i've been sewing in silence the last few days. i often have long stretches of silence in my life and it's quite a gift. i love the sounds of the village pulsing around me. and the ideas that race through my head. i'm fortunate to have the time as i work to follow these intrigues. and lately i am fascinated with the fact that i have made a career out of making quilts. to me, it feels like another version of the world's oldest profession. and it represents for me something so beautifully strong and feminine and true. taking scraps of fabric and fashioning them into embracing quilted blankets to wrap around the ones we love, warming our children and snuggling with our lovers. it feels like through my work, i am threaded to centuries of women and it seems to funnel their strength to me, which i attempt to pass on.
thankfully we had the generations of women who worked hard to improve their children's lives along with their own. the women who fought for the vote, the women who kept factories running during wars. these were the women i feel linked to in a very real way as i sew. women who opened doors for us as a society; the women who made a difference before the sexy media blitz that coined the term feminism. i relate to these women who made a difference by doing what they felt they could do without relying on idealistic rhetoric to fuel them. idealism is nice to have sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ear. but as soon as one listens too closely and repeats too loudly, it becomes the big ugly bully that distracts from reality.
so, while i get lost in thought, creating quilts i intend to sell instead of wrap around my own family, i'm so glad i have my grandmother's quilt across the room with her tiny stitches and wonderful bright colorful scraps, to look at throughout the day and keep the thread of reality pulsing through all i do.
Photographs Made With Pens
22 hours ago