Friday, September 18, 2009

Still in process

This piece is getting done ever so slowly. This wall quilt is being machine-quilted from the outside in. I still have yet to decide where to attach to woven piece in the center, and I keep turning it to find the best position. One blog reader, Josie Ray, felt strongly about this piece being horizontal because it is a landscape of sorts. But the quilt spoke to me and said it needed to be vertical. And so it is.

We spent almost a week driving around - literally - Lake Michigan with one stop at the base of Lake Superior. Delightful weather, scenery, and travelling companion. But I can't wait to get back to this piece tomorrow.
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Josie Ray said...

Wow, this has evolved into a piece with amazingly beautiful complexity. I love how the "star" fabric looks ruched from a distance.

Regarding the orientation, I say: Never argue with a quilt. It knows best. :-)

Josie Ray said...

What a beautiful time of year to drive around the lake.

Josie Ray said...

"They worked now [on the clock] in companionable silence....Aloud he said, glancing at the working drawing at his elbow, 'Sir, why did you put the sun behind the fish? Wouldn't it have been better balancing the moon?'

'It wouldn't stay there,' said Isaac.

This ridiculous answer was one that Job understood. Polly had once wanted him to make her a dabchick with its head under its wing. But it wouldn't put its head under its wing. It wanted to preen a feather in the center of its back. Though Polly had not minded, she had laughed at him and had not been able to understand that though he talked about carving the bird from wood, that was only a manner of speech. What he really did was to set free the living bird imprisoned in the wood....

He said, 'Does the sun behind the fish mean anything, sir?'

'I don't know,' said Isaac. 'I shall in time.'

Again Job understood him. Once he had whittled out of a bit of cherry wood a bird he had never seen. A fortnight later he had seen his first gold-crested wren in the Willowthorn drove. He wondered if poets ever wrote of experiences with which they had not yet caught up. Time as one understood it seemed oddly nonexistent when one made things."

--Elizabeth Goudge, The Dean's Watch