look with. I’m always willing to give up a piece of art to further what I can do as an artist.
Those of us who live an artist’s life live with constantly unbalanced finances. Don and I are on social security. I don’t discuss my difficulties hoping for a handout. But I have used my art to fund things I couldn’t buy any other way. I’ve offered work of mine at dead rock bottom prices, when the need arises. I’ve never asked for money itself. I’ve offered the work I have to make what I need happen. I’m doing that now.
These pieces represent work I couldn’t have done ten years ago. They’re made with component quilting elements, separately embroidered and incorporated into the quilt itself. It’s changed what I can do. I need a tough enough machine to do it.
If there’s something you are in love with, this is the time. And I’m open to offers. I am a motivated seller. If you wish to see more information on my body of work, it’s also on my Portfolio Page. The price on the portfolio does not reflect the sale price, but you can click through from the portfolio page to the Etsy shop.
Also, if you have knowledge about industrial or particularly tough zigzag machines, I’d love to talk with you. I need more options, and would appreciate your expertise. And if you have questions about a particular quilt, let me know.
I love roses. I no longer have them in my garden but they often fill my quilts. I was working on a batch of roses for a quilt that’s out of series of brambles over old walls. The backgrounds are oil paint stick rubbings with blackberries or roses growing over them. It;s based on a memory of a french fairy tale where there was an ornately carved wall with roses growing over it. The movie Ever After (a cinderella retelling) has a scene with a wall like that.
This time I’ve been working with a drawing of a red wing blackbird, but the black was just too boring. So we went blue instead. It worked with the rubbed background.
These roses are abstract. They’re made from spiral cuts of sheer fabrics, intertwined and stitched free motion. I’ve done them before. Abstraction is about taking one or several parts of an image and letting them represent the whole. But stitching the points felt so good. I tried to figure out why. It’s not exactly what a rose looks like, but it has the spiral form of the petals. The spiral reminds us of the structure of roses. Where do the points come in? Some roses have folded petals that look like points.
Abstract work is hard for me. I’m not an accurate person by nature, but it takes me a while to simplify something enough to abstract it. I’ve done it from time to time, but it’s not natural for me. But the point to the roses, was all the points.
I wanted white roses, but you can’t have just white. Without color there are no shadows. I went with a pallet of pale blues, lilac, aqua, cream, grey, and green. The white fabric spirals make the image white and the threads make the shading. As I was working stitching the roses, I noticed I really liked putting points on the edges. It made them much more rose like.
Then it occurred to me. The points were an echo of the thorns of the rose.
When I had my Porter garden, I came to love my roses not only for their scent or their loveliness. Roses are aggressive. They are, as a species, 30 million years old. They are lovely scented thorned privacy. And I thought my birds might need a little privacy.
These arr partially stitched down. I hope to finish them this week.
Here’s the rest of that series. I love the idea of walls covered with rose vines.
Component quilting lets me streamline my quilting. I have two quilts I’m working on that will need some bugs. Why?
Both of these pieces are going to need some help building a pathway. Bugs are a great way to do that. They flitter across the surface and they create movement. But these need a significant number of bugs. It’s just easier to make a batch. I think ended up making 35 in all.
I did damsel flies, moths, and small white butterflies for the frog/turtle quilt.
For the bluebird quilt, I wanted larger white butterflies.
This batch of bugs was a color lesson for me. Normally I ignore gold and silver thread. When there’s purple and green metallic thread, why would I use gold or silver.
All of the bug bodies are from Madeira FS2/20 thread. The black core thread really looks like beading up close.
I tried the opalescent white as a butterfly wing. I was underwhelmed. I really don’t like the pink quality.
I needed the white that silver brings. I tried going over it with silver afterwards. It was not improved.
Opalescent white under silver does a nice bright white. For those birds, nothing else will do.
I wanted a softer quality for the moths and the swamp. So they were done from polyester threads.
For the damselle flies I needed a solid carapace and see-through wings. The iridescent thread did the wings nicely, even with the pink cast.
Different threads offer really big differences in the result. In this case, it keeps the bugs separate from each other and from the other elements in the quilt.
Size is a limit with component quilting. Things under an inch and a half are hard to keep crisp and have too heavy an outline when they’re applied. But for most elements, it allows me to choose where to put what. Choice is good.
It’s that time of year, when I look at the pile of quilts at my feet and review what I did last year. I made 46 quilts this year, large and small.
Because of health issues, I haven’t pursued shows right now. My heart doctors say things are staying stable, and I have enough work to promise a show, so I will be doing that in 2025.
How does an upcoming show affect work? It means the niggly questions get put to the side. You produce as much as you can. So you don’t do things you need to ponder about for a while. No big experiments.
Since I wasn’t prepping a show, this was the year for those niggly questions. All kinds of experiments.
Waterfalls
I figured out how to make a waterfalls frp, organza and lace.
Pine Trees
I worked out a new way to make pine trees from cheesecloth.
Desert landscapes
I worked on deserts, sand and cactus.
Cloud Shapes
I studied clouds.
Sunflowers
And sunflowers.
Yellow Birds
I had a desperate need for small yellow birds.
Major Quilts
Here are the large quilts I finished.
Visual Paths
Here are the visual paths I made.
small work
Here are the little quilts
It’s easy to feel like I’d done less this year. I have had years where I produced more. But I’m pleased with the questions I solved, the skills I built and the creatures new in my world. The quilts are really just a by product.
Most of these quilts are available for sale on my web and Etsy site. The Etsy sale is over, but you can always make an offer on a quilt, if it’s a bit out of range. And if you have work of mine, you can always trade up. Those of you who have quilts of mine are family, because you house my children. You always can have the family discount.
i need to start this post with a full disclosure. I am deeply dyslexic. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was teaching myself, but the b’s, p’s and t;’s periodically spin like tops for me. I’m not so hot on left and right either.
So when I wanted to add a reflected image into water on a quilt, it wasn’t an easy thing.
I start most quilts start with a good dyslexic exercise. I draw in pencil and trace a copy with a Sharpie. The drawing is ironed onto the back as a pattern and is backward. My thread colors top and bottom are the same, so I know where I’m going. This is charted water.
But a reflection isn’t exactly the same. I wanted to put a reflection of the birds in royal rails.The reflection in the water needs to be flipped vertically. But not horizontally. Add to the confusion that if you trace the shapes with Steam a Seam 2, the pieces will be cut flipped horizontally. I thought I could accommodate that by flipping it upside down. Nope. That did not work. I ended up with feet that pointed the wrong direction, Here’s the thing. By the time you take the drawing, trace out the pieces for the shadow in organza and put them on to Steam a Seam 2 to glue them, they’re backward again.
I never figured it out for this quilt. When I put in the water there wasn’t enough space for the reflection. It whipped me.
I can see it if I make a model. If I try to hold it in my head, my head explodes.
I finally made a little model. Both images are flipped horizontally. The bottom frog is flipped vertically.
I made several color layers from the drawing tracing out the frog, the turtle and the snail bits in separate color layers of red, dark green, and light green. I laid the turtle layer over the whole drawing, and placed the cut-out bits in. It was tedious, but it worked.
Now what is left is to place in water over and under the shadow image. And add waterlilies.
I feel like I have a new tool for my tool box! All kinds of reflections coming.
Anyone who has written an art statement knows that meaning is illusionary. I think it may be whether you are visually oriented or verbally oriented. Verbally-oriented people can tell you what everything means. They understand their visual architecture. I find them fascinating because I can’t do that.
I get haunted by images, by different animals. and by small worlds. I work with those images until I’ve worked it out. Sometimes I have an idea of what it means. Mostly I don’t until and only after I’m long done. Somewhere my mind must know what it’s about. But it’s not conscious. Instead, the images need to work their way out.
This year, I’ve had a compulsion for little yellow birds.
Those of you who know me well, know I had a rough time in high school and before. I was targeted by people who chased me, hurt me, and humiliated me, while other nice little apaths stood against the wall and watched snickering. I do not want to hear I should be over this. You don’t get over this. It’s happened and it’s who you are, forever. Because it happened, you live in a world where it always could happen again.
It’s not that I remain a victim. It’s that I have no patience with bullies, sociopaths, apaths, and people bored enough to do this for fun.
So most of my quilts are social commentary. They’re about living in a dangerous environment where there are predators. They’re about finding a safe way through.
Not safe, necessarily. Livable.
So in a world where we are discussing canceling peoples’ basic human rights, we’re not to complain, and where we’re supposed to trust a rapist to protect us, it seems no surprise that I’ve had little yellow birds finding their way through my quilts.
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.
