Sixteen months ago, I got the idea that I wanted to learn to quilt. Who knows where the idea came from. The last time I had sewn was in middle school Home Ec. class. I knew almost nothing about it. My friend was due to have a baby, and I guess I decided that I just.must! make a quilt for her son. And like most of my projects/crafts, I quickly became obsessed. I started reading quilting blogs. I went to the fabric store (and fell in love). I researched classes. Spent too much money on supplies. Dug out my mom's 30 year-old sewing machine, and got some rudimentary lessons from her.
And you know, I was looking for something. Something to focus on, something to add purpose to my life. Something to be mindful about. Isn't that how Julie Powell got started? She was feeling a little asea, and it just so happened that cooking her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking in just a year was what did it for her. For me, it began with a four month quilting class. When I had finished the weekly homework from the class, I began working on little hand sewing projects. And sketching again. I dreamed about designing my own fabric, and selling stuff on Etsy. I tried pottery painting. Got back into crocheting and knitting. And taking photographs. Scrapbooking.
ETCETERA. It was a bit of an explosion.
I'll get back to all that. My major focus though, during those months, was the quilt. A beginning!
|Not all my photos are crappy like this, I swear!|
So, here you go. My first quilt block. It's crooked. And about half an inch too small. Each seam has been ripped out at least once (I did a lot of that in the beginning. It's effing hard to get those four corners to match up just right).
I kind of love it.
Because it's not perfect. Because I was okay with it not being perfect. I look at it now, eased (read: strehhhhtched) in with its neighbors, and I see a story.
And that's just the prologue.