Originality is not doing something no one else has ever done, but doing what has been done countless times with new life, new breath.
I finished this quilt last week, mailing it off today to my youngest sister and her family. They live north of California, where ducks take on a significant importance, so it’s apropos this comforter heads their way, sort of how a duck might travel if it was stuck in a box. Fortunately the ducks on this blanket won’t mind flying north via the post.
The quote at the top of this entry is also appropriate for this quilt, as well as the writing. Those words are from a page a day calendar that graces my dresser, and I had to include them as this quilt encompasses crafty triangles that were as perfectly unplanned as how I write novels. I just finished reading over The Hawk: Part Six, eliminating a few typos, and gathering ideas how to further this tale. Thank goodness for the opportunity to tack notes onto the end of the main document, sort of how the back of this quilt came together, scraps from the front amid a lovely navy blue.
It’s as if the chaos of the front seamlessly blends into the quiet of the back, sans ducks.
And speaking of ducks…
The larger of the two was merely a flick of the wrist. The second was planned, but I only had a little orange to scatter among the other hues, which were a Christmas gift from my daughters. Topped up with some tone on tone blue and Kona white, I pieced this on my machine, then hand quilted it. I so like hand quilting, although I was worried I hadn’t done enough to provide the desired rippled effect. But post-washing, I’m happy with the finished look. Thinking back on it, all I can conjure are Golden State Warriors wins tucked amid the stitches, hehehe.
One of the pleasures of quilting, as well as writing, is creating something that can never be duplicated. Yes, I’ll sew more quilts, maybe even write another book someday, ahem. But this comforter, like The Hawk, is unique, and necessary. It’s essential for me to write novels and fashion lap blankets as if in those actions I am indeed breathing. In and out goes the needle, drawing thread through layers of cotton, securing elements that will fade in the washer, one day falling apart altogether. Yet, the essence isn’t fibres, but love. Similarly, words fall onto a virtual document and as those words are read, again love emerges. Peace too, warmth and devotion and a vital energy that says, “Here, have this. I have made this just for you.”
Such a blessing is the creative life. Don’t let that spark be extinguished by those who claim it’s all been said and done. All is new and fresh when translated via the heart.