Hand-quilting preparation

Basted quilt, hoop, and muslin strips.

I was recently in Japan, where many traditional craft techniques developed centuries ago still survive, albeit precariously. (I'll blog about my adventures soon.)  In my own quilt work, I often tap the services of my talented machine quilter, Laurena McDermott, but have not, and never will, abandon hand-quilting altogether, as long as I'm able to manipulate the needle to my satisfaction.

As I methodically stitch, it feels good to be a sustaining part of a long tradition of handwork, and I also love the texture unique to the hand-quilted surface. I use traditional tools, for example, my trusty two-part wooden quilting hoop, and was recently thrilled to find a vendor selling small bars of beeswax at my local farmers' market, so I can now run my lengths of thread along the edge of the beeswax. The ever-so-thin coating of wax helps prevent the thread from breaking and fraying.  Silicon thread conditioners work well too, but don't have the same faint, pleasing fragrance as beeswax.

In a previous post, I discussed hand-basting the quilt sandwich - layering the backing, batting and top with long stitches in contrast color thread. Once basted, the last step prior to beginning hand-quilting is to address the problem that the quilt is rectilinear while the hoop is circular. There are tensioning devices, for example the Q-snap frame, that are rectilinear, but I've found I can't achieve the same tautness with that type of frame.

Extender strip pinned to basted quilt.

I rip regular or unbleached muslin into strips about 8 - 10" wide (exact width doesn't matter), and anywhere from 60" to 110" long. In a fit of organizing a few years ago I labelled each strip with its length at both ends of the strip, using a fabric marking pen (those are the numbers visible on the muslin strips in the top image).

Strip pinned through all layers; excess length held by safety pin.

I pin two muslin strips on the long edges of the rectangular quilt, aligning the long edge of the extender strip with the long edge of the basted quilt top, and pinning carefully through all layers.  Let the extender strip overhang the bottom and top of the quilt a few inches. For example, if the quilt top is 60" long, the extender strip needs to be at least 66".

I stitch the extender strips, through all layers, using a 90/14 needle. I use the longest stitch length on my Janome and set the needle position to 3.5, which gives me a 1/4" seam allowance, so I can quilt right to the edge where the binding will be.

Stitching through all layers.

Left: muslin strip stitched. Right: strip folded over.

After sewing strips onto the long quilt edges, the strips are folded to the right side and additional strips are pinned along the top and bottom edges of the quilt top, again through all the layers.  It's sort of like adding an additional border, one that will be removed when the quilting is done.  Having the edges of the quilt sandwich "framed" by extender strips not only allows me to use my round hoop, but the secure stitching prevents batting from "leaking" out and keeps everything nice and square.

Extender strip pinned to quilt and to previously sewn strip.

Extender strip sewn through all layers, flipped to right side.

Extender strips allow corner to be quilted.

Reverse side, quilting in progress.

When all four sides have their extender strips sewn on, then quilting can commence.  It's perfectly fine that the quilt back - the purple fabric -  stops short of the hoop, as the securely sewn muslin extender strips allow for correct tensioning. The last image was taken several months after the other images, when quilting was almost completed.  Once the stitching is complete, I carefully remove the muslin strips with a seam ripper. I press the muslin strips, remove any bits of thread, and they are ready for reuse on another quilt.

Sylvia Einstein at The City Quilter

The Gallery is near the Fashion Institute of Technology.

In this post I share my blog with guest Sylvia Einstein, an internationally-recognized member of my quilt guild whose work I have admired for years.  From July 10 until August 25, an exhibit of Sylvia's work, titled Let Fabric Speak, can be seen at The ArtQuilt Gallery. The gallery is associated with The City Quilter store, located at 133 West 25th St., between 7th and 6th Avenues, in Manhattan.

All photos in this post are by Sylvia, unless otherwise noted.

Sylvia's art quilts.

 Sylvia, who is a marvelous lecturer and teacher as well as artist, is originally from Switzerland and made her first quilt during the Bicentennial celebrations of 1975-6, embracing, in her words, this "very American art form."

Left to right: Dialogue, Le Monde, and Himmelsleiter.

Sylvia is, in some way, a traditional quilter, as she utilizes readily-available commercial fabrics, eschews complicated machine quilting, and has a block-based approach to composition. However, those blocks are fractured, the curves are realigned, and geometry is delightfully skewed as the fabrics dynamically interact with each other, in ways planned and serendipitous.

 

More images of Sylvia's quilts can be seen at her website, http://www.sheinstein.addr.com/Index.html

City Quilter and High Line park, New York

Astilbes in bloom, High Line park.

The week-end of June 16, 2012, DH and I visited our offspring in New York.  I planned a trip to The City Quilter, a Manhattan fabric store, with an associated art quilt gallery, recommended by quilt friend Linda. Daughter decided to show me the High Line, as it's in the same geographical area.  The High Line is easily accessible by subway, and became our scenic route to The City Quilter.

The High Line is a defunct elevated freight rail line reborn as a linear urban park in the former meat-packing district of Manhattan. Wildly popular, if the crowds were anything to go by on a beautiful June day, there are food stalls, fixed lounge chairs, loads of special events, and flowers and foliage galore. Almost too many plants, as at times the generous planting beds squeeze the walkway to a narrow bottleneck, slowing the pace and forcing a single file passage. This is a minor quibble, however; overall it's a wonderful, unique addition to New York's open space.  Part of our subway system here in Boston is called the Green Line - the High Line is, literally,  New York's Green Line.

The High Line.

The long green line of High Line park.

 The City Quilter, which sells fabrics, books, and needlework supplies such as sashiko samplers, has an associated gallery for art quilts.  Hand-made gifts are quite reasonable; I purchased a hand-dyed rayon scarf for daughter for only $15, my Manhattan bargain.

The City Quilter and The ArtQuilt Gallery - NYC.

Lots of goodies and nice staff.

Daughter admires quilts on display.

 On our way back to the subway, we stopped for liquid refreshment at Argo Tea Cafe Chelsea location (275 7th Avenue).  Tea and light bites to stay or go, plus a wall of tea to make at home.

Argo Tea Cafe.

Got tea?

Paula Nadelstern Kaleidoscope Quilts

Kaleidoscope XXVII: September 11, 2002

I caught an exhibit of quilts by Paula Nadelstern on the last hour of the last day it was up, June 15, 2012.  Shown at the arts center of Endicott College, on Boston's North Shore, the touring exhibit of work by New Yorker Nadelstern was organized by the American Folk Art Museum.  In addition to the textiles, the show featured several actual kaleidoscopes, including one by Kennebunkport artist Sue Rioux.

Collage of images from Snowy Egret kaleidoscope by Sue Rioux.

Snowy Egret kaleidoscope, Sue Rioux.

Kaleidoscope XX: Elegant After Maths.

Most of the exhibit quilts are published in a new book, Paula Nadelstern's Kaleidoscope Quilts An Artist's Journey Continues, in which Ms. Nadelstern also explains her methods. The two images below are from this book.

Diagram of cutting and assembling kaleidoscope components.

Basically, Ms. Nadelstern positions wedge-shaped templates over printed fabric, cutting multiples of the same motif from the fabric pattern repeats. These wedges are then stitched together to construct her symmetries. Ms. Nadelstern did not invent this technique but she has refined it to a level achieved by few other artists.

Kaleidoscope XVII: Caribbean Blues.

The quilt above, Kaleidoscope XVII: Caribbean Blues, was used for the promotional materials, and is a masterpiece.  Unlike some of the quilts in which a variety of deployed pieced kaleidoscopes, unified only by a vaguely similar color palette, sit in uneasy relationships with one another, in this quilt only one motif is seen in its entirety.

This geometric mandala is joined by identically-patterned, partial motifs. Since they are cut from the same cloth, literally, all the pieced kaleidoscopes reinforce one another, and the repetition of the motifs creates a surface of elements in harmony, not competition. The kaleidoscope motif is so complex, its repetition gives the viewer needed opportunity to absorb and comprehend the pattern. The continuous unbroken border contains the energy, and there is no awkward field/border relationship to distract from the glowing geometry of the kaleidoscope units.

The background is clearly delineated through color and, rather than being just leftover space, forms a glowing interstitial matrix containing and framing the exploding bursts of color.

Caribbean Blues, detail.

The centers of the Caribbean Blues motifs were simplified for technical reasons, but this construction allowed the introduction of a fabric with a lot of white, a perfect foil for the saturated tones of the background. Let's hope this work enters a sympathetic museum someday.

Caribbean Blues, detail of wedge construction.

Also on view were pieced, individual kaleidoscopes, which hold their own masterfully, without the need for placement into a quilt.

Eight Kaleidoscope Blocks.

Viewing Kaleidoscope XXXIII: Shards.

Embroideries of Colonial Boston

Chair seats, Bradstreet family, mid-18th century.

On Wednesday, May 9, DH and I had a double treat. We attended an enthralling lecture/discussion featuring Hal Prince, legendary Broadway producer, complete with live musical medleys. After the lecture we viewed the third installment in a series of exhibitions highlighting needlework of colonial Boston, staying until we were kicked out of the museum.

Apron, Ruth Eliot, mid-18th century.

According to family lore, Ms. Eliot made the decorative apron above, and a matching stomacher, and wore them to her wedding to Reverend Jeremy Belknap on June 15, 1767.  How proud she must have been, wearing her own handiwork on her special day.  This piece was created at a time of great economic and political turmoil, but Ms. Eliot was evidently determined to have a beautiful wedding ensemble equal to that of any English bride. Her husband, Reverend Belknap, became a pastor in Dover, New Hampshire, and was quite active in the Revolutionary War.  Reverend Belknap was often away from home, leaving Ruth Eliot Belknap with their family, which eventually included six children.

One wonders if Mrs. Belknap ever had time for embroidery while raising their children, and this delicate and charming piece was an expression of the artistry she may never have had a chance to exercise again. No wonder she took so much evident time and care.

Apron, detail, Ruth Eliot.

Bed clothes and fashion accessories on view.

Curator Pamela Parmal reiterated the point that textiles, time-consuming and costly to prepare or import, were considered moveable wealth in colonial America. In addition, with our modern emphasis on bricks, mortar and a misguided perception of permanence, we've forgotten what children know when they prop a blanket over two chairs, making a "fort" - that a piece of special fabric can create a still, quiet place within its drapes. A nomad's tent, a Jewish ceremonial chuppah, Japanese noren curtains: all offer degrees of shelter and spatial definition.

The furnishings of the bedroom also telegraph wealth, rank, and status. Before modern hospitals, many lifecycle events took place in the bed.  Learn more about the design history of the bed in Going to Bed, by Eileen Harris, from the Victoria and Albert Museum's The Arts and Living series, ISBN 0112902871.

In bed we laugh, in bed we cry;
And, born in bed, in bed we die.
The near approach a bed may show
Of human bliss to human woe.
-- Isaac de Benserade (1612-1691)

Wide bed curtain, signed "A. P," 1674

Large scale works such as bed curtains were wonderful canvasses for bold, large-scale designs like this exuberant feathery motif.  This panel is worked in blue-green wool on twill-weave fustian. Fustian is a somewhat coarse, sturdy cloth composed of a  linen warp (lengthwise threads) and cotton weft (crosswise threads.)

Detail, wide bed curtain.

Detail, Fichu, Rachel Leonard, mid-18th century.

From the large scale to the minute - the above image is a detail of a triangular scarf called a fichu (FEE-shoo) typically tied around the shoulders. The fichu is made of muslin fabric embroidered with linen thread, in a style called Dresden work, which imitates lace. Do click on the image to enlarge it, and enjoy the almost microscopic detail of this masterpiece of craftsmanship.

The image below is from the website of Colonial Williamsburg; the fichu is tied with a brown bow.

Image source http://www.history.org/history/museums/clothingexhibit/museum_learn.cfm#accessories

Christening blanket, detail, Mary Fifield Adams, before 1713.

Mary's twelve children were christened in this blanket, including her son Samuel Adams, signer of the Declaration of Independence.  Sam Adams joined his family trade of fermenting malt, an essential ingredient for beer. Today there is a modern and quite successful beer company named after him.

Detail, Petticoat border, maker unknown, mid-18th c.

The border from which my detail image was taken is well over six feet long, which gives some idea of the circumference of those voluminous petticoats!

Art in Bloom at the Museum of Fine Arts

Flowers galore.

On April 29, DH and I enjoyed Members' Night at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts Art in Bloom celebration. This wildly popular annual event, in its 36th year, features three days of floral-themed activities. Over fifty Garden Clubs from around New England created floral arrangements as a response to specific works of art. I think my DH and I saw all fifty arrangements; due to the crush of people - the museum was packed - it was impossible for me to note the title of each artwork and each Garden Club, so please forgive my lack of attribution. Just enjoy the colors.

Top: Fancy clock, Noh costume, console table legs. Bottom: floral interpretations.

Spikey flowers mimic cock's comb and tail feathers.

Neo-classical sculpture; calla lilies seem to be eavesdropping.

The artwork selected ranged from Pre-Columbian gold work and weaving to a portrait by Chuck Close, so we hiked all over the museum; this event is a great way to get patrons to trek to galleries they may otherwise seldom visit.

Modigliani meets palm fronds.

A perfect pairing of painting and posies.

Sometimes the response seemed limited to highlighting the colors of the artwork, but generally the arrangements addressed form and texture as well.  

Delicate roses and baby's breath, and detail of lacy sleeve of portrait subject.

Art in Bloom is an engaging form of community involvement in the arts.  Although apparently light-hearted, conceptually this event springs from a very fundamental premise - that across cultural and temporal divides, much art has been inspired by nature.  In addition, everyone likes flowers, and, moreover, by this time of year New Englanders are more than ready to leap into the vernal season.

Sideboard and bouquet.

Cheery sunflowers, in life and in wood.

Maritime painting, with white orchids recalling sails.

Not all the flowers were on pedestals.

Rags and stitches

"Boro jewelry" - raw-edge cloth, sashiko, and antique buttons.

As I need many small gifts for a trip I'm taking later this spring, I've gone into mass production of these small pins. Boro, by the way, is a Japanese term that roughly translates to rags, or scraps of cloth. Cotton was at one time a luxury fabric in Japan, as it was imported, and every scrap was saved and reused. See examples of boro at this blog.

Three fabric scraps, hand-dyed pearl cotton and antique buttons.

Something every quilter has is lots of fabric scraps.  After some experimentation, I hit upon pleasing proportions for my little textile "sandwich:"

1) Bottom square, 2 1/4"
2) Middle square, 2"
3) Top square, 1 3/4"

Of course, the shapes can be irregular, and should be!  Using my trusty sashiko needle, I stitched the three layers together using sashiko thread, as well as some wonderful pearl cotton hand-dyed by Elin Noble.  It is difficult to force the needle and thread through all the layers, and I recommend loosely woven scraps as easiest to handle. Many of my pins use Kaffe Fassett's shot cotton for the top and bottom layers, with some kind of coordinating print in the middle.

Rows of stitching marked, or just "eyeball."

I spaced the rows of stitching about 7 - 8 mm apart,  a scant 3/8" or so. Next came the antique button, and finally I stitched a 1" pinback to the reverse of the "sandwich," just through the back layer. After all the stitching, I did a final trim of the thread ends.

Back and front of boro pin.

Pin on lapel.

I got the idea for these pins from this wonderful blog, which features Mai's hand-made creations: http://mairuru.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-boom-sashiko-hand-stitch.html