Blog

7 Years in the Making

I Just returned from Salt Lake City, where I spent a week as artist in residence at the Handi Quilter headquarters  (more…)

What I Am Doing, I Think

Once, many years ago, I showed a friend my latest musical composition, (more…)

Winona Pepin, Quilter

 

In late 2011 my friend Winona Pepin passed away at the age of 97. Winona grew up in Kansas, during the time when the great Kansas quilters like Charlotte Jane Whitehill and Rose Kretsinger were in their prime. With a community that fostered and appreciated the work of such fine quilters, the standards were high. Winona learned that every element of a quilt had to be engineered, that no detail was too small for careful attention and that hand quilting was the crowning glory every quilt deserved. While she was meticulous and confident in her own work, however, Winona was always interested in the new work going on around her, and she always made me feel as if she understood what I was doing and enjoyed it. Few people I have ever met were more open hearted and generous.

One of the gigantic changes that occurred in the quilt tradition during the 20th century was that people learned to quilt from books, magazines and professional teachers, instead of from female relatives and friends. Winona, however, carried within her the way women of the 19th century quilted. Sitting at the frame with her was to see Winona at her most relaxed and talkative. At the Wednesday meetings of the Dorcas Quilters at St. John’s Presbyterian Church here in San Francisco where I make rare appearances I would always try to sit by Winona to enjoy the day most fully. When I have had shows here in San Francisco where I had a frame set up, Winona always made a point of setting aside a day to spend with me there, quilting and visiting. She brightened everyone’s lives with jokes, stories and a twinkle in her eye. It’s a worse world without her.

Winona specified no memorial service, no funeral should be held for her. But she could not keep me from writing this blog post and showing her picture. If you would like to know a bit more about her, here re the specifics:

http://articles.sfgate.com/2011-12-03/news/30473583_1_daly-city-master-quilter-ella

 

 

Thankful

This year I have even more to be thankful for than usual. (more…)

Ever Simpler

I find that each time I make a quilt I am trying to find a new way of quilt making (more…)

Built-In Pilates Trainer

I am in my late 50s, and have spent most of my life sitting down. (more…)

Art All Over

When I got out of my car in Flint after flying across the country from San Francisco, the last thing I expected to see was a lineup of young women modeling art dresses on little stands along Saginaw Street. (more…)

In My Home Town

In Flint, MI, mid-September is a good time to visit. I am here for a few days to do a few quilt events, and to spend some time with my mother, Jan.

Having lived in Michigan for most of my first 40 years, I have a big family of friends and acquaintances, colleagues and, well, family. So a few nights ago when I had an opening at the Buckham Gallery in downtown Flint, I had my hands full trying to talk to everyone, starting with friends from kindergarten, right on through some of my favorite people I had last seen a few months ago. And living clear across the country in San Francisco I don’t get to see my brother, Jeff or my sisters Judy and Jayne nearly often enough.

The weather is just about perfect here now. Walking in the woods where I grew up is a pleasure almost unbearably intense, not only because it is so beautiful in it’s quiet way, but also because in the woods I lived in my imagination, learning how to study everything around me for clues and how to turn myself into a pirate, an explorer, an Indian tracker or a scout. In that woods I could be anything I could dream up.

So here I am. Flint has lost nearly all its glory. It has been shrinking for decades. The landscape is as flat and undramatic as a pancake. Living in San Francisco I am used to the riches of sight, food culture and diversity absolutely foreign to here. But the moment I stepped off the plane and smelled the Michigan air, the first time I hopped on that nearly featureless highway, I was exhilarated, happy and free. I don’t mean free from anything, just free inside myself. It will always be my home, no matter where I live. And everywhere in Michigan is like the woods out back. Here I am in my home territory and I can let my imagination loose. I’m home.

Threads of Time

Last weekend I taught at a quilt retreat in Danville, Illinois at a retreat center/quilt shop called Threads of Time, (more…)

Recycled

When Lois E Bates sent me a box of disassembled suits (more…)