Fashion Camp!

For many years, I ran a little writing camp. Up to twenty kids per week would join me for a few hours each day and do writing exercises and perform skits and have what I came to term (to their delight) Unhealthy Snack Time! As the years progressed, I added an arts & crafts component for the last twenty minutes or so. The kids loved this. It wasn't that they hated the writing part-- they made fun magazines and fast friends. But arts & crafts, now that was something.

This led to little craft workshops over the years. And then, last summer, I held Fashion Camp for a couple of weeks. I did this in part to reach out to my estranged ex-stepdaughter, who had had a huge hand in the death of my marriage. She is an excellent seamstress, but she'd never held a real job. So I hired her, and let her lead, and the kids really enjoyed the projects she helped them create. But I was trying too hard then, and though we got through those weeks okay, the closeness and bonding we'd had before I met and married her father (she'd been a student of mine) was gone. I just couldn't get past the hurt she inflicted. I sense she felt the same way.

But I held on to the fashion camp idea. And this past winter, when we were returning from Mexico, I told MaryJ, one of my traveling companions, about the camp. She's got a background in costume design and she is an incredible businesswoman and overall force of nature. We agreed to work together this summer.

Tomorrow marks the end of two one week sessions. We culminate with a fashion show, which the kids just love. They sashay across the stage of the theater in which we hold camp, showing off simple designs they've come up with with the help of MaryJ and our two teen assistants. MaryJ and I get a good laugh over the fact that, though I am a lousy seamstress, crap with money management, and sometimes don't feel terribly patient (which I try not to let show), I am at the helm of an endeavor that calls for all these things.

But I think the key is to just let the kids have some creative freedom, not to be too imposing on them. They get to dig through big bins of old fabric we've accumulated and to take multiple t-shirts and cut them up and reconfigure them into something new, some personal statement. We also do pillowcase skirts and accessories.

All this reminds me of my mother who is an incredible seamstress and who, I think to preserve her sanity, often set her nine children down with lots of inexpensive craft items and let us have at it. I never lost my love of crafting. And though my sewing is lacking to put it mildly, I'm an okay knitter, so I'm not a total loss in the textile creation department.

And now I'm off to another day of humming machines and giggling girls. We'll do a rehearsal today, and put up our set (a big cardboard box painted with a summer scene). And the excitement will build until tomorrow when, at 11:30, we will commence to having a short but thrilling show.

Hi Everyone

I hear that Quilter's Home is out with the piece about my heart shaped rocks. Yay! Glad to hear it. Sorry I have so neglected this blog but there's LOTS going on with me and quilting, including six (!) upcoming trips to visit with and interview quilters for my upcoming book. I will post a real post very soon. Just wanted to say hi and thanks for the alert that the magazine is out.

Ironing and Used Fabric

Well, the goal *was* to post here a lot more regularly but man I have been busy. Some of this busy-ness is courtesy of working on my new book, Quiltng Art, featuring cutting edge quilters who push the art form to new places. I had the honor of interviewing Loretta Bennett recently. She's a Gee's Bend quilter. And last week I talked to Boo Davis, who does heavy metal quilts. Both talked about how they enjoy using old fabric in their works.

My last fabric purchase was fairly expensive. I went to the Quilt Store in Austin and picked up a lot of khaki colored material to use as sort of a canvas, upon which I planned to use some randomly cut pieces of deep red and equally deep turquoise. I'm not a huge fan of khakis and beiges, but on that day, the quilt spirit moved me to get it. I still have mixed feelings about it.

I then washed and dried this fabric and put it in a heap on the ironing board, where it sat for a month or so. During this time, I was over at Warren's one day, and I had on a house dress I picked up at a thrift store. It's really pretty-- at least I think so. But Warren took one look at it and said, "WHAT are you wearing?"

Warren doesn't really care if I dress in trash bags. He was just surprised to see me in this atypical ensemble. Usually I'm a Levi's and flannel shirt kind of girl. I got defensive. Then we both looked closer at the garment. The pattern is pretty. But really, the style isn't me at all. So I decided that I'll cut it up and use it in this new quilt.

Thus inspired, I went through the closet and found another pretty article of clothing. This, too, I got at the thrift store. And it also is not exactly my style. But the deep red flowers match the solid red new fabric I got. And so out it went, to the ironing board, designated to become part of a quilt. Now a part of me is inspired to only work with used fabric from here on out.

Meanwhile, yesterday, as I often do on Sundays, I hung out with my friend, Will. Will is nineteen and has autism. For many years, I was his part time attendant, taking him on adventures and just hanging out with him. We lost touch for awhile and reconnected this year. As it happens, Will LOVES to iron. One year, for Christmas, I got him a teeny tiny seam iron-- it looks like a little spade on a long handle.

So Will came over and we listened to music and I swept and mopped and he busied himself ironing some of the fabric. He did an excellent job and I am finally feeling motivated to start cutting pieces.

Here are some pictures of the the house dress, and the red print blouse:

Beverly's Story

When I started this here fledgling blog, I said I wanted to share stories of other quilters. I got an email from Beverly Hagewood that included a picture and the following story. Great story, Beverly, thanks for sharing. I hope the rest of you will send in stories, too.

Beverly's Story

My name is Beverly and I originally come from Boston, Mass. I moved with my (now ex-husband) to Tenn. in l994. About l l/2 years after I moved to Tenn. my neighbor and dear friend Margaret taught me how to hand piece and hand quilt. She told me to go out and find a wall hanging to start with and when she returned from Little Rock Ark. she would show me how it all goes together.

Well hardheaded as I am I went out and got a pattern in a quilt magazine for a king size Dobbins Fan quilt. While she was away for 2 weeks I pieced them all together and then sandwiched the quilt as she explained earlier to me. I tried to hand quilt it but it didn't look like hers, so I waited a few more days until she got home. I showed her what I have done and she remarked about "wall hanging Beverly not king size.” I think she said it about 20 times. I lost count.

Well she showed me her technique and I completed it and loved it. I still have that quilt twelve years later. Now that I know a lot more about quilting I call it my oops quilt. (I still love it).

Well since then I have quilted in my own way dozens of quilts both on the sewing machine and a lot by hand. Also since then I have gone through a divorce with someone I thought would be my life long partner and lost and found and lost my mother. I remarried in 2002 and also lost my mother-in-law.

In 2004 we had to relocate to Sparta TN.. I hate change and it seems that is all my life has been. Shortly after relocated here and not knowing anyone around I found myself in my little sewing room and decided instead of losing my mind and thinking of all worries and do's and don'ts in my life and what the heck and I doing, I decided to make a quilt. I knew flowers and color made me happy and that’s what I needed. I found inspiration in Victorian wallpaper designs and various patterns on the internet and a dessert prairie rose flower design.



This quilt took 5 or so months of my life to hand piece, applique and quilt. I cried many of tears, prayed for forgiveness, talked to my mom and mother-in-law and talked to God throughout this quilt. I laughed to myself at life’s little moments of times gone by and with each stitch reminded myself of life as a gift every day I awake and good times to come. I also thanked my mom and Margaret for the inspiration they gave me to make this quilt. This quilt I call the Love of Quilting. It was my recovery and renewed outlook on life.

My First Real Quilt

Soon, I will post the story of another quilter-- I'm super busy right now since one of my many jobs is wedding officiant and in Texas, April is the June of the wedding season since June is pretty darn hot. And I'll talk about an interview I just did with a Gee's Bend quilter. For now, a picture of Warren holding up the very first full sized quilt I ever made, a sloppy sloppy scrapaholic that I just love. It matches the little yoga quilt I made for Bubbles. I should note that, even though I saved the picture rightside up on my computer, apparently my computer is also sloppy and insists on uploading the picture sideways. As with my other attempts at photography, I ask that you consider this "art."

Another Sloppy Hobby!

My friend and boss, Julie, hooked me up with an awesome digital camera so I can share pictures of my sloppy quilt progress. I noted in an earlier post that I am crap with following directions. So instead of finding an online manual for the camera, I decided to be sort of an impressionistic painter with it. By which I mean, until I see Julie again and she can remind me where auto-focus is, these lovely blurry images must be referred to as high art so I can get away with posting them. Mostly it's me just practicing. What we have below are a couple of shots (one close up) of my next quilt, i.e. the pile of fabric on the ironing board, which also holds an iron, photographic proof that I own such a device. Also, a picture of Princess Bubbles, one of four of my dogs, the most spoiled, the alpha, she of the Napoleon complex. She is posing with the very first quilt I ever made, a tiny scrapaholic number. For fun, I'm also including a full shot and detail of the Cat Pee Quilt, which I picked up at a flea market. I was admiring it and the guy said that, seeing as his cat had peed on it, I could have it for free. But I wanted to pay something, so I think I gave him five bucks. As you can see, the Cat Pee Quilt is falling apart. Maybe one day I'll learn how to repair it. But I love it as is, love how old it is, and that I can invent stories about how it was made with tremendous love, by some near blind grandmother in her rocker by the Franklin Stove, and then used to cover up her visiting grandchildren. Never mind about the part where it falls in the evil paws of the ungrateful cat.

Anyway, I plan on posting lots more pictures soon, crisp, clear, gorgeous pictures worthy of printing and framing and hanging. Stay tuned.

This Is An Iron

I mentioned that a cranky home-ec teacher was the number one reason I opted out of sewing from the ages of 14 til around 40. Not sewing meant, of course, not quilting. But overcoming fear of seams was only one deterrent. Another huge obstacle was this: the need to iron.

I am not kidding when I say that, except for a tiny travel iron I had at some point (can’t even remember when), I just never had an iron. I also don’t have a TV, a vacuum cleaner, or a dishwasher. I like to “keep it light enough to travel,” as a favorite song lyric of mine goes.

But when I did decide to try out quilting, well, of course I had to get an iron. I remember this very well—I got a cheap iron and even cheaper ironing board and set these up in the living room. Two different friends, upon seeing these devices, had comments that went something like this:

Michael: I almost had a heart attack when I saw you bought an iron.

Jill: On, the iron is for quilting? Good. (sigh of relief) I was really worried you were going to start ironing your clothes.

I have seven sisters. I’m pretty sure none of us know how to iron. The topic came up last week when I went to New Jersey for my father’s funeral. One of my younger sisters was bragging that her husband was great at ironing. I don’t know if he had the skill before he met her or if he had to acquire it as a form of adaptation. But suffice it to say, while the Gillespie girls might accommodate their men on some counts, keeping their clothes crisp and wrinkle-free is not one of those areas.

We grew up learning iron-avoiding tips like: If you have an appointment in a half hour and your clothes are wrinkled, throw them in the dryer with a damp washcloth for a little while and they’ll be just fine. Or, if you have the luxury of realizing you have an appointment the next day, you can just hang the clothes on the shower rod and take a hot shower and the steam will do its magic.

I mean, really, we are totally allergic to ironing.

Many years ago, I began taking care of a kid with autism. He’s a young man now. After caring for him for eight or ten years, we lost touch and only recently reconnected. This friend of mine, he’s obsessed with ironing. He loves it. Once, I bought him the tiniest iron ever, a seam iron I picked up at a little quilt shop. He loves it.

Since I’m now in the process of contemplating my next quilt, I’ve taken out my iron and ironing board (models slightly better and more expensive than those I bought when I first entered the world of ironing at the age of forty). They’re just sitting there, waiting, with about ten yards of balled up fabric looking like some bad sculpture waiting to be re-crafted.

My friend came by a couple of weeks ago and I offered him a chance to iron. He jumped right on it. I only gave him scraps to work with but that was enough—he was happy to iron and re-iron them for a long time. I’m hoping his good attitude about the task rubs off on me.

And I will say, once I get into ironing, I don’t mind so much. I put on some music or an audiobook and I just iron and iron and never get all the wrinkles out but do the best I can. I hear Ricky Tims in my head, talking about “aggressive pressing,” a technique he first taught me when I attended a workshop of his (as a reporter, not a participant). Aggressive pressing is his solution to dealing with puckers when one attempts to flatten out curvy seams, seams I have no business using but, what the heck, I try, since when I ask Warren to design a quilt top for me to create, he—not knowing how hard curves are—thinks nothing of sketching something that’s curvier than the Venus de Milo.

Really, I’ll post pictures soon of my ironing progress. Soon as I get around to plugging the iron in.