Here is another wonderful guest post for the Sew, You’ve Always Wanted To Quilt series. I am excited to introduce Camille D’Angelis. Camille and I met at Squam, where I was lucky enough to sit next to her while we clicked along with our knitting needles, listening to the Yarn Harlot one cozy evening. We laughed and giggled away, all the while ooh-ing and ahh-ing over each other’s knitting. A beautiful friendship was born. A talented, published author of two fabulous novels, I was thrilled when she agreed to write for flax & twine. I can’t wait to see her again this spring, but this little post has me tied over for now . . .
I gave away the first quilt I ever made, and I don’t have a picture of it. Crazy, right? But this was 1998, I was seventeen, and I had met a boy deserving of such a gift who happened to live 300 miles away. It was a twin-sized “stained glass” quilt, the panes done in a full spectrum and stitched into place with black bias strips–very ’80s (or early ’90s), but still rather dazzling. It felt as though I sewed enough bias strips to span those 300 miles. Being even more starry eyed than the average seventeen year old, it never occurred to me that I should take a picture of it in case we drifted; but drift we did, and though I wish I’d taken a photo I’ve never once regretted giving the quilt away. That boy is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
The stained glass quilt, from The Complete Quilting Course by Gail Lawther.
I’d intended to keep on sewing, but college and travel prevented me from reacquainting myself with my machine. It was eleven years before I began my second quilt project, also a gift.
Over the years Kelly and I have traveled quite a bit together. We have fond memories of Pauline’s Country Quilts in Dunfanaghy, County Donegal, Ireland, where she found a finished quilt covered in penguins to bring home to her penguin-loving mom in 2005. I’m using some of the yardage I bought in that cute little shop in Dunfanaghy for the backing panels–I love the notion of using fabrics with happy memories attached. Decades from now she can turn the quilt over and run her hand over fabric we bought together in one of the most beautiful parts of Ireland.
Kelly and I went to another quilt shop in New Jersey for most of the fabric, admiring our choices over cocktails afterward.
My sewing machine, too, is a happy connection to the past. I’ve inherited three machines in all: two Singers (1940s and 1960s-era models) and the circa-1980 New Home on which my mother sewed my earliest Halloween costumes. I use the New Home because it’s in the best shape, but someday, when I can afford it, I’ll have my grandmother’s vintage Singer restored. I use the New Home atop the sewing cabinet that houses the vintage Singer!
I suspect people think I’m a bit batty when I tell them about the wedding quilt project, and there’s no denying it’s a huge undertaking. But I started well in advance of the wedding, and I’m pretty confident I can have the “sandwich” all ready for quilting by wedding time. Maybe I shouldn’t admit this on the interwebs, but I have more fun sitting down to my sewing machine on a Friday night than I do dolling myself up to go out. The growing pile of colorful pieces beside the cutting mat, the simple geometry of all those half-square triangles, the soothing hiss of steam and the back-and-forth motion of the iron–it’s such a satisfying series of tasks. Sure, it’s a big project, but I’m enjoying every minute of it.
Just a few more white squares…
(Naturally, it was only after my half-square triangles were nearly finished that I came across this way more efficient “trick” from Amy Gibson. This probably won’t be my last zigzag quilt, though, so I will make use of that technique next time.)
Once I get those last purple half-square triangles sewn up, I can press these strips and begin sewing them together.
The lesson I have learned in the making of gifts is that you can’t sew or knit something for just anybody (that is, someone who simply doesn’t have “handmade taste”) and expect them to be over-the-moon thrilled about it. You save your time and energy and creative sparks for a very, very good friend who consistently and volubly admires your handiwork–someone who will just about keel over with excitement when you tell them to close their eyes and hold out their hands. My family and closest friends are ideal recipients in that regard, which is why I find giving things away even more pleasurable than knitting or sewing for myself.