Koala or kookaburra?

I have made two cot quilts for our beautiful boy, Zain. Given the number of koalas coming his way in various shapes and forms, from toys to motifs on his tiny outfits (- can’t think of the right word), his totem may be the koala. Leo and Mel are lucky enough to have koalas in their backyard – in the nearby bush reserve that is part of their wider ‘backyard’. The koala features strongly in my quilts, together with a wee possum and a feisty kookaburra – which might give the koala a bit of competition, given that Leo has a strong connection with kookies. We’ll see how it turns out.

Vanishing points

Over the years I have enjoyed collecting hand-dyed fabrics. I’ve also dyed my own fabrics, including over-dying commercially printed cottons. They can be very beautiful in their own right, but usually require a leap of faith for a possible use in future creations. They are just glorious temptations in their own right, and were collected as such. I have recently resurrected the beginnings of an earlier ‘idea’ for a bed quilt, which formed as a way to use some of these gorgeous fabrics without too much structure. The cut strips had been stored away in a plastic tub for many years, marked ‘Universe Story’. The colours seemed to elicit such a grand concept. I am now involved in using them to create a wall quilted hanging for my son and Mel. But before I report on the new journey those hand-dyes are setting out on, there is another I want to share, one made from hand-dyed blues by Leo over ten years ago. Constructed using a fusing technique, the small quilt was named ‘Vanishing points’, hand quilted using a running stitch and an envelope or pillow case method to contain the three layers. I seem to remember the inspiration for the hand stitching arose from the formation formed by ducks as they swim through water, leaving an expanding V trail behind, a formation they also use in the air. There is something about this piece that overlays the many meeting points and horizons in our lives. It seems an appropriate time to reflect on such points, arising from ‘nothingness’, vanishing and returning as we welcome Leo and Mel’s beautiful boy Zain into our lives, born on 11 June. What lies behind him is fascinating. What lies ahead remains a Mystery.

In the meantime...

I have made little progress making use of the cut out and overlayed fused circles that began to take form at the beginning of Covid19 lockdowns in 2020.They were intended to be used in the construction of two thin vertical panels, celebrating the fractals of created by the intricacy of the petals that flower together so rhythmically in the heads of blooms, and linked together on a shared stem (see archive December 2021). In fact, I have totally digressed, drawn to other smaller projects, those that are less complicated, more straightforward, and have an end in sight. Less of a commitment to my usual mindful creativity, than desiring to have a practical outcome you could say. More of a pursuit to get something finished off, living in times when nothing seems to be coming to an end. The unrelenting rains being released on many parts of the east coast are being referred to as a ‘once-in-five-hundred-years’ occurrence – probably only the fifth since Noah by that count – but the second flood disaster within two months. The overcast, dull grey and often black skies have blocked out summer sun, unleashing violent lightening storms at a whim, while leaving behind virulent weeds, persistent leeches and garden bugs that bite ferociously into even covered flesh. Then there are the non-stop mutations of a global virus that we are now realising may never go away, that will be on our doorstep for some time to come. The pandemic is not over. We continue to live with it, and climate change weather events, and our own burgeoning fears from not knowing what lies ahead. So, the tablemats, put together from furnishing swatches gleaned nearly thirty years ago were simply cut into easy sized squares, then embellished with the remaining length of the gorgeous turquoise polka-dotted black ribbon. In general, they are18x18 inch squares approximately, machine pieced and quilted, sturdy and washable.

Creating a caring Economy (2008)

 What happens to women’s work? How is it assessed? Or is it just an expected role in society? Questions that are definitively related to the unpaid work of women in caring for all the relationships they are involved in: husband, children, the grandparents of both families, and others through their charitable caring works.

This quilt had begun to take form over ten years ago, for the 2008 UN International Women’s Day, created before I started a blogspot. It was named "Creating a caring economy", and I was in the process of reading Rianne Eisler’s wonderful expose of the need for a more equitable basis to all economies, based in gender equity. In The real wealth of nations: creating a caring economics, published in 2007, Eisler makes the case for what lies behind how the productivity of the economies that we live within have arisen and been developed, are sustained and maintained on the basis of the long-time gender bias toward the work of males, totally discounting women's work through the ages. 

Maybe twenty years earlier I had read Counting for nothing (1988) by New Zealand’s first female parliamentarian Marilyn Waring. It was ground-breaking and is now a classic feminist analysis of the gender bias in society that so obviously extends to the economy. Without GDP being fuelled by women’s unpaid labour in the home, and elsewhere in some societies, work in the home and family has not been valued or acknowledged by the contribution to the world’s economies. Unlike cleaning up a disasters for example, which does contribute to the overall GDP, work in the home counts for nothing. 

The wall hanging (measuring 800x1000mms) was inspired by a screen-printed Indian fabric, and commissioned by my friend Sheila. Given to Sheila as a parting gift by her sisters following a visit to their religious congregation in India, the single piece of fabric showed three women. They are depicted wearing traditional Indian dress and veils, complete with decorative emblems and jewellery. These women are determinedly striding out, two with vessels carried gracefully on their heads, and one in a sack over her shoulder. Delighted to work with the image of these three strong women walking across the scene, I decided to cut them out individually and reposition them onto a background fabric pieced together from ‘indigenous’ inspired fabrics in my own stash.

By doing so, I was able to provide space to include random textual quotes from The real wealth of nations. Some excerpts are scattered down the veils, and others across the background. They include one basic message: “gender equality to remove poverty”. And other catch phrases are pulled from the text: “the economy begins in the household; good governance to open doors for women in a dominator world; trade justice to achieve women’s economic empowerment; respect of other life forms we share the planet with; reproductive freedom.” 

I had known that the word ‘economos’ in Greek is a reference to the hearth, the centre of all trade, exchange, sustenance and wellbeing. “The most important human work is sustaining the activities of the household - care and care giving throughout life.” This is what basically sums up a functional and functioning economy for me. Where would we be without home and hearth? I added some silver thread hand-stitching to the women’s paraphernalia and jewellery, including their earrings and belly buttons. Much fun in bringing to together, and very pleased that Sheila has bequeathed it to me as she is the process of finding her new place.

And now for something completely different

I’ve been thinking about fractals lately – ‘fractal’ geometry, a word derived from the Latin meaning broken or fractured. They are all around visually, and also invisible living phenomena, like blood vessels. They can be seen in the branch patterns of trees and the veins of leaves, in hurricanes and lightening bolts, seashells and snowflakes, river deltas and spider webs. They are certainly evident in the usual block formations and iterations in building quilts, where the whole is made up from the smaller parts. The most basic form is the circle. Think about raindrops falling on a pond of water, and the ripple effect – or even the most basic parts of our being, the formation of our living cells from stem cells through to our organs. What fascinates me is the interdependence that brings about unity and cooperation. 

 The mathematical formula that explains fractal geometry shows how fractals are formed by iteration. Benoit Mandelbrot used a simple equation, where the numerical answer arrived at is fed back into the original equation in a repeated circular motion thousands of times over to explain the structure of the world we live in. Even the rugged outlines of mountains follow this repetitive process. What has come to be known mathematically after its creator as the Mandelbrot Set started with his ‘theory of roughness’, and looking for patterns in the world around us. The outcome was his formula, one that unlocks the ‘roughness’ of the Universe, from the clustering of galaxies to frequencies that enable mobile phones into a pattern. It describes creation in action as a simple process of re-iteration, through a form of feedback to create self-similarity in the purpose of re-creation. 

 

Andy Goldsworthy often uses the circle as a starting point for his wonderful works in the landscape, using materials from the environment to create impermanent structures that replicate fractals, whether it be from snow, rocks or leaves. He points out through his art that if we lose connection with nature we lose connection with ourselves – because we are nature. Returning to my fabric circles, and next stage of construction…

I have very much enjoyed putting the circular florets together over the time of dealing with the restrictions imposed by response to the pandemic, gradually growing them by layering contrasting fabrics from my stash, to randomly build up the different and repeated shapes and colours. I am building on an earlier vision, sparked by the little carry case bought quite a while back at a Reject store for $8. (see Archive 2020). The circles are mostly completed, though some of the florets need to be brought into full bloom, with the centres needing to be added to with smaller circles that stretch back – zoom out into infinity, holding the seeds for the next iteration of the genus. 

A lot of life-surging waters have passed under the bridge since beginning this project, both during the pandemic and in my personal life. Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the number of circle flowers, sixteen in the orange colour way, five in blues, and others in yellow, the way to bring them together into one space was looking a bit daunting. I did consider putting them back in their tub to wait for another airing – maybe later, in full summer, but they prevailed and I decide to press on. 

Having matched the background colour fairly closely to that of the inspirational little carry case, there was nothing stopping me from taking the next step in bringing the 23 circle fractals together. But before moving into action I had to think ahead, since the circles are layers of fused fabric – four layers at least, attached to a fused base that will in turn be attached to the background in the same way. In this type of applique it is essential to stitch through all layers for stability the overall fixture of them - and to prevent fraying at the edges. 

I have used the machine applique technique by double stitching each individual shape, both inside the shape and outside at its edge.  However, the skills required of such machine work in the case of my circles and their greenery is I have to admit beyond me, and the tediousness is certainly enough to put me off such a tack. As a result, I started to think about long-arm machine quilting. The decision to have the final outcome commercially quilted has provided the ground for moving forward, so I go ahead arranging the circles on vertical panels. With the circles ironed on to one panel, joined by their green stems, the sense of an underwater world comes through, showing itself as coral formations, formed as they are too by the self-similarity of fractals. 

Here is how the first panel is shaping up. Not quilt stitched yet.

Addendum to “Twilight”

 This small art quilt has existed in liminal space over several years, waiting to be reinvented. It has in fact come into final form after the addition of another panel. After completing this little wall hanging by stitching along the binding another option presented itself for inclusion. 

I’d muddled around with a small strip, adding a variety of leaves from my collection, already cut out and stored in my shoebox. Created separately, I wasn’t sure whether to include it in this backyard quilt or save it for the next one that I have in mind. However, this has probably become the most ‘unpicked’ and reworked piece I have ever made. The lower boundary had to be unpicked for the addition to be made. So be it! As a result, the final manifestation now includes the ‘ground’ at the base, as though standing at the edge of the lagoon, and positions the viewer to be drawn into the entirety of the spirit of this amazing and sacred place. 

570x360mms

Twilight: between the worlds

 My visit to Kerry in her days of twilight assured me she was about to set out on a very important journey, her soul journey towards tranquillity. It is not easy to see someone at this stage of life, but on realising that she was in deep communion with her soul journey I felt relieved and comforted – privileged to be with her for a short time. It’s the same when I sit at the lagoon, or drive through those big old trees as I ask them to give me their loving Earth hug. It is the feeling of being held by the Mystery that is Life and Death. While the quilt may be a metaphor for where I am standing personally also, confronted by the likelihood of dying from a terminal cancer, this quilt holds a deeply felt appreciation for and a loving memory of my extraordinary dear friend Kerry.

The gum leaves have again presented themselves for inclusion on the surface of the calm waters of the quilt. Already cut out from hand-dyed cottons, they have been saved in another shoebox and ready to be used. I decided to cut out a few more in red. Ever since noticing the red leaves of gums, both new and fallen into the leaf litter that is ever present in my backyard, I have gained confidence in including such brightness into a bush scenario.  And at this time of the year, the magnificent spring blooms of waratahs stands in the bush cannot be ignored. They celebrate the backyard of the Australian bush that we all share.

The final naming of a quilt usually becomes obvious after it has been finished, even though it has most likely been there from the inception. As the parts are saying to me this is the Glenbrook Lagoon, a place of natural beauty, peace and tranquillity, I began to think of other words, such as twilight. The word resides between dark and light; it could apply to both early evening and morning. It is a liminal space in Earth’s traverse around Sun, and in Kerry’s transition to the liminal space between life and death. It’s a space of being, in twilight between diminishing light or diminishing dark. Hence the name for this little quilt has become: “Twilight: between the worlds”.

1'7" (480)x1'2"(360)

Here's a final thought: 

BEING AN ARTIST 

(as we all are in so many different forms) MEANS 

FOREVER HEALING YOUR OWN WOUNDS 

WHILE ENDLESSLY EXPOSING THEM.