
“Hope is a discipline and…we have to practice it every single day. Because in the world which we live in, it’s easy to feel a sense of hopelessness, that everything is all bad all the time, that there is nothing going to change ever, that people are evil and bad at the bottom. It feels sometimes that it’s being proven in various, different ways, so I get that, so I really get that. I understand why people feel that way. I just choose differently. I choose to think a different way and I choose to act in a different way. I choose to trust people until they prove themselves untrustworthy.”
~~Mariame Kaba

I first read about Kaba’s idea of hope being a discipline in an interview with Ed Yong, who also confirmed that hope “is a practice that you cultivate through active effort.” [Link should give you access to the interview.] And then ideas about hope kept popping up everywhere.
My friend Melanie shared:
“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” ~MartinLuther King Jr.
“Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.”
We start out any journey with hope: hope the car won’t get a flat, hope the plane won’t be delayed, hope the hotel room is clean, hope the people on the other end are okay, and so on.

Likewise we start all our quilts with hope that we like the fabric we chose, or that we hope we have the skills to complete the quilt. But a lot of the time, hope is not that obvious. We pick up cloth or brush or pencil or paper, urged by a need to create beauty or explore or solve an internal riddle. We just keep working, sometimes unable to define the goal or endpoint, as the work itself meets a need inside. Sometimes I create because if don’t, I’ll slump into a depressive mood, unable to rouse myself, unable to console that unbidden sorrow inside. Sometimes I create because it’s just a good day and I can hardly wait to cut into that new (or old) fabric. Sometimes I create because I need to have to figure out a structural puzzle, or solve for the x in the quilt to get the y.




A selvage is a bit of the fabric’s dna-ish coding: colors, alignment, a manufacturer and a designer. Sometimes there is a phrase or a quote. Often instead of a line of color registration dots, there might be houses, or shells or flowers. It gives a clue to the person (mostly a woman) who was behind the beginning of this piece of cloth. I’m building on her work, and by the people in the future choosing how this quilt will be used, someone else will carry us both forward.
I took the first stitch on this quilt eleven years ago, in March of 2014, and finished it this month. Did I “cultivate through active effort” my forward journey, hopeful that one day I would finish? Perhaps. Whatever propelled me, it’s lovely to look at this, to see my personal history of quilting writ in cloth, each selvage a clue to where I was, who I was, placing me firmly in time and space in a mostly unknowable past.
And with a bit of discipline, I will carry hope forward into an unknowable future–

(My own version of a selvage is above, if I were designing fabrics. Which I’m not.)
Quilt #305 Title: Personal History of Quilting
Quilter: Nancy Bahner; the pattern is Funky Fans by Urban Elements
Other posts about this process & quilt, in no particular order:
WIP Wednesday (Selvage Blocks)
Selvage Block-A-Long
Selvages
Incomplete
Goals for Fall 2014
Straighten Up and Sew Right

This backing reminds me of the Very Large Array in New Mexico. A peak experience.


If you’ve read this far, here’s the free downloadable Tip Sheet for this Selvage Quilt:





















































