an intuitive fabricscape
This weekend I gave myself the gift of a messy home and two days of making.
I spent all of Saturday moving squares of fabric from the wall to the floor. Quiltmaking is often a story of precision — stacks of plastic rulers, rotary cutters that slice neatly. The advice is usually to measure twice and cut once, pin carefully and sew exactly, check for quarter-inch seams. It seemed unapproachable, to my convoluted web of a brain. I can barely sew in a straight line on the best of days, and I bought my old brass fabric scissors in a little gully in Bombay. But quilting, like so many other art practices, can be intuitive, playful — as simple as ripping fabric and stitching it together.
I measured nothing. I snipped rough squares by eye, all slightly different sizes and no straight angles. Piecing this quilt top has felt like playing with the colors I love most — soft oatmeal linen, deep brick reds, so many shades of earthy greens and browns. I shuffled the design, snapped a photo to see it better, switched squares again, stepped away, came back, tried again — until I felt something. The gasp of resonant alignment; the dull ache of a slowly healing grief.
this too is an art practice.
On Sunday, I pulled out some wilting greens procured from a smattering of Hudson Valley farms (thanks to the wonderful people at GrowNYC). The honey for the salad dressing was the first spoonful I tasted from my local community garden’s bees, sweet as anything and scented like last summer — the wild strawberries, sunflowers, mint, and tomatoes in our raised beds, the peach tree and the wild grape arbor along the back fence.
I measured nothing, again. I tore up the kale in big handfuls, roughly sliced the fennel and apples, eyeballed the EVOO and ACV into a jar, dropped in a handful of chopped fennel fronds and a scoop of the honey. I shook up the dressing, tasted it, added a splash more vinegar and plenty of salt and cracked pepper, shook and tasted again — until I felt something. The satisfaction of a balanced play of earthy flavors; the joy of nourishing my dearest friends.
this too is an art practice.
I’ll be sending out the pre-class homework for intimate portraits soon (it’s not too late to sign up!), and I wanted to share it with you too, dear reader — a little exercise for intuitive art-making.
I’m asking my students to find and collect objects from around their homes that make them feel something. Sensuality begins with noticing the senses, and emotional experiences are just sensations in the body. If you’re stuck, start there. Find one thing that draws from each sense: sight, sound, touch, smell, taste. Notice what it feels like. See if you can name the sensation it evokes; write it down. Discernment is its own form of play.
this too is an art practice.
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a few medicines:
If you liked this exercise, join the workshop! Registration for intimate portraits ends this Friday, April 14.
You might also love my dear friend’s Whalebone Stitch Club, with monthly missives about growing an intuitive textile practice.
I am staunchly team knit-in-meetings, even in Flexible Office.
Patience and a high pain tolerance, and an antidote to regret.
Another wonderful friend just gifted me this deck, and I’ve been pulling cards daily. Every card is a stunning work of art and feels like a blessing — and as the artists switch from self-published to working with a publisher, it’s currently on sale!
Highly recommend: reading romance novels on cross-borough subway rides and binge-watching Love is Blind episodes while sewing. (give me all your recs, tell me ALL your hot takes 👀 )
until next time.