My attitude, however, needed a small adjustment. Unlike The Strawberry Quilt whose repair trajectory was clear, this tattered remnant of someone's long ago handwork was NOT some casual side project to be whipped off while I thought about other things. It demanded that I put away my hand dyed fabric scraps, forget about imposing my design ideas, abandon all thought of covering or subverting its aggressive symmetry, and listen. I learned that it is okay to stabilize the actual holes (subtly). I am also allowed to strengthen the weakest diamonds, but after that, nothing can be hidden. It chose my ancient collection of embroidery floss (rather than hand spun yarn), as mending material as long as I use stitches that keep the tatters in view. I'm not usually a corner person, preferring swirls and curves to hard edges. Graciously, it takes this this into consideration as long as there is no nonsense about patching. or altering the underlying structure. Though not averse to a bit of embellishment, this quilt is proud of its wear and tear. As well it should be. The time came to leave long before I was finished and the quilt wanted to stay home, but I expect a warm welcome when I return. and look forward to a lot more serious stitching. Banjo Betty came to visit the other day. She was in need of some TLC. No, that's not right. Betty has been getting oodles of love. It's just that my Great Grandmother's damask linen napkin and the last scraps of what might have been my favorite skirt of all time were already worn to a threadbare fragility before they had the chance to become a doll. Happily, I still had enough of the linen to cover her torso. But her sleeves required fragments of silk from a length my brother bought on a trip to India decades ago. And her new shorts were fashioned from a bit of rayon of unknown origin. I first made Betty during a week long doll-making binge inspired by Mimi Kirchner's blog, Doll, and her pattern on the Purl Bee, I knew, therefor, how she was made. But making and repairing are different things and dismantling my fragile friend was initially a bit daunting. But not for long. "Good! Let's Play." Yesterday, I put new soles on my running shoes Before I started, they looked like this Natural rubber is heavenly to land on, but not that durable I managed to get some of the gunk off the leather, but grime-laden grease is tenacious stuff. And anyway, all I really needed was to clean them enough to see the old stitching holes. There was no way they'd return to looking like this: (I know, I know -- white shoes? But the white buckskin I had was sturdier than the brown.) They were pristine for about a day. But the point is to be outside, so the greasing had to start. And the using. I find it satisfying to keep them going since they do the same for me.
Some time the 1960s, my mother bought a pair of quilts in Pennsylvania. With hand stitched appliqué strawberries and hand quilted swirls, they kept the family warm in New York, Vermont and New Hampshire. Time and use did their thing Someone with a zig zag machine tried to slow down the disintegration of the polka dot fabric, but it probably seemed hopeless. A year or two ago, my dear sister pulled one from a drawer - saved from the trash. "I thought you might be able to do something with this," she said. "Well, maybe," I replied, thinking of the other things awaiting my attention: tapestries, sweaters, drawings, fleece
Eventually, I had fabric that matched -- kinda sorta, in its own way. First, I covered the worst spots so I could wash out the dust of decades and render it usable once more. Now I add patches as I can, strengthening the bits that are fragile but not yet worn through. It is a satisfying, ongoing task.
And the colors make me happy. |
Sarah C Swett
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