Setting Priorities

A new quilt design inspired by the story below...

I don't know where the story originated, but this is a paraphrase of how I heard it:

A professor stood before his class with a large glass container and an assortment of materials before him. He carefully placed a number of large rocks in the container until they reached the top and then held it up for his students to observe.

"Is this container full?" he asked.

"Of course!" replied one of the students.

"Hmmm... interesting" he replied.

He then proceeded to add a number of small pebbles which tumbled down into the spaces between the big rocks.

"Now is the container full?" he asked again.

"Yes?" replied another student, more hesitantly this time.

"Really?" said the professor. "Let's see..."

The professor scooped a few shovelfuls of sand from a bucket on his desk and dumped them over the pebbles and rocks. As they trickled down into the smaller spaces, the professor asked,

"How about now?"

This time no-one would answer, so the professor simply took his glass of water and slowly poured it into the container.

"Life is like this," he said. "If we fill the container with small things, the big things will never fit... we need to add the big things first and the small things will always find a way to fit in around them."

So endeth the lesson...

Leave None Behind

Life is a balancing act; there are always more things to do than time to do them. I struggle with this every moment of every day: I want to wake up bright-eyed in the morning, bake fresh bread, exercise, eat a proper breakfast, write this blog, work a fulfilling day as a graphic designer, make a hearty supper, finish projects, do laundry, knit, sew and paint, clean my house, go to the cottage, the museum, the theatre, the library, do my grocery shopping, renovate the house, maintain the garden, go for walks and bike rides, relax and meditate, listen to and make music, make and keep appointments with my hairdresser, my dentist, my doctor, spend time with family and friends, answer emails, send birthday and Christmas cards, play with the cat and get ten hours of sleep per night... sigh... you know what I'm talking about.

How do we decide what is important in any given moment? How do we keep from getting discouraged or from getting buried under the expectations we place on ourselves?

My strategies have become two-fold. I try to follow the principles of putting the big rocks in the container first (if you don't know that story, I'll share that one in another post).

My second strategy, for the last several years now, is based on a board game given to us by a friend. The game is called "Ingenious" and I like it for several reasons:

I sometimes win (which is a pleasant change from many other board games).

I get to play with patterns and fields of colour (as a quilter and designer, this appeals to me).

I like the surprising philosophy it requires to win.

The game requires you to keep all the colours moving forward. You don't win by reaching the end line first with one of your pegs; you win by not leaving any behind.

The Magic of Storytelling

I call this one Birch Grove; it reminds me of the quiet strength I learned from my mother and grandmother and includes fabric cut from one of my late grandmother's dresses, leftover scraps of my mom's wedding dress fabric and fabrics from one of my graduation dresses and my wedding dress.

A quilt always tells a story, whether the quiltmaker is intentional about it or not. The story can be about the nature of the relationship between the maker and the recipient; it can be about the history of the quiltmaker and lessons learned from mentors past and present; it can be a message about justice or the lack thereof; it can be a reaction to an experience, whether positive or negative. In my opinion, part of the magic of quilting is that when we share our gift of storytelling, our stories can literally warm, encompass and shelter the loved ones in our inner circle, as well as those we have never met... those who need to know they are part of the story, too.

Juxtaposition

Contrast is interesting. The juxtapositions of light vs dark, natural vs manmade, fresh vs disintegrating all appeal to me (as you may guess from the name of this site). It's all about finding the balance - not necessarily equal balance, but a sense of harmony within disparity.

A couple of photos taken a few weeks ago on a lunchtime stroll near the office highlight this theme: balancing Mother Nature's sunny side with Oscar the Grouch in all his urban glory. There's a quilt in there somewhere...

Make Something Every Day

My friend Heather reminds me of the importance of keeping this blog page fresh and new; it's not always easy to fit it in... but it's also a healthy way to stop and reflect when life is getting a little too busy.

For example, my house is a mess, there is no clean laundry and no groceries in the fridge... but last week, I finally made a skirt for the kitchen counter at the cottage. 

This week has been another crazy one, but I did take time to make two things on my day off, both for the cottage. I spent the afternoon and evening painting, gluing and sewing... and ended up with a new wreath for the front door and one new cushion cover for the couch.

The wreath incorporates hydrangeas and the letter H, in honour of my married name (Hargrave) and the family name of original owners of the cottage, my family through my mom's lineage (Hooker). After painstakingly painting the letter H in 4 different colours with small flowers scrolling over the centre, I glued it to the wreath, where it complemented the flowers and ribbon nicely. I hung the wreath on the door, admired it and took some pictures. But early the next morning as I headed to work, I slammed the door (it's the only way to get it to close properly) and the H fell to the ground and cracked in half. For less than two seconds, I grieved for the time spent making it... and then I realized that the process had been half the fun and the wreath still looked pretty without it... so what the H, right? :)

The cushion cover has a story, too. The couches and chairs were inherited with the cottage. They had itchy polyester tweed, no fun to sit on in bathing suits or shorts, so several years ago, I had the bright idea to cover all the cushions with towels, one per cushion, all in beige or spa blue. I have loved these covers —simple and comfy— but they're getting pretty tired now. I waited for a big sale on upholstery fabric and picked up miles and miles of a gentle beach-toned gingham with an olive brown stripe. So far, I've made about 100 feet of piping using bias cut fabric and polyester clothesline, and done the calculations (math is not my favourite activity) to see how to cut and sew the cushions while avoiding the necessity of zippers or buttons (also not my favourites). My prototype turned out pretty snug, but I like it. Only 15 more to go, in various sizes and configurations. Sigh...

I don't always have time to make something for myself, but luckily, my work lets me make things for other people every day. Sometimes they even tell me they like them. This has been a good week that way. Counting my blessings instead of sheep...

Longing...

My friends are all heading off to the Vermont Quilt Show tomorrow; I'm a bit jealous because I am totally immersed (read completely and utterly submerged) in work this week. However, one of my friends kindly asked me if there was anything she could bring back for me... so I have just spent an entirely recreational evening armchair shopping ALL of the vendors at the show.

This year, my absolute favourite is Portsmouth Fabric Company, with a compelling fabric selection. The entire collection of fabrics calls to me: the carefree zen of Amy Butler, the earthy brushstrokes of Marcia Derse, the urban serenity of Parson Gray by David Butler and the whimsical and retro feel of Lotta Jansdotter's "Glimma"— amongst a shining variety of others—all provoke an involuntary creative longing in me, urging me to find a way to incorporate them in some utopian project.

As much as quilters say we already have enough fabric to last us two or three lifetimes, when we see the colours, designs and combinations of new fabrics, we can't help ourselves. We dream, we envision, we distill the potential of each element, we imagine how the whole becomes greater than the combination of its parts. And in the dreaming, we see how we need the spark of those colours that don't really match, that aren't really "pretty"... but without which, the end product would be dull and monotonous. 

If we could apply the same process to our communities, to the people around us, perhaps we could imagine our way into a world where every individual's place in the quilt makes the whole thing better.

Perhaps fittingly, my favourite fabric from this virtual window-shopping expedition tonight is an Australian fabric that looks like a map, joining all the disparate elements into beautiful harmony.

image from Portsmouth Fabric Company site (for illustrative purposes only  )

UPDATE: here is my beautiful bounty from the show, courtesy of Heather

Petites (Warm) by Marcia Derse / Parson Gray by David Butler, both from Portsmouth Fabric Company; and 5" wide strips of 1930s reproduction fabric from Lancaster Traditional

Persephone's Daughters (continued)

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Hello Friends:

Below you will find a link to a petition asking the federal government to bring back recently cut support for Aboriginal healing programs across the country. Please visit the link and add your signature, if you are so inclined. And please forward to others you think might be interested.

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In Kindness,

Karolina Jonsson
Aboriginal Healing & Wellness Program Coordinator
Toronto COUNCIL FIRE Native Cultural Centre
439 Dundas Street East
Toronto, ON, M5A 2B1
Phone: 416-360-4350 ext. 234
Fax: 416-360-5978
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Persephone's Daughters

I have been thinking today about my late friend, Kelly Running Wolf. I have been honouring the powerful gift he shared with me, assisting me to make peace with the past during a sweat lodge ceremony several years ago. I have also been remembering stories of the terrible experiences he and his sister endured at the hands of individuals within the residential school system. I have been mourning the unheralded and unsolved disappearances of so many First Nations women over the years, of the Highway of Tears... and thinking hopeful thoughts of the recent Truth and Reconciliation Commission meetings here in Montreal. The words to an old Sunday School tune are playing over in my head: "all are precious in His sight". Why is it so hard for so many in this world to live by this truth? Every one of these disappeared women is someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's mother; but unlike Persephone, some of these will not return.

I would like to make a quilt, red and yellow, black and white, with stars to remember and name each of the disappeared as a visual reminder, but am still left with the question: How do we make the world a place where daughters don't disappear? 

Silence(d)

We found a tattered quilt crumpled up in our cottage attic when renovating last summer; I'm not sure how it got there—it seemed to be stuffed in an area where the roof often leaks—but to me, this careless dismissal of someone's painstaking handiwork shocked me with feelings of powerlessness to save and preserve something precious. In conjunction with the buckets of rusty nails we were extracting from the weathered wood all around, its ragged edges were evocative of endurance despite miserable conditions. The idea of an untold story evoked an image of Scheherazade and her predecessors; I saw a silent parade of women who suffer through oppression and domestic violence... often without speaking a word.

I just googled Scheherazade (mostly with an eye to finding out how to spell it) and discovered that, according to Wikipedia, one of the meanings of the name apparently includes "she whose realm or dominion is free." But apparently 1001 stories are not enough for universal salvation...

Guttersnipes

I have an idea about making quilts with brass rubbings of sewer covers; there is something sort of iconic about their shapes, their regional diversity and the fact that they are gateways to the underground. Maybe these heavy metal discs link a number of fascinations for me: Persephone's journey, flowing water, urban decay... I imagine hidden tubes sprouting from the backs of these quilts, connecting them somehow in unseen ways.

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The Box

A graphic image that often speaks to me and seems to want to take form in fiber is the pile (or moving chain) of colourful and mysterious containers I see when passing by storage yards, trains or ports. What is inside? Where did it come from and how has it travelled to get there?

Those colourful boxes remind me of the excitement of Christmas parcels waiting to be unwrapped... and I think of stowaways trying to escape to a better life, and the post-apocalyptic scenes from iRobot or Wall-E as these boxes become homes for our ever-growing collections of stuff, wanted or discarded for something newer, better and brighter.

Waterways

I'm thinking about how water is such an integral part of my life and my work (the design agency I work for in the "real world" serves a lot of marine industry clients and our office overlooks the Lachine Canal, where local dragon boat teams practice all summer long).

My favourite place to spend time is our cottage on a wide part of the St-Lawrence River, where I see some of our clients sailing by on a regular basis. I was born on an island (PEI - my second favourite place to be) and live on an island (Montreal).

Special memories around (and in) the water include my grandfather giving us each a reward the first time we could swim the length of the rowboat on our own; my mother letting us all jump in the lake with our clothes one evening; and spending many of my growing-up summers at the bottom of the lake or a friend's pool, only coming up to breathe periodically when absolutely necessary. 

Water is an important part of the lifeblood of our economy and our environment.  When I see water levels dropping to unprecedented levels, I wonder how long we can expect our waterways to carry us along.

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Traffic Jam

Hard to work when you can't find the table... sigh...

And my mind seems just as cluttered... with remnants of ancient inspirations, discarded dreams and misplaced enthusiasms. 

But sometimes in the midst of the chaos, unexpected juxtapositions shape and form themselves, releasing new energy into the universe. 

Does this mean I don't have to clean my room, Mom? 

Grandma's Plate

We always used to know where Grandma sat at our table because there would be a perfect ring of salt and pepper on the table when the plates were picked up and taken to the kitchen.

I imagine a nice harvest gold or green linen background, with white and black seed beads forming the scatter pattern, possibly repeating blocks...