BLOGGermanquiltingfigures and schwibbogens

            Schwibbogens, Quilting Scenes, and Christmas Traditions

            Schwibbogen is not a word that easily comes to mind when I think of Christmas yet, in the mining towns of Germany, schwibbogens are a major decorative feature as well as a valuable economic product.

            What, you say, is a schwibbogen?  I confess to stumbling over the term as well as the concept.  Apparently it translates from the German as a floating arch, a standard example of Gothic structure.  Simply, it is an arch suspended between two walls which act as the support for the arch.  Living in Pennsylvania, I am familiar with the importance of the keystone within the arch.

In the mineral-rich mountains of Saxony, the miners celebrated the beginning of the Christmas festivities (and probably the winter solstice with its return of sunlight) as they hung their lanterns on the iron arch at the mouth of the ore mines.  As each miner emerged from the mine on Christmas Eve, his lantern signaled the village that everyone was safely out of the mine.  When the arch was completely lit up, Christmas could truly begin and eventually village homes put smaller replicas in their windows.  When the mines petered out, carving and crafting schwibbogen and other wooden ornaments energized the business in that region.

The number of candles on many of the schwibbogen are mostly prime numbers. The first schwibbogen made in 1726 had eleven lantern holders formed from forged iron. For example, the older image of the menorah is a seven-branched candlestick with the central candle representing God of Light while a more modern menorah has eight candles with a servant candle providing the ninth. This fact reminds me again of the importance of the keystone as the center or cementing stone in the arch or the “extra” or “superior” light that is necessary for all light to happen. Now the arches may have any number of candles.  Many often include a scene such as a Nativity or German landscape sheltering under the curve of the arch.

In addition, the villagers construct music boxes with nativity sets, fantastic forests and landscapes, and even a summer scene of children flying a kite.  What caught my quilt-hunting eye was a domestic quilting scene ensconced on top of a music box.  It was not truly a schwibbogen but it fell into the same category of Christmas comfort all year long. A mother figure supports a large quilting frame on her lap with a straw basket of brightly colored wool within easy reach.  One tiny girl on tiptoes, white-capped and pinafored, peers over the edge of the frame, as if she is being instructed in the art of quilting. Sitting before a pile of logs representing the family hearth, another girl plays with a doll even smaller than she is.  A lantern hangs from an upright wooden arm.  The entire tableau sits on an oblong raised platform box decorated with the red, white, and blue of Germany folk art incorporated into quilt squares of hearts and blue bows along the sides.  The tune of “It’s a Small World After All” plays as the quilter spins on her circle.

What does this say about quilting?  Granted that the décor and costume are lodged several centuries back, the scene still evokes nostalgia of a quieter time within what we believe to be quieter “golden days of yore.”  Each element, rendered in the rotund and merry figures, represents our ideal of innocence--family, hearth, warmth, light, and most of all a work-at-home mother. Whereas the mother-figure often is shown in other visual art as feeding her family, here the emphasis is on her ability to clothe her family.  Thus the light and the fire and the quilt spilling over her legs provide visible proof of her ability to keep her family warm.  We, in turn, are “warmed” by the reassurance that the “small world” of the scene still exists—if only in our memory.

            Like a rainbow arching across the sky, the tiny schwibbogens remind us of the colors and lights of a Nativity scene, the safety of escaping the darkness of a cold and wet underground mine, and the warmth of a family hearth welcoming us home at Christmas.  Not bad for an ornament.

                                                                                    Anne K. Kaler aka QuiltHunter

 

 

Patterns, Puzzles, and the Feminine Mind

                In this day of gender equality, why do so many writers fall back upon feminine crafts as occupations for their female detectives? Does the creative nature of a craft indicate an intuitive aspect of a woman’s mind? Does the repetition of craft work free a woman’s mind to solve puzzles?  Do the nimble fingers of women manipulate needles better than the male brain surgeons wield scalpels? Or can women really multitask, crocheting a comforter or cooking a quiche while corralling a crook?

                Notice how many women cozy writers segue from one craft to another without any noticeable change in literary skills.  Some dash from one form of craft work to another subgenre of the same form—from knitting to crocheting or from cookie-making to cake decorating or quilting to applique.  More adventurous ones are equally deft at jumping time periods or delving into entirely unrelated settings.  Some have two or three different series going on at the same time featuring different crafts.  Talk about Superwomen.

                Amanda Lee (aka Gayle Trent) has two series going currently—Daphne Martin is a cake-decorating business owner and Marcy Singer runs an embroidery shop, the Seven Year Stitch.  Notice Marcy’s significant last name—Singer—certainly a name well known to sewers as a major work-saving device.  Even if the technologically knowledgeable Marcy does know how to sew a fine seam with or without a sewing machine, the author needs her to be an expert in the fine art of embroidery for several reasons.  The author lets her heroine Marcy use three important patterns.

                The most important of these in Thread Upon Arrival is the lattice pattern on the Faberge egg that Marcy is making for her mother for Easter.  Having “uploaded the image into my cross stitch software,” Marcy analyzes the pattern “pale green background with baby pink roses and golden branches, sporting darker green leaves.  The trellis was silver and inlaid with tiny diamonds.”  She sees that she can recreate the effect of the crossed trellis work with silver ribbon and the roses with pink ribbon but knows that the photographic copy on her computer software is too complicated to translate into a workable counted cross stitch pattern of an embroidered egg.  So Marcy simplifies the pattern to fit the egg shape.  This, in part, describes the author’s writing style itself—factual, direct, and unencumbered by lengthy descriptions—which allows the image of the trellis or lattice work to serve as an observable pattern.

                This pattern, where one thread crosses over another, creates a cross or a “pick” or jointure.  If the threads are twisted onto the bias, the effect makes a diamond-shaped design.  Within each “diamond” space each clue is isolated just as the pink roses are centered in the egg’s lattice work.  The highlighting of these clues causes the detective to figure out the final solution just as the final embellishment of the cross-stitched egg finishes the craft piece.  The author lets each clue takes its rightful place in the heroine’s “diamond.”

Lee’s novel involves a second pattern appearing in an antique tapestry/treasure map.  The tapestry itself is “dark brown wools [which] were often indicative of textiles from the Civil War era.”  In literary studies, most plays have one physical object that represents the major theme; for example, Othello would not have the impact it does without Desdemona’s loss of the handkerchief Othello gave her.  In this novel, the tapestry serves this function.  The tapestry causes disharmony within a family and eventually causes some greedy people to murder for the map.  The restoration of the tapestry to itself rightful owner, along with the promise that its “treasure” might be made from a TV production of its history rather than in its retrieval of riches from the ocean, makes the tapestry an important item.

To the embroiderer, however, researching the nature of tapestry causes her to recognize the skill of the weaver.  Marcy exclaims at the woman’s making a “pattern called a mise en carte, and then…transcribing the colors and contours prior to weaving.  To imagine someone doing all that and then hand weaving a treasure map for her children…was simply mind-boggling.”  The two patterns come together when the villainess is in Marcy’s shop and compliments Marcy’s unfinished egg.  “There wasn’t even enough of the pattern developed yet that anyone could tell what it was going to be but she told me it was pretty.”  The villainess then steers the conversation back to the whereabouts of the tapestry and the treasure map. 

The third pattern is that of the value of a sewing circle.  The reader learns at the end of the novel that all the clues have been foreshadowed or planted within the members of the embroidery class offered for abused women.  One of the organizers admits that “victims find it’s easier to open up and talk with the other members of the group if their hands are busy and they aren’t looking at the other’s faces.”  The members of the embroidery group are reduced to the level of the heroine of the early romance novel who starts out as an isolated loner with no relatives, no support group of friends, little money or marketable skills with which to make her way in the world.

The convention of a female support group is standard in cozy mysteries where the town acts as a character in the action. The nature of cozy mysteries, of course, involves a restricted and genial landscape of a small town with a restricted set of local eccentrics, best friends, stable employment, and a never-ending influx of suspicious characters that may or may not be killers.  An outsider coming to a small town becomes the irritant in the oyster which (or more properly, who) must be surrounded and nourished by the town’s inhabitants until her rough edges are smoothed off and she becomes “one of us,” surely a pearl of great price. 

These three patterns mimic the action of the human brain cells answering a question or solving a problem.  Where ideas meet, cross, or conflict, new ideas are spawned. Those ideas beget newer ideas until patterns become recognizable.  In essence, the patterns resemble puzzles which cannot be completed until the last piece is in place.  So also with Lee’s use of the lattice, the tapestry, and the craft circle of women, the interaction of the three patterns allows the heroine-detective to solve the puzzle.  But then most crafters know how to follow patterns or directions or recipes, don’t they?  Surely this is a human trait, rather than just a feminine phenomenon.

                                                                                               

Anne K. Kaler  aka  QuiltHunter

 

Feed Sack & Egg Money Quilts Memorialized

 

A treasure I found while book hunting recently was Eleanor Burns’ “Egg Money Quilts” which told the story of frugal women who raised chickens and sold eggs, often keeping the resultant “egg money” for their own uses.

Burns’ book refers to the hard times during the Depression when no family could afford to waste any resource. She describes and illustrates how the smart farmer’s wife made use of a byproduct of raising chickens – chicken feed sacks – to make a quilt. The solid white or off-white chicken feed sacks made ideal quilt backgrounds.

To boost sagging sales, many newspapers printed a weekly quilt square pattern. (Burns shows both an original newspaper pattern and a vintage quilt made from it.) Some quilters would go on to make the entire quilt with one pattern while others would mix and match patterns. Often the women would copy each week’s pattern as a separate sample block so that a quilt might have many patterns on it, just as the earlier samplers preserved embroidery stitches for young girls to consult when they were in charge of their own homes.

Quilt square pattern sizes varied and some quilters combined rows of five larger squares with rows of six smaller squares adding borders to unify designs. Multi-colored prints with sparse backgrounds were most popular in vintage “egg money” quilts. Prints of various scales were combined in the same quilt, as well as tone-on-tone prints. Polka- dots and plaids added extra charm.

Burns’ book shows just how these variations developed, demonstrating with how-to-do patterns and directions for many quilted projects. Examples of pillows, aprons, bags, and clothing are interspersed with vintage recipes and traditions. The book is user-friendly and chock full of illustrations, templates, and her personal memories.

In addition, the author shows how flour sacks were more brightly colored while feed sacks were lighter and more subtle in color and pattern so they would not conflict with the flour sack patterns. She notes that husbands were often ordered to bring home enough sacks with the same pattern to complete a project.

The book’s bright color photos showcase quilt patterns with evocative names that recall their rural origin – Garden Walk, Dresden Plate, Christian Cross, Friendship, Turkey Tracks, Double Wedding Ring, Rocky Road to Kansas, Rosebuds, Peony, Grandmother’s Flower Garden, Road to California, and Old Maid’s Puzzle. The quilts that survived that era are keepsakes that tell the story of hardship and loss, but also of love and endurance, during rural hard times.

                                                            Linda Donaldson

Quilting – The Second Oldest Profession?

 

As a dedicated bibliophile and wordsmith, I’m always searching for unusual, collectible, or out-of-print books. Imagine my surprise when I saw this title on a spine of a volume at the local church rummage sale: “Still Stripping After 25 Years” by Eleanor Burns.

 

Even though my background in printing might suggest a different meaning of stripping to me – one related to mounting photographic negatives for making printing plates – I confess my first thought was “another Gypsy Rose Lee!”

 

The book is about someone’s career, but the author wasn’t a woodworker, a cartoonist, a farmer, a soldier, a mechanic, a tobacco worker or a burlesque queen. Out of curiosity, I looked up the term “stripping.” From the Old English “strypan,” to plunder, stripping refers to removing clothing or a covering from something.

 

Many professions describe the act of stripping as part of the job. When a superior officer deprives a soldier of honors, rank, privileges or possession, he is stripped. A farmer can clear or strip a field of vegetation. A woodworker can strip an exterior coating from a piece of furniture. A tobacco worker can remove or strip the leaves from stalks. A mechanic can damage or strip the threads of a screw or the teeth of a gear. A soldier can dismantle a firearm, piece by piece, again the act of stripping. A cartoonist who creates a syndicated multi-panel comic makes a strip.

 

In addition to striptease and graphic arts, the term stripping is legitimately used by quilters who use strips (each two and a half inches wide) of material to create a myriad of different elements for quilts. Thus, when quilter Eleanor Burns sought a title for her book on quilt making, she had a legitimate reason to suggest that her art all began by stripping.  In her over thirty years of quilting and seventy-five books to her credit, Burns has revitalized the art of quilting into a timely, enjoyable craft for many women.

 

What started out as an uncovering—a stripping—reversed meaning to become a covering, a quilt.

 

Funny how a first impression can be turned on its head, how a simple term can be found to have many meanings, and how the old adage is still true: Never judge a book by its cover!

 

Linda Donaldson of Hatfield, who for 27 years owned a printing and typesetting business, is a PSBVA volunteer and helped format our book,“Writers Who Quilt, Quilters Who Write” edited by Anne K. Kaler.

Linda currently works part time as a web copy writer for a local wholesaler of school and office furniture. Since 2002, Linda has been selling collectible, out-of-print used books online through Abebooks.com and Alibris.com as Prints and the Paper.

The role of QuiltHunter takes us on many authors’ adventures into the world of fabric, color, and design.  One of these authors is Jacqueline Winspear, creator of the post-Great War era psychologist and detective, Maisie Dobbs.

        Although every novel is a created world manipulated against the setting of a once-real world, Winspear has the ability to recreate the world of 1933 on many levels. Her character has overcome social, economic, educational, and personal obstacles to become an evolving amalgam of women of that period.  She starts as the thirteen-year-old motherless daughter of a London produce barrow man who first becomes a scullery maid in a rich caring household, where they discover and develop her intellect.  Her college career is interrupted by her service as a nurse both in besieged England and in France.  After the war, in which the love of her life is seriously disabled, Maisie returns to college and is mentored in detective work by a psychologist, Maurice, until she opens her own agency.  Her only spot of color is a blue silk dress which she wore when she first met her love. The image of that dress becomes a symbol of what her life could have been but probably won’t be.

Winspear’s ability to create an outward stimulus matching an inward inexpressible emotion is “spot on,” as the Brits say.  In an early novel Messenger of Truth, Maisie is researching death of an artist on brink of major revelation and success.  During her investigation she discovers that he has preserved a military greatcoat from the war, still muddy and bloods.  The sight so unnerves her that she buries “her head in the folds of rough wool, breathing in the musty smell that took her back to another time and place.” Just the feel of the old coat increases her resolve to find the killer at the same time it serves as a tug of memory for her and for us as readers.  We are relieved when she puts the coat back into the wardrobe, patting “the material one last time, acknowledging an essence caught in every thread, as if the fibers had absorbed every feeling, every sensation experienced by the owner in a time of war.” She has put her past behind her with this action.

 

As a woman of that age, Maisie prizes her hard-earned independence. She has just rejected a worthy man who has been courting her because she is afraid of losing her independence and becoming just a housewife.  To explain her action to herself, Maisie uses image of Icarus’s fatal flight too near the sun when its heat melted the wax on his wings and he plunged to his death because of his hubris.  The author also pinpoints Maisie’s conflicting emotions: “In spite of the sense of relief, she already felt the cool breeze of loneliness cross her heart.”

Maisie’s introspection parallels her fear of disrupting the social order in a male profession and suffered for it with loneliness.  Only her strength of training under her mentor lets her “ability to continue as she had begun, standing firmly on her own two feet.  Even though those same two feet had crumpled under her not so long ago.”

However, as her ability to ferret out the solutions to complicated crimes grows, so does Maisie’s mental health.  For example, when pressed to attend a fancy party, she thinks first of her treasured blue silk dress.  As a result of her new boldness, Maisie ventures out in black trousers and a long sleeveless blouse with a boat neckline and a matching sash at the hip at a time when trousers were just beginning to be acceptable.

        As she pursues her way to the truth about the artist’s death, “there were more threads for her to gather up and spin onto bobbins.  It was as if she were herself an artisan, standing before a giant loom with her skeins of wool, each one held ready to form part of the finished scene, the picture that would reveal the circumstances of Nick Bassington-Hope’s death.  All she had to do was to create the warp and then the weft, her shuttle flying in and out, up and down through the threads, laying her hands across the panel, her fingertips testing for tautness and give, the comb pushing the weft down to ensure close weaving without the hint of a space.”

        This is the sort of quote to make a critical analyst’s heart beat fast.  As such a person, I glory in unweaving what the author has woven to enjoy her skill to a higher degree.

        Maisie does indeed have many “threads to gather up and spin on bobbins.”  She used a case map, a large portable map of everything connect with the death, which she studies to find out connections between disparate items.  Often, such literary detectives use such a physical stimulus to visualize tenuous connections. In her “in Death” novels, J.R. Robbs’ heroine Eve Dallas does so in her homicide division.  Carrie on Homeland  uses one to uncover terrorists’ plots.  Mallory in Carol O’Connell’s novels is aggressively OCD about hers.  Maisie, like the others, sees and feels the heft of the threads in their metaphoric hands as the readers do.  We feel them reach out to capture the thread and to wind it around a bobbin in that age-old practice of spinners.

        The “giant loom,” of course, is the visualization of how the colored threads will be integrated into the final picture.  The warp and weft she contemplates are the crossing points – the picks, if you will, in weaving – of the “skeins of wool” which will flesh out the outline which the warp and weft have created.  Look how closely this resembles the process of writing – the gathering of facts, of colorful characters, of points of interest  -- the arrangement and rearrangements and repositioning of major items – the outline, first rough, then refining  -- the waiting for the picture/project to shake itself into a recognizable form just before the final adding of a finishing edge to the project.

        The sensual feel of the words are masterful.  “The shuttle flying” through the open shed, the combing of the weft so that it is tight, the “fingertips testing for tautness” – all serve to intensify Maisie’s experience and our delight in recognizing a familiar art and craft.

The author has Maisie realize that “she had come to love color, both in the landscape of character and quite literally—on fabric, canvas, clay or a room…There was a potency, a fire that made her feel as if she were cracking open her cocoon and waiting, waiting for her wings to dry before taking flight.”

As an on-going inspiration, Maisie refers to an earlier incident in James Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist: “’He could create proudly out of the freedom and power of his soul’” and she wonders if she can do the same with her dull life.  She does.

The author provides Maisie’s growth through her series until, in the last published book, Elegy for Eddie, has the heroine somewhat at peace with herself and the person she has become.  We as readers are happy, if apprehensive, about her future.  The novel ends, as all good books should, with a sigh for the past and a nod to the future while the characters’ present is firmly situated in the hiatus between two great wars.

        “Then they sat back in silence, eating ice cream. Each with their own thoughts. Watching their world go by.”  Any novel that ends with two problematic lovers sitting in the spring sun eating ice cream cones has got to have its priorities right.

                 

 

Joan Musick, Guest blogger

In my previous post, I wrote about the article in Quilter’s Newsletter Magazine on Joan. I contacted her and asked her to write about her life as both a writer and a quilter. The following is part one. Visit Joan on her website: www.joanmusick.com

 

I lived on the semi-arid plains of Colorado in the shadow of Pikes Peak. My neighbors and I had houses on 5-acre plots of land that were covered mostly with short grasses, hardy wildflowers, and a lot of cactus. When we managed to get trees and flowers to grow, we all congratulated each other on our success.

One day, my nearest neighbor called and said the strangest thing was happening to her beautiful tiger lilies: every day when she went out of her house she saw that her flowers were missing...just the tops...like someone had cut them off with scissors. There were no roots pulled up and no footprints - just leaves with no tops! It made her very angry and she wondered if her old boyfriend was being mean. I thought about it for a minute or two and then offered this explanation to my friend, "Sharon, you have a bunny!" After a stunned moment of silence, we both laughed and she thought maybe it was so, but she was still very unhappy about her flowers being taken.

This incident tickled my funny bone and, being a recreational writer just for myself, I put some words down as if it were a story for children. I embellished wherever it seemed appropriate and finally came up with what seemed to me to be a fairly good story about a lady who had mysteriously disappearing flowers. Then it occurred to me that the bunny might have a point of view as well, so I wrote a story about how he wanted to get something to eat. I recalled a book I had as a child called "How to Love A Kitten," on one side and then when flipped over another story could be read "How to Love A Girl": two sides of the same story. It seemed that my bunny story was destined to be written that way as well because every story has two sides....usually.

Since I am a passionate quilter and fabric is my medium, I decided to try illustrating this story with an appliqued picture or two. One thing lead to another and the idea grew and grew until I had a full-sized bed quilt. For me, quilts always seem to take on a life of their own and frequently dictate which colors or shapes should be used. I really knew I was on to something when I put the eyes on the characters and they came to life. "Hello," they seemed to say. Anyone who could hear me in my studio must have thought I was going crackers, talking to my fabrics and laughing hysterically and mumbling about "Nice to meet you!"

A total of 14 separate panels depicting snapshots of the plot were created by the time I finished talking to myself. I had a great deal of joy in the whole process, trying to decide which parts of the story line COULD be interpreted in fabric and which ones HAD to be in fabric. As I worked on one panel, I would be thinking ahead to the next, spying that great grass print on the shelf that would be perfect for the meadow, or the perfect sandy brown for the floor of the barn. I even interviewed spider fabrics to see which one would work best in the corner of the barn rafters. The inspiration for the center panel was a beautiful gradation fabric that started with sunny gold and ended with soft purple, speaking of soft summer country days to me; of course it had to be the backdrop sky for the farm. As a final exclamation mark to my creative juices, I found wonderful nubby yarns and soft grassy-looking threads that begged to be included as embellishments on nearly every panel. As I said, anyone eavesdropping on me was sure I had gone around the bend.

At long last the top was sandwiched and quilted on my domestic Bernina sewing machine. Because I allowed the fabrics to dictate how they should go together to make scenes, the written story had changed along the way, so final editing was done to match the "illustrating" and I began the search for a publisher. After a relatively short search and several "God incidents," I quickly came in contact with Mother's House Publishing in the city where I live, "The Missing Flower Tops" and "The Midnight Snack" became a hardcopy double-sided children's book. I entered a new and exciting place that I never expected to be.....(to be continued).....

 

Pieces and Plates of Provence

Quilts, like angels, seem to hide everywhere.  I found one recently while “reading” the shelves in my local library and what a treasure it is.

          Like many Americans, my palette was geared to simple foods as a child but maturity drew me to love the Mediterranean and French cuisines.  But who knew that one book could contain details of both Provencal cuisine and quilts (and quilt patterns and instructions).  On a hot day in August, wandering down the two beloved paths of quilts and food was a delight.  The lavish pictures of both made the journey even more enjoyable.

          The book by Marie-Christine Flocard and Cosabeth Parriaud with photos by Jean-Michel Andre is entitled Provence Quilts and Cuisine.  Both authors are well known in quilt circles and both have lived and published in America and France.  They give expert details on how to produce each quilt, how to paint fabric, how to transfer photos, as well as how to cook the foods of that special region of Provence.

          The quilts themselves are exquisite.  What the authors have done is to extract the architectural images, colors, and native flora of Southern France for the design of the quilts.  For example, the fig leaf quilt featured on the front cover uses the nine-block pattern with painted leaves of varying greens and dark figs appliquéd onto it.  Just to see the shading of each leaf with different saturation of hues is worth the book itself.  Another quilt uses the arches pattern of the Roman aqueducts to form the Double Wedding Ring design in the brilliant yellows and reds of a busy farmhouse kitchen. 

          The photos themselves become possible quilts with the multi-hued rounded tiles of the roofs in Avignon and the grey stones of building block houses climbing the distant hills.  Another quilt provides splendid memories of the Provence itself through the photo transfer blocks.

          After all this wandering in foreign lands, my imagination turned to thoughts of food and – magically – they appeared under French names but the pictures spoke my language.  Cake aux Olives is an olive-ham-cheese-peppers bread tempted me to copy out the recipe. Ratatouille with fresh vegetables or Tomates Provencales translated easily into mouth-watering dishes.  A Clatoutis aux Apricots looked like golden nuggets swimming in a baked cake on top – delicious.

          Please understand.  I don’t quilt.  I cook and I write but I don’t quilt.  However, the patterns in the back of the book are so simple I am almost tempted, for one, very special reason – as a volunteer at Pearl S. Buck International, I know that her favorite fruit was the peach.  On her birthday in June, we serve peaches in every form we can find.  Next year, we will celebrate her 121^th birthday in a big way in late June with a Fiber Arts Festival with international exhibitors, juried crafters, renowned speakers, and peaches.  I mention this because the book has a wonderfully simple design for peaches, rather like the fig leaf design.  Very simple, almost compelling…almost…No, no, I am a writer, not a quilter!

                                      Anne K. Kaler aka Quilt Hunter