Showing posts with label Sewing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sewing. Show all posts

Monday, July 20, 2015

Owl in Freemotion

My "Blissfully Bookish" quilt, 2015
Recently, while working on the Moonglow quilt for my father's birthday, I found I needed a break from the intricately pieced compass blocks. I was also feeling creatively stifled, because all the fabrics had been preselected and included in the kit. They were all stunning, but there were no decisions for me to make beyond "do this now" or "do this later" and where to put the scraps. Truth be told, I was itching to put them in another quilt.
Different lighting shows more of the quilting on "Blissfully Bookish"
Fortunately, All People Quilt had just sent out an email featuring cute (and easy) animal quilts, and an adorable owl quilt based on a design called "Wise Guy" by Holly Hickman (download pattern here) caught my eye. The project involved very simple piecing, and had a great color scheme in browns, beiges, and green-blues.

I dipped into some of the teal scraps from Moonglow and assembled a collection of batiks, prints, and solids in reddish- and blue-browns. Luxurious silks by Pindler and Pindler added stunning texture to the plumage around the owl's face. For the background, I paired a variety of neutral decorator fabrics in linen and cotton with scraps of Michael Miller's Urbanista 20/20. The whimsical eyeglasses made my owl appropriately bookish. Marimekko's romantic print Hurmio (1999; "Hurmio" is the Finnish word for "Bliss") by Fujiwo Ishimoto in cotton sateen framed the eyes and provided a single flower in gold for the owl's soft belly. Maija and Kristina Isola's Nostosilta (a 1967 design reprinted and recolored in 2009, "Nostosilta" means "drawbridge" in Finnish; my blissful owl enjoys watching boats) makes for a vibrant border in blues and greens.
Detail of "Hurmio" print and free-form echo quilting on my blissful owl's belly

The smaller size of this quilt inspired me to experiment with new (to me) freemotion designs. I started with designs from Deborah Poole's You Can Quilt It! Stunning Free Motion Designs Made Easy. I used her Jelly-icious design around the eyes (detail below) and experimented with a variety of feather techniques, including the hooked feathers pictured below.
Detail of quilting around the owl's eyes, inspired by designs in Deborah Poole's You Can Quilt It!
More feathers and a leaf crown for my owl

Detail of quilting adapted from Deborah Poole's Four Square design 

Peacock Shell filler

Lots of different feathers
For the background, I wanted an organic quilting motif. LuAnn Kessi's "Organic Background Filler" was perfect, and was so fun to quilt.
Detail of background quilting, based on design by LuAnn Kessi
 My blissfully bookish owl was a great break from an intense project. When quilting becomes stressful I need to step back, take the pressure off, and remind myself to have fun.

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Flip-flop Fantasia

My family and I recently enjoyed a fabulous trip to the beach.
Kitty Hawk, NC, photo credit Jessica Campbell. 
We brought our game-day quilt for a beach blanket, and loaded our supplies into the world's biggest tote bag:
Giant tote bag with happy polka dots
I thought I was beach-ready, right up until the moment when my bare feet hit the hot sand. I had gotten away without flip flops for a few years, but I hadn't been to the beach in a few years, either. This trip convinced me that if I wanted to spend more time in the sun and surf, I would need a pair of summer sandals.

Luckily, Anna Graham's new book Handmade Style included instructions for how to make my own. What!?! Homemade flip-flops? That's crazy. Crazy fun!

Graham's pattern provides a foot-bed template and easy-to-follow instructions. Steps include layering fabric with fusible interfacing (I used Peltex) to make the footbed, attaching straps made from bias tape, and using bias binding to sew the footbed layers together. I traced my own feet to create a custom fit, and added another layer of Peltex and a pair of Dr. Scholl's gel insoles between the layers of interfacing for extra cushioning. I used leftover strips of batting to fill in the space around the edges of the gel insole. I love the freedom of a flip-flop, but I'm not a huge fan of the flopping. Inspired by a pair of Chacos I once had (I could afford new ones if I hadn't spent all my money on fabric), I designed straps that secure the big toe and then criss-cross the foot three times.
Top view of the new kicks. You get to see my feet and my weedy lawn. I'm lettin' it all hang out today.
This part of the design process was pretty exciting, actually. It's so hard to find shoes that fit well. Custom shoes are a fantasy of mine. Being able to make my own: fantasy times three. The straps are surprisingly comfortable. They are snug enough to provide a close fit, stay on my foot, and eliminate flopping. They have enough stretch to slide on and off with ease. Perfecto!

The binding used to be a waistband
The tricky part was stitching the layers together. After I added the gel insoles, batting, and extra layer of Peltex, the shoe-sandwich was pretty thick. Regular bias binding would not quite do the trick. I needed something strong and stretchy. The solution? The waistband from a colorful pair of St. John jeans that looked far better on e-bay than they did on my body. The stitching was a bear. I broke two needles, my thread tension did not respond well to gel inserts, and I had to stitch parts by hand. But by the end of the day, I had a pair of sandals all my own.
Happy feet!
We head back to the beach in a few weeks, and these babies are going with me. If you have ever made your own flip flops, or any other kind of shoe, I would love to see them. Please share!



Monday, June 22, 2015

Modern Flying Geese

detail, my Modern Flyng Geese, 2015
A few months ago I saw a pattern on Etsy called "I'm Flying Modern" by Elena, featuring bright, modern solids against a lovely gray cross-hatched sky. Her quilt inspired me to design my own modern flying geese quilt.

Flying geese blocks are simple, but somewhat tricky. In the diagram below, the white portion of the block is the goose, and the black is the sky. Contrast between the two is important for achieving the illusion of a bird in flight. A row of flying geese blocks is meant to represent the orderly migration of a flock of geese.

In late December I had purchased this wonderful collection of Pure Elements solids, pictured below, inspired by Frances Newcombe's Safari Moon print collection for Art Gallery Fabrics.
gorgeous Pure Elements solids: a starting point for my palette of geese
After auditioning the fabrics, I decided not to use the chartreuse and orange. Instead, I swapped in some spring green, purple, and pale peach. 

The bright colors would be my very energetic geese. They would travel boldly across cloudy skies, some puffy white snow-clouds, some lightly overcast, others stormy grey or darkest night. They would form orderly rows, but they would not all be going in the same direction. 


I made all the geese first, then settled on a layout. As this was my first time making flying geese blocks, I used a helpful tutorial, linked here, by Karen Johnson from ConnectingThreads. You can see that I managed to preserve most of my points, but the height of my geese blocks was not uniform. I answered my momentary longing for order and perfection (I know, ridiculous on both counts) with a reminder that in nature, geese, like people, come in all sizes. Why should mine be any different? I can only tolerate so much order, anyway. Clouds, on the other hand, remind us of the imaginative possibilities of a glorious disorder. The answer? An extra patch of cloud chasing the geese, above left. 

For the border, I used a geometric print by Sunbrella that reminded me of moons and snowballs and seemed a perfect whimsical pairing for my happy geese. For the backing I chose a field of mushrooms in a grayish taupe. I don't know if geese eat mushrooms, but if they do, they'll have plenty to snack on. 

Rows of echo quilting accentuate the geese and create a whimsical zig zag effect on the quilt's back. I pieced the binding from a wild variety of bright printed fabrics that coordinate with the geese and frame the neutral border with a riot of color. Despite their appearance of order in flight, geese can be rambunctious. I like that. From a safe distance. 

Update on Modern Flying Geese: I am delighted to report that this quilt has been purchased and the geese are flying to their new home in Australia. Safe travels!

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Albers' Bluest Blue

In a previous post (Inspired by... Josef Albers), I wrote about my first encounter with the work of German born visual artist Josef Albers. Albers' work on color, particularly in his book Interaction of Color, emphasizes color's relativity and instability, capacity to decive, ability to evoke different readings in different contexts. Intensity, placement, boundaries, recurrence, and extent all influence how a color is perceived and how it interacts with other colors in a composition. Albers wants his audience to learn to see how colors can act and relate to one another. His method "places practice before theory," and aims to cultivate sight that is closely linked with imagination and fantasy.

My Homage to Albers: Bluest Blue
I am eager to learn from Albers for my own work as a quilter. The first of Albers' practical exercises I chose to quilt is an exercise in color intensity, specifically in perceiving brightness (Interaction of Color pp. 16-17). Albers' years as a teacher taught him that it is a relatively easy matter to train a group of artists to perceive light and dark gradations uniformly. But when it comes to brightness? It's not so simple.

We each have different preferences, different tastes, and colors we just don't like. Our preferences change with mood, or with stages in life. A color we can't stand one year, we may fall in love with once we begin to truly understand how it works, how it interacts, what depths and heights it is capable of (browns, anyone?).

Albers sought to cultivate this understanding by having students sort "all possible shades and tints within a hue" and then choose the hue they considered "most typical": reddest red, yellowest yellow. The study I chose to reproduce is Albers' rendition of an exercise in choosing "the bluest blue."
Josef Albers' exercise in color intensity - brightness: "the bluest blue"

My quilt, pictured above, doesn't reproduce Albers' tints and shades exactly, but I tried to replicate them as closely as I could with the colors I had in my stash.

Albers states, somewhat enigmatically, that "the most typical hue...is placed within the group accordingly." That is, we're supposed to be able to spot it based on its prominence within the composition. My eye - in Albers' composition and in my quilt, is drawn to the third blue from the bottom. Is it a coincidence that looks like Duke blue to me?

improvised quilt back
For the quilt back, I used scraps from the blues used on the front of the quilt along with a variety of whites and off-whites, including scraps from the background fabric I used for the quilt top. I improvised the piecing to create a modern composition that re-scrambles Albers' sorted tints and shades. My off-grid composition was pieced in five columns of uneven widths. These widths were largely determined by the size of the scrap I was using, a wonderful constraint that minimized planning and let serendipity rule the results.

detail of echo quilting on quilt back


For the quilting, I echoed the blocks on the front of the quilt. I used the upper feed dog on my walking foot as a guide for spacing the echo-lines. This method yielded quilting lines that are roughly 1/4" apart. I absolutely love the textured effect from the dense quilting (see detail of quilt back). That said, the quilting was a labor-intensive process requiring many hours to complete. The dimensions of this quilt were 51" x 60". It would have been difficult to complete wrangle a larger quilt using this method on my home machine.

In my next post I'll share a work in progress (aka "how I fell in love with browns"). In the meantime, happy quilting, crafting, reading, painting, dancing, writing, digging, building. And enjoy this beautiful spring day!

Friday, May 1, 2015

Inspired by... Josef Albers

Josef Albers, Interaction of Color
I recently watched a webinar called "Modern Quilting: Know It When You See It" by modern quilter Jacquie Gering, on the Modern Quilt Guild  members' site. Jacquie's presentation addressed the question "What is Modern Quilting?" and mapped a spectrum from traditional to modern. One influence she named for modern quilting is modern art. In my own attempt to better understand what defines modern quilting, I thought it would help me to better understand the history of modern art and design.

Josef Albers, Homage to the Square 
My first stop in this journey of discovery was the work of Josef Albers. Like my mother's family, Albers was a German Catholic who emigrated to the United States during the Nazi regime. Before leaving Germany, Albers was a professor at the Bauhaus from 1922 to 1933, specializing in furniture design and stained glass, a medium that has much in common with quilting. After immigrating to the United States, from 1933 to 1949 he directed the painting program at the newly opened art school Black Mountain College in Black Mountain, NC. In 1950 Albers joined Yale University's department of design, which he chaired. He remained in New Haven for the remainder of his life. I share aspects of identity and place with Albers. What most drew me to his work, however, was his focus on color.

Josef Albers, Transparency
Albers paintings are "quilterly", and to me they beg to be interpreted in fabric and thread. I am not trained in art, but I have ordered Josef Albers' influential book Interaction of Color with every expectation that it will serve as a primer for me in my experiments with color as a quilter while also helping me gain a greater understanding of the modernist aesthetic.

After finishing my Carolina Blues quilt top, I wanted to make a quilt back for it that used the same color scheme: a spectrum of dark and light blues paired with neutrals. Because my fabric purchases are predominantly scraps, remnants, and the occasional irresistible fat quarter bundle, I don't have a lot of yardage for single-fabric backings, and usually default to a pieced backing. The Josef Albers color study on the left, below, from Interaction of Color, seemed just the thing. 

Josef Albers, Interaction of Color, v-3
I aimed for a simple rendering. That is, I didn't use Albers' piece to inspire a new design, but attempted to recreate his design in a different medium. My hope is that as I become more familiar with his work and the principles behind it, my own designs will use his work as a foundation rather than a template. 

For this piece, I worked from an 8"x10" color print-out, pictured below. 

My construction notes
Based on my estimate of the amount of background fabric I would need and the amount I actually had, I set a scale in which 1 cm on the print-out would equal 2.6" in the quilt. I kept a calculator handy to help me gauge where to position each block and how much background fabric to put where. I determined that the blue blocks would be 8" x 32" finished or 8.5" by 32.5" cut. I used a protractor to measure angles in the original design and to replicate them in the positioning of the blocks. I made up my methods as I went along, which meant there were a lot of mistakes, and not all of the angles or block positions replicate those in Albers' original. 

The overlapping of blue blocks created some particular construction challenges for me because I cut the blue blocks whole at the beginning of the project (a few were pieced because of the dimensions of the fabric remnants I had at hand). If I did a similar design in the future, I would plan to piece some of the blocks during construction to better accomodate the overlapping, particularly in the second block from the bottom and from the top.

As it happened, I did not have enough of the background fabric to make a quilt back for the Carolina Blues quilt, so I have decided to make this Homage to Albers into a quilt of its own. It does not want to lie quite flat (though as I look at this picture, I am hoping it isn't quite as puckered as it appears!), so I will need to make some tucks before I attempt to baste and quilt it, but I am still very happy with the results.
Pick Your Blue: Homage to Albers
What modern artists have inspired your quilts?

Carolina Blues

Carolina Blues quilt top
















For a recent quilt guild meeting, we were told to bring a small quilt sandwich on which to practice hand quilting. To prepare something quick, I sat down one evening with a pile of fabric strings - those long skinny strips of fabric that get trimmed away at the end of a project - and started sewing them together. Then I started cutting the pieced strings into 10" squares. On a whim, I cut those squares into quarter triangles, and began experimenting with ways to put them back together.

I found that with two 10" squares cut into quarter triangles I could make two different blocks: one a set of nesting squares, above, the other a striated cross, below. My hand quilting, as it turns out, was abysmal. I'll be needing a lot of practice before I go public with that. I ripped out the offending stitches and finished this little trivet, pictured, on the machine.

string piles
In the meantime, I was intrigued by the design, and wanted to see what kind of optical effects would be created by piecing sets of matching and contrasting blocks together in a quilt.

In case you'd like to try it for yourself, I'll share the steps. It's a very easy way to use up odd pieces of fabric. While working with small strings can be time consuming, the actual piecing is a cinch. For those who are experimenting with improvisational quilting, this technique offers a great balance between improv and structure.

For the larger quilt, I thought green might be a bit overpowering, so I decided to work with blues. I live in North Carolina, and my household is divided between Duke and Carolina. So, naturally, the quilt would have to combine broody Duke blue with ebullient Carolina blue. To give definition to the design, I decided to alternate between dark and light strings. The dark strings I chose were shades and tones of blue violet, cerulean, blue, and turquoise. The light strings included pale blues, violets, aquas, and pinks as well as a variety of neutrals in gray, white, off-white, and tan.

In general, strings were between 1" and 2". I preferred the visual effect of narrower strings, but I felt that variety was also important. To reduce waste but leave a comfortable margin of error, I trimmed the strings to around 11" before piecing them. I then pieced them together along their long edges, always starting from the same end. This yields one end that is fairly even and one end that is irregular.

A string-runner?
For lack of a better term, I'll call the resulting stretch of pieced strings a "string-runner." In the process of making this quilt, I made some very long string-runners - ranging from 40" to 100" long. To keep the runner from taking over the table as it grew, I rolled it up like a sushi-mat to the left of my sewing machine.

10" square blocks
When the string runner seemed long enough (i.e., when my back hurt, my pile ran out, and/or I got sick of sewing strings together), I took it over to the ironing board and pressed all the seams in one direction. In my opinion, there are WAY too many seams to press them open at this stage. Later, when piecing the half-square triangles together, it is helpful to finger press the center seams open to reduce bulk at the points.
This looks nothing like grilled cheese, but my choice
of similes suggests that I might be hungry.


After pressing the string runner, I first cut the runner into 10" widths. Then I trim those into 10" square blocks. Next, I cut each block diagonally into fourths, like a grilled cheese sandwich. You can see in the picture on the left that the resulting quarters have two different patterns. If you were to arrange the triangles with the hypotenuse at the top, one pair would have horizontal stripes, and the other pair would have vertical stripes.

Working with two blocks at a time, I swapped out two opposing quarter triangles from one block for two opposing quarter triangles from the other block. This has the result of grouping all the horizontal stripes together in one block and all the vertical stripes together in the other block. After piecing four quarter square triangles together to make each block, as shown on the right, the resulting blocks, like the green ones above, share the same fabrics but have two different patterns.

The next step is to square the blocks. They should each form a 9" square. It's especially important to remove the little sticky-out triangle flags that form off the corners. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you'll know it when you see it! Trimming off the little sticky-out triangle flags (that's the technical terminology, right?) makes the piecing much easier.
This is the tricky block: lots of stretch along the edges

When it's time to piece blocks together into rows, beware: the blocks like the one on the left will want to stretch. The blocks like the one at the top of the picture on the right will not want to stretch. When you piece them to one another, extra care is needed to keep the rows lined up properly and ensure that your points match up from block to block.

There are all kinds of ways to play with these blocks and to let them play with one another. The arrangement I chose, featuring eight rows of nine blocks each, is pictured below and at the top of this post, in two views of the completed quilt top. (The math will tell you that I had nine blocks leftover, and these will probably turn into a mini-quilt).

The alternations of light and dark in the strip piecing allow the nested squares to recede and advance, creating movement and depth. The piecing also creates a diamond grid, allowing the eye to shift between focusing on diamonds, squares, and crosses in a playful optical puzzle.  
If you try out this technique, I hope you will share your creations. Sky's the limit.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Ode to Scraps

Quilters love their scraps. Quilters hate their scraps. Quilters try to unload their scrap piles on unsuspecting innocents. Quilters covet the motley discards of fellow fabric junkies. How to characterize the relationship between quilters and their scraps? It's complicated.
Scrap-city

Every quilting project generates scraps. Even alleged scrap-buster projects have the alarming capacity to spawn scraps. These ever-multipling and ever-smaller pieces of fabric can be unwieldy, unshapely, hard to keep track of. I shove them in tubs and baskets and buckets. I procure more tubs, baskets, and buckets. I fill them, stack them in precarious, mismatched towers. My living room is now a city of sky-scraping scrap-piles.

Scraps weary me. How do I still have pieces of this fabric? I fell in love with this crazy print. Now it is unimaginably ugly. I suck it up and use it again, thinking this will be our last encounter. A month later I find more pieces of it, hiding in a forgotten tupperware. By some dark magic, this process happens again and again. They are attached to me; they haunt me forever. 
The forgotten tupperware under the shelf
This is the dark side of scraps. But there is a light side, a beautiful side.

When I quilt with my own scraps, I incorporate the memories of a hundred projects. I remember the excitement of designing something new, learning new techniques, watching my skills grow, seeing the project come together in unexpected ways. I experience again the simple joy and wonder of touching and seeing a beautiful piece of fabric, its textures, colors, simplicity or artistry, whimsy or elegance. It has been with me for a while. Today I am surprised and glad to see that some piece of it still remains. 

I made this trivet with scraps from the first quilt I made for my son
As I lift a scrap from a past project and fit it to another, I remember the person for whom I labored. I think again of how I observed their favorite colors, their style and taste, habits and needs, and then thought of what I might make for them that could make them feel special and known, make them laugh and smile. I feel again my pleasure at their surprise and delight. I connect with them in my heart, and also with my own better self, a person who is warm and generous. 

As I stitch these many pieces together I see a new creation take shape. I focus my intention now on someone new. Sometimes I know who that is, and sometimes I do not. Past prayers join together to bring blessings for someone new. 

At a simple, economic level, it is also deeply satisfying to work with scraps. These tiny pieces could be discounted. They could be composted. Or worse, thrown in the trash. I tell myself that I am frugal. (This miserly mythology is only part of the story: the amount of money I have spent building my stash could have paved our driveway, and if my husband ever reads this blog I guess we'll have to chat about that.) When I make them into something bigger, something beautiful, I feel resourceful and triumphant. All things are possible! I have made stone soup! We may go hungry, but we will never want for quilts.
Quilty Compost

This optimist's venture is also a stay against chaos. I turn disorder into order. I make the piles smaller. As I embark on a new scrap project, I think, I will use so many scraps, I will be so happy. At the end, I am vindicated. It feels wonderful. I am free! 

More gorgeous fabric from TupperwareParty
A crack opens just here. I enjoyed that feeling so much that I want to do another scrap project. But I have no scraps left. My tubs are empty, my towers demolished. I get the bright idea to use someone else's scraps. I scour ebay and etsy in search of scrap lots and goody bags, and, in the grips of madness, I buy them.
Awesome scraps from one of my favorite Etsy sellers, Textile Temptations by TupperwareParty

This mad impulse has yielded wonderful results. I would never be able to afford such a variety of batiks and Kokka designs if I bought them in bundles or off the bolt. Other people's castaway scraps can often be bought for a song, and many have numbered among my favorite fabric purchases. One of my favorite sellers to buy larger scraps from is Textile Temptations by TupperwareParty on Etsy, who share their fabulous taste in Japanese fabrics at great prices. 

But sometimes the results are mixed. A purchase of a novelty scrap lot on ebay yielded a fun asparagus print, rainbows and unicorns, emperor penguins, constellations, and a lightning-lit sky (yay!). It also yielded a surprising amount of fabric featuring money, bacon, beer, zombies, and half-naked firemen. I am stymied.
The novelty box. If only the money and beer were real...
And sometimes the results are allergies. Small scraps are very hard to wash. I can wash the quilt when all is said and done, but until then I stubbornly itch my way through piles of scraps that carry with them remnants of cat dander and unexpected perfumes. Is it worth it? Oh yes.

In a future post I'll share some of my adventures in scrap sorting. Until then, I'd love to hear from you - what is your relationship with your scraps? Do you love them, hate them, hoard them, hide them? What are your favorite scrap creations?  

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Elizabeth's Maze: A Journey Begins

Elizabeth Edens, VBS 2013:
"Queen of Kingdom Rock"
A few months ago, my dear friend Elizabeth Edens turned 60. She also had recently retired from her long-time position as parish ministry coordinator at the parish we both called home for many years.

Elizabeth is one of the most vibrant, vivacious, and stylish women I know. She used to run a modeling school, and has a megawatt smile and a shoe collection to die for. Then there's her collection of teapots - whimsical, unexpected, ingenious. So Elizabeth's birthday called for something bright and fabulous. It also had to be something I could knock out in a fairly small window of time.

The idea I had was a rainbow maze, a sort of labyrinth that would symbolize a spiritual journey that was only just beginning. I searched online for modern designs that would fit the bill, and found this beautiful quilt, below, by modern quilter Marsha Bray, enitled Rainbow Trail (40" x 40", 2011).

Marsha Bray, Rainbow Trail, 2011
Marsha Bray's innovative design forms a geometric grid of color. It creates an illusion of depth and three dimensionality. In my haste, however, I did not notice this when I first studied her design. In my own adaptation, I wanted the colors to repeat as the maze spiraled outward, so I worked with smaller swaths of each color. I also chose to work with prints and batiks instead of solids, because Elizabeth is definitely a prints kinda gal. Understated ain't her thing. Not really mine, either. So, polka-dots. Here is the mini-quilt I made for Elizabeth:

Elizabeth's Maze: a Journey Begins, 2015
The spiral quilting made me think of the labyrinth from Chartres, emphasizing the unexpected turns of our spiritual journeys and softening the edges of still painful experiences that have taken us by surprise. I chose blue for the center, a primordial color, a color of calm and rest and possibility - a sabbath beginning for this next phase in life's fabulous and endlessly colorful journey.

The quilt now has a home with Elizabeth's teapots.
Perfect!