The Festival of Quilts has many competition categories into which any quilter can enter a quilt, and providing it isn't provocative, indecent or dangerous, it will be hung - and judged! The Fine Art Quilt Masters category is also open to all, however where it differs is that it is a juried competition. There were over one hundred quilts submitted this year from which the panel of 5 judges, leading figures from both the art and textile world, chose just 23 for the 2018 gallery.
The aim of TFAQM gallery is 'to celebrate those quilts that transcend craft and demand equal billing with work shown in an art gallery' The judges were looking for a fully-resolved composition and powerful artistic impression. The design also had to be original, but other than that anything was possible!
On the Festival of Quilts site you can see images of all the chosen quilts, but I this week I'm sharing with you a little bit about my entry, The space between the moments.
The aim of TFAQM gallery is 'to celebrate those quilts that transcend craft and demand equal billing with work shown in an art gallery' The judges were looking for a fully-resolved composition and powerful artistic impression. The design also had to be original, but other than that anything was possible!
On the Festival of Quilts site you can see images of all the chosen quilts, but I this week I'm sharing with you a little bit about my entry, The space between the moments.
No one was more surprised than me to receive the email letting me know that my quilt had made it onto the 2018 shortlist. Sure, I had filled in the entry form and sent it off: but I didn't expect to get in (who does?) It's a bit like the National Lottery (or whatever it's called now) - winning (or in this case, being shortlisted) is what happens to other people, not to me. But to be in with a chance you first have to buy a ticket...or in the case of TFAQM, make a quilt and send in the entry form!
So how did The space between the moments come into being?
I lived in Finland with my husband and children during the 1990s and fell in love with a country, its people and its way of life: it felt like home. I also learned how to cross country ski and would spend hours out alone in the snowy forests. Skiing was such a joy, and I relished the freedom and peace which came from being absolutely alone in a pure white, crisp landscape; for the last 20 years I have longed to capture that feeling again.
So how did The space between the moments come into being?
I lived in Finland with my husband and children during the 1990s and fell in love with a country, its people and its way of life: it felt like home. I also learned how to cross country ski and would spend hours out alone in the snowy forests. Skiing was such a joy, and I relished the freedom and peace which came from being absolutely alone in a pure white, crisp landscape; for the last 20 years I have longed to capture that feeling again.
If you've been following this blog for awhile you'll know that I finally returned to winter Finland this February - all the way north to just below the artic circle. I'm a lot older, not as flexible (was I ever?) and a tad more risk adverse these days but gradually as the week progressed so did my ski legs. It was far more challenging than the routes I had been used to in my 'home' town of Hyvinkää, but it wasn't any less exhilarating,
and I even managed to ski out along the Russian border - at minus 22 we didn't stand still for long!
Everything needed for a day out on skis had to be carried with you, so my bulky Olympus camera stayed in the cabin and I used my Android phone to take photographs (fact: android batteries carry on working in sub-zero temperatures unlike certain other types!). I love the panorama function on phones as it's so quick and easy to use - a definite plus point in those temperatures.
After a long day out on skis and on the way back to base camp our guide stopped each of us in turn and asked us to wait until the skier in front was no longer visible. Only then, when we could no longer see or hear the other skier could we set off.
Finally, after two decades of waiting, I could once again capture the freedom and peace in a pure white, crisp landscape. The sun was all but gone and the moon and stars were out so on I skied, trusting my instincts and letting the tracks guide my skis. The only sound was the crack of a branch as it finally snapped under the weight of the snow and the rhythmic swish of my skis on the frozen snow.
By the time I crossed the frozen lake it was too dark to photograph the way I'd come, so the following day I went back just before sunset. I wasn't disappointed and I whipped out my phone and snapped a few panoramic shots before the light faded.
Finally, after two decades of waiting, I could once again capture the freedom and peace in a pure white, crisp landscape. The sun was all but gone and the moon and stars were out so on I skied, trusting my instincts and letting the tracks guide my skis. The only sound was the crack of a branch as it finally snapped under the weight of the snow and the rhythmic swish of my skis on the frozen snow.
By the time I crossed the frozen lake it was too dark to photograph the way I'd come, so the following day I went back just before sunset. I wasn't disappointed and I whipped out my phone and snapped a few panoramic shots before the light faded.
As soon as I saw the image on the phone screen I knew it would become a quilt - it just asked to be made.
So, how did the quilt come into being?
Fortunately I still had some vintage linen fabric, in the right proportions (the finished quilt is 1.98m x 49 cm), left over from making my daughter some curtains (the things we end up doing for those we love!) This went into a bucket of pale blue dye. Obviously not pale enough because it came out looking like a Caribbean afternoon. So I moved on to using screen printing inks. They are more fluid than regular textile paints and as they are translucent I can build up layers of colour. Which is just what I did! The blue colour still looks a bit perky in some of the photographs, but in 'the flesh' it's just about right.
Once the paint surface was dry and heat set it was time to layer up the quilt and start stitching. The sky and snow were quilted using my Bernina Q20. The sky first had relaxed free flowing lines which were then infilled with text. Annoyingly my hand guided text is very neat and tidy - not at all the look I wanted for this quilt, I was after something much scrappier. So I had to put in many hours trying out different styles, not sure I quite achieved it, old habits are hard to kick. I also needed to brush up my angular meandering pattern as it isn't one which comes naturally but it was so right for the snowy section.
With the machine quilting done it was time to relax and enjoy the hand quilting. I used to be a dedicated quilting hoop / tiny stitches kind of quilter. Not anymore. These days I just tip all the possible threads I may need, never mind about the weight, into a basket, grab a selection of needles and settle comfortably down for some relaxed hand stitching. I still use a thimble though. Can't hand stitch without one.
Fortunately I still had some vintage linen fabric, in the right proportions (the finished quilt is 1.98m x 49 cm), left over from making my daughter some curtains (the things we end up doing for those we love!) This went into a bucket of pale blue dye. Obviously not pale enough because it came out looking like a Caribbean afternoon. So I moved on to using screen printing inks. They are more fluid than regular textile paints and as they are translucent I can build up layers of colour. Which is just what I did! The blue colour still looks a bit perky in some of the photographs, but in 'the flesh' it's just about right.
Once the paint surface was dry and heat set it was time to layer up the quilt and start stitching. The sky and snow were quilted using my Bernina Q20. The sky first had relaxed free flowing lines which were then infilled with text. Annoyingly my hand guided text is very neat and tidy - not at all the look I wanted for this quilt, I was after something much scrappier. So I had to put in many hours trying out different styles, not sure I quite achieved it, old habits are hard to kick. I also needed to brush up my angular meandering pattern as it isn't one which comes naturally but it was so right for the snowy section.
With the machine quilting done it was time to relax and enjoy the hand quilting. I used to be a dedicated quilting hoop / tiny stitches kind of quilter. Not anymore. These days I just tip all the possible threads I may need, never mind about the weight, into a basket, grab a selection of needles and settle comfortably down for some relaxed hand stitching. I still use a thimble though. Can't hand stitch without one.
I only used a very relaxed cross stitch for the hand stitching, building up the density in greens to give the impression of the tree line and in white/off white for the snow.
Hardest to represent were my ski tracks. In the end I smudged some Derwent Inktense pastel over the surface, but that looked like a river. So as very pale lavender thread was back-stitched in to show the way. Even after the stitching was done I tweaked the paint, a dap of white here, and bit more dark green there.
But there comes a time when you've just got to stop; my time was as I knelt on the floor in tears. I could do no more. I was done, exhausted and drained. No other quilt has required such an emotional commitment.
So I took the required photographs and sent off the form.
The quilt was rolled up and put it away. I went out and did some gardening.
You know the rest.
But there comes a time when you've just got to stop; my time was as I knelt on the floor in tears. I could do no more. I was done, exhausted and drained. No other quilt has required such an emotional commitment.
So I took the required photographs and sent off the form.
The quilt was rolled up and put it away. I went out and did some gardening.
You know the rest.
The space between the moments
It was in the space between the moments that I missed you the most:
the silence falls, the breathing pauses, the eyes close.
In the space between the moments I remembered: you’re not here anymore.
But then, as I crossed that vast cold, white landscape, I turned and looked back from where I’d come
and I finally realised:
it’s in the space between the moments that I can find you.
That’s where you are.
So now I pause awhile and be.
Be there with you
in the space between the moments.
Hazel
It was in the space between the moments that I missed you the most:
the silence falls, the breathing pauses, the eyes close.
In the space between the moments I remembered: you’re not here anymore.
But then, as I crossed that vast cold, white landscape, I turned and looked back from where I’d come
and I finally realised:
it’s in the space between the moments that I can find you.
That’s where you are.
So now I pause awhile and be.
Be there with you
in the space between the moments.
Hazel
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