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I work in careful, calculated steps.
My loose edges must be tacked down.
My ravels and ripples must be disciplined.
I make my quilts in my own way.
It just comes naturally.
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Doing What Comes Naturally
By Helen Kelley
After grabbing a few essentials from the aisles at the grocery store the other night, I fell in line behind other people at the cash register. An attractive woman was in front of me, methodically moving her groceries from her basket onto the conveyor belt. Her son stood behind her, a nicely dressed boy, about sixth-grade age, quiet, and well behaved. But then an almost invisible flicker moved through the boy's body. Then another. He shifted his weight a bit, and slowly raised his arm. With his wrist bent at an acute angle, his left shoulder projected forward. Abruptly, his head turned to the left as his body followed the direction of his thrusting hand. As if by magic, the young man transformed into a break-dancer. He gyrated rhythmically behind his mother as she continued to unload her cart. He moved silently, gliding hypnotically in his astonishing dance to soundless music. His angular, fluid motions were amazing to watch, not only because he was so talented, but because it was all happening in such a preposterous place.
Later, when I told the story to a friend, she smiled. "Well, I suppose the lesson here is, if it feels good, do it." It was a simple, profound thought, and at that moment, listening to the wisdom of it, I found peace with myself.
For years I've felt uncertain about the quilts that I make. I love looking at contemporary quilts, those with the elaborate machine embroidery and soft, raw-edged applique--wildly innovative quilts with imaginative embellishments, daring colors, and bold geometrics. I've told myself that I must keep up with the times, becoming free and spontaneous, comfortable with loose edges and raw trimmings, with overlapping fabrics held in place by an assortment of glue and machine stitchings, making arty quilts sewn together with miracle machine quilting. But this picture of a quiltmaker doesn't seem to match my style. My results with this kind of quilting seem awkward and pretentious.
I also love traditional quilts. They are so satisfying with their comfortable colors. I am drawn to both appliqued blocks and to those pieced in clever, subtle repeats creating rainbow kaleidoscopes. Quilts stitched around and around with feathered borders dazzle me. My finished quilts never look like the antique masterpieces I so admire. When I plan a quilt, I begin with those graceful, old-fashioned patterns that speak to me. Somewhere in the process of making that quilt, those patterns turn renegade. They have minds of their own. By the time I've finished with the quilt, I've wandered from those familiar traditions and travelled in unexpected directions.
Therefore, not being successful at either contemporary experimentation or sweet, old-style quilting, I make my quilts in the way that little voice inside me tells me to do. Over the years, I've apologized for my less-sophisticated quilts. I have explained my lapses and inadequacies to those who have spent their lives creating traditional quilts from zillions of pieces of gentle-colored fabrics stitched together with elegance.
Now I understand myself. My quilts are hand quilted because quilting on my machine feels awkward to me. My quilts are made, usually, from fabrics purchased straight off the bolt because I enjoy the challenge of devising visual effects with printed fabrics from my favorite quilt store. Dying fabric is an occupation in itself, and time spent coloring fabric in lovely tints and glowing shades is time I would rather spend in other ways. I admire cleverly painted embellishments, lightning zigzags of rough appliqued edges, and transparencies created with layers of unique fabrics, but I've discovered that turning under the edges of my applique patches smoothly and evenly gives me enormous pleasure. I know myself well enough now to know that I work in careful, calculated steps with tried-and-true techniques. It is quite impossible for me to relax and let wonderful things simply happen. My loose edges must be tacked down. My ravels and ripples must be disciplined. I can look at those miraculous pieces that other people have made and marvel at them, but they are not part of who I am.
That dancing boy who twirled and swooped and glided in the grocery store taught me a lesson, and I am grateful. I do what I do because it feels good; I can be proud of that. I make my quilts in my own way, because it just comes naturally.
©HK 2004
Helen Kelley is a quiltmaker, lecturer, author, and teacher from Minneapolis, Minnesota. You can visit Helen on the Internet at her website www.helenkelley-patchworks.com or email Helen at this address: helen@helenkelley-patchworks.com.
Helen's book Every Quilt Tells a Story: A Quilter's Stash of Wit and Wisdom is a collection of two decades of Loose Threads. Now in its second printing, the book is available at quilt shops, bookstores, or from us at https://secure.tpli.com/VillageQuiltShoppe/QV_Products.asp. Helen will be signing copies of her book at our Primedia booth at the International Quilt Festival, October 30 through November 2, 2003, in Houston, Texas.
View our archive of Loose Threads columns.
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