Gloria
When I do a quilt restoration and I don't know who made the quilt, I make up a name for her. Like the Grey Lady quilt's maker: Gloria. No particular reason for the name, it just popped into my head.
Certain things give me hints about Gloria. She probably kept a scrap bag, and cut up old clothes and sheets and made them into other things (some of the gray came from a pair of men's trousers.) She had children or grandchildren -- or was a child -- during the forties (the juvenile prints date back that far.) She hated turning corners; her stitches are big and impatient in them. She had very basic sewing skills, but was savvy enough to use templates, because her rings are nearly perfect.
Gloria wanted this quilt to last. As I followed her stitches, requilting what had popped, I saw the care she took with her lines. She knew her cotton batting would migrate; she filled in the big sections with cross hatched stitches to keep it in place. She mirrored her patchwork when she could (putting the same colored patches on opposing sides of the rings.) The binding was simply the edge of the backing rolled over the raw edge of the batting and the top. Maybe she knew it would get the most stress, because she sewed it with her tightest, most compact stitches.
Her patchwork gave me a little tour of her time. Cowboys and Indians; a little boy's shirt. Rosebud prints from a baby's dress. Cartoon florals from a skirt that she or her daughter might have worn. Scraps of a striped flannel nightgown, patches of crimson with an enigmatic white design. All bright colors, fun prints.
The yellow patchwork I didn't like was printed with a big brown floral design, and was also something someone wore. I found intact garment seams that crossed the patches like small roads; a buttonhole sewn shut, the pucker of a dart pressed flat. A dress, or maybe a jumper. She must have loved it, because it was the fabric she used most for the patchwork. Or it was the most fabric she had.
I found a pattern of faint stretch marks and stitch interruptions that indicate Gloria may have used a lap hoop. Did she sit in a rocking chair or armchair while she worked on this? Was it after dinner, after the dishes were done, an hour of quiet sewing before bed? I do that almost every night. It's an oasis of calm in my otherwise hectic day. Was it the same for her? Did the hanging folds of the quilt keep her legs warm on a cold night, or did she roll and clip them?
Grey Lady would take two weeks and more than twenty-five hours to repair. As each day passed, I became more engrossed in it. I didn't see the yellow anymore, or maybe I got used to it. I hate making my own binding (sheer laziness) but I shopped in three fabric stores before I found the right fabric for Gloria's quilt. I was anxious about what to do with it. Even with my repair work, it would never be a display beauty, but damn if I was going to sell it to someone who would cut it up to make angels and teddy bears. I couldn't do that to Gloria.
Certain things give me hints about Gloria. She probably kept a scrap bag, and cut up old clothes and sheets and made them into other things (some of the gray came from a pair of men's trousers.) She had children or grandchildren -- or was a child -- during the forties (the juvenile prints date back that far.) She hated turning corners; her stitches are big and impatient in them. She had very basic sewing skills, but was savvy enough to use templates, because her rings are nearly perfect.
Gloria wanted this quilt to last. As I followed her stitches, requilting what had popped, I saw the care she took with her lines. She knew her cotton batting would migrate; she filled in the big sections with cross hatched stitches to keep it in place. She mirrored her patchwork when she could (putting the same colored patches on opposing sides of the rings.) The binding was simply the edge of the backing rolled over the raw edge of the batting and the top. Maybe she knew it would get the most stress, because she sewed it with her tightest, most compact stitches.
Her patchwork gave me a little tour of her time. Cowboys and Indians; a little boy's shirt. Rosebud prints from a baby's dress. Cartoon florals from a skirt that she or her daughter might have worn. Scraps of a striped flannel nightgown, patches of crimson with an enigmatic white design. All bright colors, fun prints.
The yellow patchwork I didn't like was printed with a big brown floral design, and was also something someone wore. I found intact garment seams that crossed the patches like small roads; a buttonhole sewn shut, the pucker of a dart pressed flat. A dress, or maybe a jumper. She must have loved it, because it was the fabric she used most for the patchwork. Or it was the most fabric she had.
I found a pattern of faint stretch marks and stitch interruptions that indicate Gloria may have used a lap hoop. Did she sit in a rocking chair or armchair while she worked on this? Was it after dinner, after the dishes were done, an hour of quiet sewing before bed? I do that almost every night. It's an oasis of calm in my otherwise hectic day. Was it the same for her? Did the hanging folds of the quilt keep her legs warm on a cold night, or did she roll and clip them?
Grey Lady would take two weeks and more than twenty-five hours to repair. As each day passed, I became more engrossed in it. I didn't see the yellow anymore, or maybe I got used to it. I hate making my own binding (sheer laziness) but I shopped in three fabric stores before I found the right fabric for Gloria's quilt. I was anxious about what to do with it. Even with my repair work, it would never be a display beauty, but damn if I was going to sell it to someone who would cut it up to make angels and teddy bears. I couldn't do that to Gloria.
posted by SKelly at
8:29 AM
