I am sharing this because there have been things written lately regarding the threatened (perceived??) future of the art of quilting. With the closing of an established NYC quilt shop and the sudden demise of AQS’s publishing arm (“Quilter’s Newsletter” magazine, among many other book publications), alarms are going off all over ‘quilt-dom’ as to what is its future and what part can we play in preventing its (near) extinction???!!!!! Is this an over-reaction??? Perhaps a ‘correction’ for a creative art that has gone corporate? Please, don’t get me wrong……I have great sympathy for those caught in this ‘adjustment’, whose livelihoods are threatened or have evaporated taking with it hopes, dreams and much $$ investment. But, just maybe, its a wake-up call to take a step back and really take a hard look at what it is that we’re passionate about. Creative artistry, in its various expressions, has been within our souls since the beginning of time and will continue to be expressed in the future. Many of us have a “stash” that will never end in our lifetime!!!! Is mentoring a young one in the sewing/quilting art something that is possible??? Yes! It will help (since such classes have been removed from our schools). It is a topic each of us may need to rethink. Are we on a quilting treadmill to produce or is it an expression of who we are?? Are we creating a beautiful art piece that will be our legacy??? Only you are able to give an answer to that. All I’m asking is that you take a moment to ask yourself the question…….and ponder………………….
This is my Mom. Dad is nearby, as always, watching over her.
This is a quilt that took her two years of living life abroad in Lima, Peru to make, putting in one cross-stitch after another. She sat in an upstairs window seat in our home there, overlooking a quiet suburban street — quiet, except for the time that someone missed a stop sign, careened into our yard, the car turning upside as it landed near our front window. My dad said he thought the maid had thrown the vacuum cleaner down the stairs again. Luckily the Clinica was a block away, so it turned out all right.
My mother didn’t really speak Spanish, although she tried her best to communicate with the household help she was expected to keep: a maid for the household, a maid for the laundry, a man to wash the cars, and a gardener. She took Spanish…
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