You’ll know, as soon as you walk up the steps at the old Bell Mansion that you’re about to enter into a gallery full of colour, pattern, narrative, and beauty. Make no mistake: these are definitely not your grandmother’s quilts. They fill the walls of Galleries 1 & 2, pulling you along as you marvel at the artistry.
Traditional foot selfie in Gallery 2, thinking that that blue on the wall is the loveliest shade.
The “art of quilting” is “the process of creating a quilt, or quilted object. There are three parts to a quilt: the fabric top, the batting in the middle (for warmth, obviously!), and the fabric backing. When these three layers are joined together with stitching, the piece becomes a quilt.” This is part of the information sheet that you’re given as you enter the gallery, and it’s truly helpful. You’ll learn about the difference between ‘piecing,’ ‘paper piecing,’ ‘fabric origami,’ ‘thread painting,’ ‘appliqué,’ ‘needle felting,’ and the ‘art of stitchery.’ So much work, so much detail, to create such beautiful pieces of art.
The wall at the top of the stairs, just before you enter Gallery 2, is filled with the names of the people who make up the Sudbury and District Quilting & Stitchery Guild. It’s a full block of names, most all of them women. What of it? Why have women, historically, been drawn to making quilts? I often think that it has to do with narrative thread, and with passing things down. Stories are often passed down through women in families, and the same is true of quilts and cross-stitched pieces that are inherited.
“Fluttering Around Verona,” by Louise Henri, is one piece I loved because of the barn swallows and leaves. So lovely…
“Conflagration,” by Marilyn Clulow, is a piece that speaks to the fires in California, and to the climate crisis and emergency that we’re experiencing globally.
“Steampunk Julye,” by Carmen Huggins, is a work that makes you stop and look closely. (You can also see why the gallery attendant tells you—quietly but firmly when you first enter—that you can look, but “don’t touch the quilts!” It’s so tempting…especially when you’re a ‘toucher.’)
My paternal grandmother was an award-winning quilter back in the early part of the last century. I have one of her quilts, and my sister has the other. When I was growing up, she often spoke of us needing ‘hope chests,’ something which the women on the other side of my family–my mother’s side–never really dwelled on. Funny, how one side of a family can value marriage and an old fashioned dowry over a woman creating her own life. My father’s mother was someone who tended to her husband, a man who was tall and dominant in the house. He intimidated my father, and he was intimidating when we were little girls. My grandmother, then, mostly tried to make him happy. She cooked, cleaned, and made things. Mostly, she seemed more like a servant than a wife, but those were different times, and she was born to a farming family in Southwestern Ontario, in Park Hill, just outside of London. Those were definitely different times for women. . .
The quilts in The Art of Quilting are beyond the ones that my paternal grandmother used to stitch. Hers were traditional patterns. These build on those patterns, but springboard out into newer places and spaces. In the article “The labor of creativity: Women’s work, quilting, and the uncommodified life,” Debora J. Halbert, of the University of Hawaii writes of how quilting is “an area of creative work rich in tradition that demonstrates how ideas and inspiration flow between quilters as they share with each other, move to different parts of the country, and develop their own designs.” In Canada, there are places where quilting seems to have flourished. You only need to visit Mennonite towns in Ontario to see that the old art is alive and well in a traditional sense, and a visit to the East Coast of Canada will leave you drooling over which quilts you can imagine draping across a white bed in the depths of winter. No matter where women lived, in America or Canada, in Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, or in Sudbury or the Ottawa Valley, they sewed and quilted. They made things. They created pieces of work that were practical, but also artistic. It may really have been one of the few ways that they could be creative and independent. . .
While she wasn’t the warmest person, my paternal grandmother was skilled at making quilts. My favourites, when I was little, were the ones with puffed up squares. The puffy quilts were made out of old shirts worn by people who had long since died, I knew. This was slightly creepy, but those puff quilts kept you warm at night, when people turned down the furnace. If you grew up in a house with parents who watched the thermostat, as I did, then you learned to “put on an extra sweater,” or “bundle up under a quilt” with a hot cup of tea while you read a book. As those puff quilts began to fray and then rot over the years, I remember my grandfather putting them out overnight, to protect any fall vegetables from early frosts out in his gardens on Bancroft Drive, in the Minnow Lake area of Sudbury. Those older quilts died a slow death, being shoved into corners of the battered garage for the fall frosts. They ‘lived there’ through the winter, spring, and summer, only coming out in late September and early October to mind the vegetables.
The quilts that I’ve taken photos of are ones that spoke to me, but each person will find themselves drawn to particular colours or fabrics. I am always taken with the notion of origami, with how things are folded and composed. One of my earliest poems, in my early 20s, was all about origami. Funny, mostly because I’ve never really tried my hand at it, but I’ve watched people make origami in Windsor at Levigator Press, and I was amazed by the intricacy of it. The same thing happens to me when I look at the quilts that are on display in Sudbury this month. They are beautifully layered, with meaning and colour and texture.
This one, “Memories of Estelle,” by Patti MacKinnon, has close to 1,000 hexagons in the centre! I mean, what are the odds? So beautiful to see them all up close…
This is a close up shot of “Blue Lagoon,” by Natalie Ferguson. I love the patterning…and the repetition. It reminds me of what I do when I write poems, and of how certain lines or images echo in a work…
This gorgeous piece is “Rosalie,” by Joan Chabot. This piece was inspired by a doily that Chabot’s grandmother, Rosalie, created. (Rosalie was born in 1877). I love this because blue is my favourite colour…and I think that doilies are fascinating things…so… 🙂
There’s no way to describe the beauty of the exhibit that’s on at the Art Gallery of Sudbury (AGS) this month. It runs until January 5, 2020, so people can take any visiting relatives to see the quilts. (A fond ‘shout out’ to Kelsey Gunn, a former student, whose little piece in honour of David Bowie made me smile this afternoon. You go, girl!)
I’d also like to say, as I always do at this time of year, that it’s a wise idea to think about becoming a member of the Art Gallery. It’s inexpensive, and it’s an important place in the city. I know some people will disagree. I know–when I see people driving madly for parking spots to see a Wolves game on a Friday night or Sunday afternoon downtown–that this town is slow to support the arts and cultural groups. It worries me more than I can say. Ask me, and I’ll tell you. I’ll wave my arms around, too, most likely. And people will say that we’re ‘just a mining town,’ and that ‘this is the way it will always be,’ but I’m hopeful that we can move forward with the arts and culture sector growing and flourishing, and not being forced to beg for extra dollars every year.
I’m looking forward to seeing the AGS and the library in one place, with light streaming in through windows, and with places for children to read and write. And, to be honest, I’m looking forward to a fully wheelchair accessible, modern art gallery that will have space to properly store all of its beautiful pieces from the permanent collection.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t love the old Bell place. I do. More than I can say. I think that building will need care after the AGS leaves it, too, when the time comes. We’ll need to be sure that it doesn’t get left behind, or destroyed, as so much of Sudbury’s historic architecture was thoughtlessly erased in the middle of the last century.
Before you leave the Gallery, do stop in and see the art that’s been produced from the children’s art classes. Those pieces are in Gallery 3, through a door and with a window that looks out over the back yard with its beautiful trees. My favourite pieces were seven-year-old Ava’s chalk pastel stars and hearts piece, aptly titled “Clouds & Stars;” Georgia’s gorgeous “Flower;” six-year-old Kiniw’s “Lava Deer;” thirteen-year-old John’s “Solitude;” ten-year-old Kamara Charlton’s oil pastel “Spooky town;” and Mia Reich’s sweet little piece titled “They’re not seagulls.” Of them all, though, I was most fond of “Unideer in the Sun”, by ten-year-old Zoe Hopkins, because…let’s face it…who doesn’t want to see a deer that has a unicorn horn? It’s sheer magic, that unideer, and I’d love to tell Zoe that in person, but this will have to suffice. (#unideersforever)
A little side note…
I’ll be taking a break from my blog–and minimizing my online presence on most of my social media platforms–through December and into mid-January. It’s not my best time of year, to be honest, and I find social media can sometimes make it more difficult than not, so I’ll wish you all a safe and happy holiday season with your families. I’m going to turtle in, read books, hang out with my dog, and write a lot. It’s been quite a busy year for me, and I’m so very thankful for all of the opportunities I’ve had with These Wings, and with launching it in various places across Canada. Thanks to everyone for buying the book, and for reading it, and for mostly saying that you love it. That means a great deal to me! 🙂
If you need to get in touch for writing or reading purposes, or for freelance writing and editing requests, you can reach me through my more formal email address on my author website at http://www.kimfahner.com
I’ll see you in the new year. 🙂
peace,
k.
The Republic of Poetry 