All the fruits are finished, and applied to the background this week.
I tried three different centers, from white daisies on red (no), a double plaid (no), a beautiful radish print (no).
Dots. That’s what worked, was dots.
This was my first tentative step forward. As I peeled the fruits from their parchment paper backgrounds, I would occasionally find a place where the light crept through, so I reached for my bag of scraps and cut another tiny angular piece to cover up the holes. I have now learned that obsessing over these scraps is a fool’s errand.
I’ve got a good start, but the needle keeps gumming up. I looked for anti-stick needles, but they don’t make them for the big quilting machines (I have a Handiquilter Sweet Sixteen) so I’m resigned to changing out the needle often and in between, swipes with nail polish remover. We run a high-tech shop, here.
When my mother was 90 years old, just the seven children hosted a luncheon for her, celebrating her life, which led me to think about mothers.
Mothers come in tall, medium and large. Mothers come in grumpy and happy. Mothers come in tired. Mothers come in a combination of adoring their children, frustrated with their children, and when will this kid ever go to college. Mothers love flowers, stroking babies’ cheeks, catching them when they dash through the mall as toddlers, pining for them when they go off to college, usually never to return home. Mothers come in all colors. Mothers come in street-smart, book-smart, and not-so-smart, but they all come in surprised at the task that lies before them and hope they will make it. Mothers mostly do, and if and when they don’t, other mothers somehow find their way to us, to teach us, bring us up, and leave us with memories.
The terms are popularly used when discussing how we interact with the internet. We receive Push Notifications, which means that someone, somewhere is sending us information or things that can be helpful. Or not. We can choose where we go, pulling information to us in terms of blogs (like this one, thank you). We can also pull information from bank sites, news sites, school and medical sites so we can gather information or read for pleasure.
We are familiar with push-pull in our own lives, aside from the internet. For example, when I go to a Guild meeting like I did this week, and have to show up early to set up the book sale, take minutes, make sure the substitute photographer is squared away (because the regular one didn’t show up), serve on the Nominating Committee (hallelujah — we got our President-Elect!), it is a push because NONE of those jobs are what I officially do (I run the website). Some activities in our lives are push-pull: volunteering, for example. Or paying attention to the weeds in the garden because you want to plant flowers.
But if I can plan an appliqué project, take a 3300-mile road trip visiting family (and grandson Alex, below) and enjoy time with my husband, I’d call it mostly a pull.
This idea of push-pull on the internet was discussed in a radio interview of Kyle Chayka with Ezra Klein. During their discussions about the nature of the internet these days, as well as Chayka’s newest book, Filterworld, I became interested in this idea. What is pushed onto me, and how does it affect how I feel about the quality of my life? And what is the effect of all that pushing? Chayka feels like it changes how we view things on the internet, and why — perhaps — our eyes glaze over quickly:
CHAYKA: “I mean, most of the encounters we have with culture online are pretty bad, I think. We do have much more choice in what we consume and all of these other possibilities surround us. But what we lack is that kind of museum-like experience or movie theater-like experience where you do have to sit with something and think about it and puzzle your way through it without flipping to get an answer.”
EZRA KLEIN chimed in: “And the problem with the push internet is it’s not really under your control, right? It’s about what the force pushing is doing. But as that became bigger, people stopped doing the things that allowed the pull internet to exist. There aren’t so many blogs anymore. Not none, but there are fewer. People put their effort — because it’s the easier way to find audience and eventually to make a living — into the algorithmic spaces. And so there’s simply less of this other thing there to explore.”
Top finished: April 2024
CHAYKA: “I think a feeling I’ve been having a lot lately is that scarcity is often what creates meaning. When you’re surrounded by infinite possibilities, when you know around the next corner is another video that might be funnier or more to your liking, you’re never going to sit with the thing that’s in front of you. You’re never going to be forced to have the patience, or the fortitude maybe, or the kind of willpower to fight through something and figure out if you truly like it or not.” ~ Kyle Chayka
Sitting with the thing in front of you. Museum-like experience. Algorithmic spaces. Push is not under our control. Scarcity creates meaning. Puzzle our way through it.
How much of our life is a “push” experience? How much of our activities and interests are “pull”? Do we value our time at the machine, or with cloth, or with the needle because it is a “scarce” activity? Or because we had the patience and stick-to-it-iveness to finish the stitching, the quilting, the cutting?
I guess it could be both. I guess it could be all.
Final image: Made in the 1600s for one of the popes, this smallish curio cabinet is a classic example of sitting with the thing in front of you until it is finished. Although I have to admit that if I were the cabinet-maker on the other side of the centuries, it might be feeling like a push. And that’s how it goes, right? I saw this in the Getty Museum in March.
Faith Baldwin said that quote, and I’ve saved it for ages, waiting to use it as a quilt title.
I started this with a whole new stack of colors than my last temperature quilt, and then even though I’d been fussing about it since January 1st, the intense sewing really didn’t get underway until about March — I was waiting to see if we would have an interesting year for weather. We did, with snow one day and hail another and many rain storms.
While I didn’t want to replace the earlier version, I did love love that quilting. Jen was able to do the same pattern on this quilt, too. It’s more square, has a temperature quilt key on the back, along with a linen tea-towel calendar to show the year. I also added a square denoting made in California. Which it was.
This is quilt #286, and it’s 61″ wide and 70″ tall. Or long. Or high, or whatever.
No surprise that I chose this title for this quilt, as these patchwork triangles mark the passage of time, and by their very color, alter the face of the quilt top. I’m not sure I’m as generous about the marks time has placed on my physical body, and sometimes the alterations of who I think I am can sometimes be pleasant, and other times, painful. I want just enough spice and change in my life to make it interesting, but I don’t want sustaining relationships to wither or change or wilt. Some you can’t get back, like when my father died earlier this year. Other relationships take a bit more stitching and cutting and late-night sewing to become the beautiful garment (or quilt) they were meant to be. Y’all know what I mean, and I’m guessing the marks time leaves on all of us can be wearying. Or gratifying. Or somewhere in between.
A single day is enough to make us a little larger or, another time, a little smaller, said Paul Klee.
John Lithgow: Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug.
Theodore Roethke, a favorite poet, noted that, Time marks us while we are marking time.
Try pausing right before and right after undertaking a new action, even something simple like putting a key in a lock to open a door. Such pauses take a brief moment, yet they have the effect of decompressing time and centering you, wrote David Steindl-Rast
We’re planning a trip to see the Eclipse in April, and are trying to find those moments where we can pause time, as Stindl-Rast suggests. And hopefully not in dive hotels, or out of gas at the side of a road in West Texas. Seeing the eclipse will, in its own way, pause time, and will make its mark, bringing a fancy bit of stitching to this thing called life.
I hope the Dressmaker-called-Time makes you the finery you hope for–
OccasionalPiece--Quilt! 