It feels a bit "other worldly" to be handstitching a quilt. Committed to getting the flowers finished by the end of 2021. Two a week til Christmas will see it through - and I'll end up with a queen sized beauty. Finally. A decade of the shoebox filled with papers, hexagons and the promise of honouring the woman who started it all so many decades ago. I'm not the world's greatest finisher, for the most part I'm not usually a finisher. I've loved the discipline of stitching, learning to hand stitch, getting neater and better with each flower. Muscle memory. New glasses. Significant birthdays come and go. The flowers are a constant, faithful and patient.
Three or four hundred upper thread and bobbin changes over the past four weeks. There's a textural effect I'm trying to create with the quilting - that compliments the imperfect shapes of the pieced fabrics. Something akin to wabi, sabi and shibui. The infinite ways that dense, linear quilting can be used to create story are coming to life, one piece at a time. Sometimes barely visible, sometimes contrasting. There is an uneven fullness in the seams that help create miniscule bumps at the end of each line. There are also the seamless directional changes absorbed into the looser weave of some fabrics. Every change and every bobbin. Testing tensions, adjusting for the different threads as each shape submits to the process. It is a peace-filled activity, permanently set up so I can work for several minutes at a time. Never wasting moments. I get immersed in the meditative quality of the quilting and thinking only about the stitch. Some of the combinations I use: using the same ...

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