Well, now that it’s been a while since I decided to leave Andover, that old fabric design bug is starting to kick back in. So, I’ve been grabbing some bits of time here and there to get a bit of work done, to make some progress on a next set of collections that will hopefully find a home. And since I’ve been a bit of a hermit as of late it only seems fair that I share a bit of a sneak peek…
Just a wee peek; everybody will have to wait until later for more…
-t
So, after taking some time away from fabric design (hopefully temporary) and just about everything else, I am starting to re-emerge from my hermitage re-engage with the quilting world. And with that I am encountering some of the same things that drove me batty, but this time with a lot more time to think under by proverbial belt.
As I start making plans for Spring Market and the publicity work for my book I keep running into the same questions, almost all of which stem from the basic concern of demonstrating how it serves the hobby of quilting. I keep running into that word: hobby. It seems to be everywhere as the base assumption about what quilting is.
Of course it is a hobby, right? What else would it be??? That is certainly how the quilting industry seems to frame things, perpetually asking what more can we sell to hobbyists, how can we make it easier for them, what new gadgets, cuts, and kits will they need (or can we tell them that they need)??? But here’s the thing; I don’t think of quilting as a hobby; it seems more like a practice in a way similar to how I understand the term practice to be used in Buddhism.
I am interested in the history of quilting, as a social, personal, political, and cultural practice, one that for so many years was tied into the fabric of communities and lives. I am interested in how what we do now relates to that tradition, not just the modern notion of things. And I think there is a vast number of quilters out there that is put off by the hobbyization of the practice of quilting, put off by the cycle of props and gimmicks, the next marketing ploy and push. Furthermore, I don’t think the coming generations of quiltings (if there will be any) are going to engage the tradition as a hobby. They will be looking for something more, a practice that is resonant and profound, not an occasional escape from the world, but a meaningful relationship with the world.
How then do I get this view to fit in with Quilt Market and the industry at large? I am expected to show how my book, and everything else I can do, can sell more stuff, but so much of what I write about, and so much of what I do, is about showing that the stuff just doesn’t matter. And it is not just a matter of idealism; I truly believe that if (yes, IF) quilting is to have a future it will not come as a hobby, through wave after wave of fads, but through showing future quilters what quilts mean and how they can be used to making meaning.
I am teaching a few people to sew over here, part of a Cambridge group. They are just starting to sew and had not planned to start quilting, but then I showed them a few quilts and talked a bit about what quilts mean to me, and have meant historically. The next thing I knew I had a group of new quilters. The transformation didn’t come because of a kit or a collection or anything of the like. It came because they wanted to engage in that tradition, to make something meaningful, something profound, not just another thing to use, or end up in a closet somewhere, but something that will be part of their lives for years to come.
It is in sharing what quilting is and means, in going deep, that quilting will continue, not by capturing the latest trend. Yes, there may be a healthy market out there for kits, gadgets, and things, but with each passing year I think that market shrinks; it is quilting as it has been done since the end of the era of need. But looking forward I see a new profound need, not a need for things or for doing, but a need for a practice, for resonance, to depth and substance.
All of this is what I am trying to teach Bee, taking time to help her find a connectedness not just to the making and the having, but to the larger practice, to find her place within both her actions and a wider world of meaning. Already she is eager to make her first quilt, a gift for Babbit to remind him that his big sister will always love him.
So, I am not sure if there is a place for me in the hobby of quilting; nor am I sure that I want to have a place there. But I have found my home in the practice, in the extraordinary tradition of quilting and the future that I hope it can have.
(Not putting too much pressure on myself, am I???)
-t
I’ve wanted to start teaching Bee to sew for a while now, but have been nervous about doing so. She is a complicated girl, and I was wary of beginning too soon, causing an emotional meltdown, and having her decide she would never, ever, ever try again. Five-year-olds can be like that, especially mine.
But now that she has settled into a school routine, it seemed like time. And I think we have both been looking for something that just the two of us could share. We’ve been trying baking, but she can only help so much, and since I can’t have sugar we can never really share the cakes and cookies we bake together, and I am pretty sure she finds that to be a small disappointment (though how disappointed can one be when there is chocolate cake)?
So, it seemed that now was as good a time as any, but it had to be all about fun, about us—not the things that we make, or the technical craft of it, just the two of us sharing something. Furthermore, it couldn’t be just about letting her into my space, using my things; it had to be all about her having a space of her own, like Papa’s. Sewing needed to be something we did together, not just something I let her do.
(Does all this make sense? It felt like there was a lot at stake in getting started, that if I got it wrong I would somehow disappoint her. She so wanted to share sewing with me, to do what I do, and if I made her feel left out of that it felt like I would be pushing her away from me. I don’t think I am the only one who has felt this when it comes to teaching a child to sew; so many of us invest large parts of ourselves in our sewing. But then again, maybe I am just a neurotic mess.)
So, the first thing was to get Bee a sewing machine, because she is kind of nervous about my MC12000; considering it is almost as big as she is, I can’t blame her. She needed something her size. I was originally thinking about the Hello Kitty machine, but that isn’t for sale here in the UK, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to buy a machine now and have another thing to ship home. Luckily my wonderful friends at Janome UK came to the rescue, and offered to lend us a machine while we are here.
We talked about what I was looking for in a machine: a 3/4-size machine for Bee, but one that I could quilt with in a pinch. Something with a drop-in bobbin, so Bee could manage that when she got there, and needle up-down button so I could train her to put the needle down before even getting ready to sew (and moving wee fingers toward the foot). And most importantly, a speed control; I wanted her to start out slowly, especially since all she knows is stomping on stuff. In the end we settled on the JEM 760.
It arrived just before we took off for a trip to Amsterdam over Bee’s half-term break, so I waited until this past Sunday to bring it out. She was positively bouncing with excitement from the moment the box came out, which leads to my first bit of advice: if you do get a machine for your child, let him/her help unpack it. This will help them feel like it really is theirs rather than something of yours that they get to use. If it has a cover, let that be a hat.
We set up her new machine together, and I even bungled threading it the first time, which leads to bit of advice #2: let your kids see you make mistakes and how you learn from them. Hell, it is funny when Papa screws up; laugh about it.
We quickly went through the parts of the machine: made the foot march up and down, giggled as we said bobbin again and again, tried to make up a needle-up, needle-down song and somehow failed miserably, and then it was time to sew. At this point Bee and I did what my mother did with me the first time I sat down to a sewing machine (at age 37): we sewed a few straight lines on a piece of paper, which is bit of advice #3. Paper is nice and stiff, and goes through easily; it gave Bee a chance to get a feel for the machine without having to wrangle fabric. Also, it gave her something to feel really proud of that she got nice, straight lines, just like she was trying to do. It’s all about confidence, and that is something that is very easy to lose.
Once we had the machine set up, a bit of practice done, and smiles on both of our faces, it was time for the big question: “What do you want to make, Bee?”
There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation; we were to make a nightgown for a bunny, the biggest one first. Happily I had shipped over a few hundred yards of fabric, so I let Bee pick whatever she wanted, and guess what she grabbed. The pink soft serve cones from Asbury; my girl has style. With fabric and bunny in hand, and her machine set up, it was time to sew.
Now, I could have gotten a doll dress pattern, or I could have modified something for a baby, but that just didn’t feel right. What we were doing had nothing to do with making something right; it was about sewing together, about making something, about sharing time. And if there were a pattern, a thing that Bee could see in advance, there would be something to compare the result to, and the possibility of failure. Kids so often latch on to expectations, and when something falls short it is a catastrophe. I still can’t draw to this day (and hate the process of drawing) because my drawings were never good enough when I was little. I was not going to let that happen to Bee with sewing.
So, here is our pattern for making a bunny nightgown:
Step One:
Get a bunny (stuffed, but not taxidermied) and lay that bunny on a big piece of paper. Trace around the bunny; don’t worry about being too precise.
Step Two:
Sketch something that looks like a nightgown over that tracing of the bunny. It’s okay to ask an adult for help. Then sketch about an inch outside of that first nightgown to add in extra for seam allowances and to account for the fact that the actual bunny is round rather than flat. Again, don’t worry about being too precise. This is your pattern.
Step Three:
Cut out your newly drawn pattern and pin it to your fabric. I suggest using a single piece of fabric folded over upon itself so you get two pieces at a single go. Whiz bang; you’re ready to sew.
(This part is the key; your kid really just wants to sew something with you, so get through this part quickly. Use his/her favorite colored pencils, whatever. Just make the pattern-making fun. Draw a silly face on the bunny outline, draw butterflies or trucks on the pattern, just make sure it is fun and not all professional. This will pay dividends down the road with a proper regard for doing the grunt work.)
Step Four:
Sew your bunny nightgown, making sure to leave openings at the bottoms, arms, and neck. This is important. Tip #4: Ask your child to mark on the fabric all the places that need stitching; this teaches planning, and it’s fun to joke about forgetting arm or neck holes. Again, play with the mistakes.
Step Five:
Try the dress on the bunny; this is likely to be exciting. I had Bee close her eyes while I got Cottontail dressed, which allowed for a big, “Ta-Da!!!” Applaud.
Step Six:
If your child is old enough, hem the bottom and sleeves (if there are any). For a more advanced wee sewist, finish the neckline, but all of that is extra. Bee was perfectly delighted with it just as it was, and positively glowed with pride.
Step Seven:
Play!!! The first thing she wanted to do was rock her bunny to sleep and tuck her in, which led to tucking all of her bunnies under quilts.
And here is the amazing thing. The next day, after school, Bee asked me if we could please do some more sewing, which, of course, we did. And that really is the most important part of teaching kids to sew: teaching them to want to do it, or at least encouraging them to want to sew. It is about fostering their interest, sharing the practice with them. All of the skills and techniques can come later, if it is something they want, but without that desire, that pleasure in the practice, they will never continue sewing. And remember; be proud of them for trying, for working at it, and for being patient, not just because they sew a wonderful seam. You are teaching the practice of sewing, not the pursuit of perfection.
So yes, I would like for Bee to keep sewing, but even more important than that is the time it gives us together now, the working together on something, making something. Certainly I will make suggestions if she doesn’t know what she wants to make, but she is the leader in this. And yes, I will give her instruction, help her to improve, but at the beginning it is all about sewing safely; perfect seams will come later.
So, is the nightgown perfect? No. Is it wonderful? Yes. And most importantly, does Bee love it? Absofreakinglutely. She was so proud that she took it to Presentation Day at school and told all her classmates about learning to sew, and wants to teach them too. And by the end of the school year, she wants to make a quilt for Babbit, one with her name on it to let him know that her big sister made it for him and loves him. Yep, my girl gets it, and I couldn’t be more proud.
Best,
-t
Dear ModCloth,
A friend of mine just sent me a link to your site, and your Fall Style Book in particular, and I just needed to write this to thank you. As my readers have noticed I have been suffering a bit of a crisis of self-doubt these past few months. Things had really kind of turned south and I doubted where I was going and if there was indeed a place for me here in the fabric world.
Now, I have no delusions. I am guessing that my old fabric company was discounting left-over Asbury because they couldn’t manage to sell it, so I have no doubt that it being cheap played into the fact that it is all over your new catalogue. I loved that you used the soft-serv print over the summer, but the fact that you are using four more must mean that it did well for you. And that is something I needed to see right now.
I love the four dresses (one, two, three, & four) you did with prints from Asbury, and will be ordering one for my wife. I am especially glad that you saw what I saw in the spinner print; I only wish the yellow version had turned out as well as the cream version. But I digress…
With the way things ended with my old fabric company I had been doubting whether my work had any value in this industry, and whether I could have a future here. Don’t get me wrong; I have no doubts in my ability, my designs, or my scholarship. I had just begun to doubt whether this was the right place for me. And then I saw my fabric all over the place in the fall catalogue, transformed into just the sort of awesomeness I had hoped it would become.
So, thank you ModCloth. You reminded me that my work is indeed fucking awesome, at least in the right hands. Working within a sphere that often tries to shoe-horn everything into the conventional model can lead a designer to forget that. That reminder has come at just the right time, as I start writing and making the quilts for what will (yes, it will) become my second book.
And for all of my ex-students out there, let this serve to show that even I forget my own advice: good work will win, even if it doesn’t happen right away. And my correlate to that: be right, and fuck everything else. Now, it’s time to get back into the sewing room and return to kicking some proverbial ass. Once this first book comes out in March it will be time to go find myself a new fabric company; I have a few new (and awesome) collections that are just itching to get out into the wild, and maybe find their way over to ModCloth too…
Best,
-t
Today I am happy to admit that I am from New Jersey. I’ve been waiting for this day for a while. I also know that this is not something that I am supposed to admit on my professional blog, that I am supposed to stay neutral, distant, apolitical if I want to have a business. At least that is what I have been told…
A while back I was informed that a number of retailers, including some good-sized online retailers, had stopped carrying my work, that they were in effect boycotting my at least temporarily because of the ways I expressed my dismay following the shootings at Sandy Hook. For a week I turned over my professional space to my (admittedly liberal) thoughts about guns and public policy. I was asked by one of the companies I used to work with to offer an apology, and that moment was a pivotal moment in both my personal and professional life, a moment that has had me mired in self-doubt ever since.
Here is the thing: my work will always blend the personal and the political. It is the intersection of personal history and cultural critique that has informed my work for about twenty years now. That is never going to change, but in that moment when I was asked to issue an apology for my practice being what it is I split myself in two. Instead of doing what I should have done and walked away from that partnership there and then as one that evidently did not fit my goals and needs I hesitated, I followed the conventional wisdom and regarded myself as a business rather than as myself.
Yes, I have to make wise business decisions, but I damn well know that the only business decisions that are going to work for me are the ones that allow me to make my best work, not the work that I think might sell, but the work that matters. In that moment when I sought a way to appease the people that were never really going to support me anyway I accepted that image of what I thought the market wanted me to be instead of myself.
Of course this is easier to see in hindsight, and after nine months of anguished self-doubt, but there it is. That is the benefit of profound, even paralyzing self-doubt; when you eventually do get to the other side you have reduced things down to what really matters. Art, life, and politics are inseparable for me; art can never really exist in a vacuum. Just making will never be enough for me.
The waves of self-doubt I’ve been sharing this year came not from any uncertainty about myself as a designer or maker; I have no doubts that I am pound-for-pound as good as anyone on the planet. My doubt was in myself as a human being. The existential bifurcation that I performed in that moment, the one I brought upon myself by accepting advice that I now understand was never in my best interest, cast doubt upon anything and everything I could do. It was a doubt born of trying to be two things at the same time that could no longer sustain each other.
That doesn’t mean I can’t still have a business here in this industry; it just means I cannot and do not want to have the business I had before. My work is mine, first and foremost. I do not care what the market wants; markets are generally backwards looking anyway in that they follow trends rather than open up new spaces.
Luckily, I do think there is a market for meaning out there, not just style. I think the current marketing models, especially for modern, has drawn dangerously close to jumping the proverbial shark. What started as a countercultural practice has been enveloped and branded and is in danger of being sapped of meaning. But I still believe that the core of quilting’s resurgence is not as a hobby, and has little to do with technique and style. It is about finding connections and meaning in a world full of dissociative forces. In many ways it is a return to the early traditions, but within a new context. The current wave of quilting truly is something entirely new, but not for all the superficial reasons so often cited. It may borrow from tradition, but is part of a postmodern movement begot of the blight of homogenization.
So, it really is simple. I made a mistake, but that mistake was not speaking out, but staying quiet, and my inaction left me ashamed, which in turn lead to doubt. But I shan’t make that mistake again. I believe that quilts and fabric matter. Fabric is not just a prop for color, and quilts are more than just pretty. Part of working within a tradition includes accepting the burden of that tradition’s weight. Quilts have been powerful objects, containing countless stories and statements, troubles and triumphs, and it is in accepting that tradition that quilting has a future. And it is only in making my work, in being a designer first and foremost, that I have a future in that tradition.
-t
