They Call it "Crazy" Quilting for a Reason

Last year I painted "I Rise Up, Not Without Help", which was intended to be submitted for the 2011 We'Moon Women's Calendar www.wemoon.ws.  The theme was "Up Rising":  the editors asked what trials we faced, how we overcame them, and what we brought with us into an uncertain future.  I chose to portray myself moving over and past the stressful or tragic events I have experienced.  After much mental wrestling and many sketches, I settled on a crazy quilt robe to acknowledge the people who have supported and taught me over the years.

"I Rise Up, Not Without Help" (2009)
Watercolor and Gouache

I do sew, and have won awards for my beading and embroidery, but I have never, ever quilted anything.  I had been exposed to crazy quilting by a fellow vendor at Free Spirit Gathering:  she showed me how she did ribbon embroidery on velvet:  her work was dazzling and I enjoyed watching her, but I wasn't burning to do a crazy quilt.  However, the idea stuck with me and was a huge inspiration for the painting.

The final painting--which was accepted not only for the 2011 desk calendar but ALSO for the wall calendar (I kept walking around, dazedly mumbling "One of twelve...one of twelve...") --features myself walking up a slope, upon which are inscribed the most recent obstacles in my life:  my husband's year-long deployment in Afghanistan and deaths of my father and sister.  I am wearing a cloak which is casting off black feathers in favor of white ones and which features--as the peace I bring with me into the future--a view from the labyrinth at Four Quarters Farm (you will see the photo in a previous post) and a crazy quilt robe, each of whose patches represents someone who has helped or influenced me throughout my life.

I showed the painting to my friends, and the first question out of their mouths was, "You're going to make the robe, right?"

"No," I said.

"I dare you!"

"Nope.  It would be a huge project, and I don't have time."

"I double dare you!"

Fine.  Double dare the Badger.  Well, heck, I reasoned, I had more than enough fabric and ribbon, yarn and embroidery floss to give it a shot without spending thousands on materials.  Because I have a well-documented habit of diving into new medium head first, I found a book of stitches and a robe pattern, and started planning.  We were going to Tucson for the Gem Show, so I made a bunch of patches with the basic form appliqued on them and then took the appropriate threads and yarns for embellishment.

The Dad Panel

The Pele Panel
Embellished Printed Fabric

I love trying new media.  I determined that I should teach myself a new stitch with each patch:  not only would I be learning something but it would give the quilt more variety.  It also, incidentally, fascinates fellow airline passengers, though you have to be careful not to accidentally stab your neighbor (who, thanks to airline designers, is probably uncomfortably close) with your needle.


The Dad Panel features three things Dad, who was an artist, taught me:  "You don't have to draw every damned leaf on the tree; you don't have to draw every damned brick on the house; and STOP RIGHT THERE".

The Digger Panel

Some of the panels are recognizable in the robe; others are slightly different; others are completely different.  Given that I now have an entire robe to cover instead of just one side, I have a lot of leverage with design.  Also, if I had left the panels the size they were in the painting, they would have been miniscule.

Digger was a good friend.  He was a cantankerous old miner, discoverer of amazing linarite and wulfenite deposits.  He was responsible for getting my art into the Tucson Gem Show and he gave me my very first nickname, "Tiger".  We lost him this past January, but he did get to see the patch in the painting.

 

Mark's Dragon

Back in May or June, I suggested to Orren Whiddon of Four Quarters Farm that I do a workshop on crazy quilting at an upcoming festival.  He looked over at me in only the way that he can, and said,  "Describe to me in one sentence what crazy quilting is."

I should have known this was coming.  Orren likes brevity and specificity.  I took a deep breath.

Tina and Rob Panel

"Crazy quilting is a less structured, more organic form of quilting."

He was satisfied.


I became bolder.  I pulled out metallic threads, and started embroidering in earnest.

Badger Panel

I also went to town with the fancy stitches, combining stitches to attain more interesting effects.  I got out my beads.
I found that it while it is possible to create a patch with which I am dissatisfied, it is impossible to overdo a patch.  With the Badger and Tina panels I simply ran out of room to do more.  Note:  the associated Rob panel is actually my design, following the lines of the fabric from which I made the Tina panel.

   Eventually I realized that in order to know what size of patches I needed to design I would have to start actually assembling the ones I already had.  I cut out the pattern pieces for the robe and stitched down the extant patches.  I would also be able to add the interstitial patches (you can see some to the right of the Digger panel) needed to complete the design.

Right Side Robe Front

Left Side Robe Front

Fancy Stitches

Since I took these photos I have added the panel next to the Badger, which will eventually have a platypus (I figure that since I am not traveling, I don't need to use the more compact method I described above).  Here is a close up of the fancy stitches I used to integrate the blue with the red of the Pele panel.

If Orren asked me to define crazy quilting again, I would change my response.  Crazy quilting isn't quilting, really:  it's painting with fabric; it is less about sewing and more about fiber art.  It's "anything goes" using thread and yarn and fabric, beads and buttons.

It's CRAZY!