Category: vintage linens

Cousins

Jane and Susie were not just cousins.  They were first cousins.  They were not just first cousins, they were double-first cousins.  

Their mothers were sisters, their daddies were brothers.  They were two years apart in age, and shared not only all their relatives, more than the average common DNA, but many experiences.  This early photo (about 1940) conveys the closeness they shared.

This photo was taken at the home of their paternal grandparents.  Many family photos were set on this porch, on these steps, actually.  Imagine a Sunday afternoon after church, adults visiting on the porch; maybe other cousins playing in the yard, neighbors dropping by.  These two almost sisters (later, they would have other siblings, but not yet), forging a lifelong bond.

I printed the photo on vintage linen, and added red French knots as buttons on Jane’s dress.  The bow in her hair is a found earring.  

Layering the photo on wool batting before densely quilting the background adds dimension to the girls. The oval “mat” is a vintage linen embroidered placemat layered on commercial quilting fabric. Beneath all this assembly is a layer of thin cotton batting. Shells (repurposed from an old necklace found in a thrift store) were attached using red seed beads to anchor them.  I hand quilted all the layers together using a seed stitch with tatting thread.  This thread is a new discovery for me (found in a bag of sewing supplies from an estate sale).  I’ve never tatted nor made lace, but the size 80 cotton thread created for these crafts is perfect for a lot of the hand stitching I do. 

Note to quilters:  that seed stitch leaves a messy backside, so when I use it, I don’t have the final backing on the quilt.  I attached another layer, the piece with red cross stitch on it, using the invisible baste stitch I learned from Jude Hill.  That’s really a seed stitch, too, with just a dot of thread showing on the top, the longer stitch on the “back” nestled in the batting, not coming through to the other side. 

That backing with red stitching is a section of an old tablecloth.  I found it on an antiquing plunder and was drawn to the cross stitch, of course.  The tablecloth has some stains and had a hole in it – making it less than desirable as a tablecloth.    But I rescued it and put it to work.  It’s very desirable as a component of art quilts!

The final quilt measures 16″ x 23″.

Papa’s Girls

This photo was taken around 1920, the girls with the man whose name peppered lots of stories.  His daughters called him Papa, one calling that name in the days before her death.  “Papa is waiting for me.”  

In this photo is Papa with two granddaughters; Cleo was born in 1914, Corine in 1916.  Their mother died in 1918, giving birth to their little sister.  Their father was in the Army, then a traveling photographer, so he was not around to parent them.  They lived with this grandfather, spinster aunts, and an invalid grandmother.

The photo is printed on a fragment of vintage linen fabric, layered with wool batting, then collaged with bits of vintage lace, rickrack, beads, ribbons, hand and machine stitching.

The green background is a heavy linen fabric, frayed on the edges.  I try to channel the little girl in me when I’m playing this way.  One of the things I loved to do when I was a child was to pull threads on the edges of linen fabric to make a fringe.  I see I still have that skill.

The heart in the top left is a bit of a silk log cabin quilt that was deteriorated to smitherins.  I’ve used bits of it several times, but this time the edge seemed a bit too raw.  So I couched a twisted black and white cord around the edges.

I layered all of it on a bit of new commercial fabric that looked old to me, then used freemotion quilting in a heart strings design to make the many layers one.

The backing is another commercial fabric that reminds me of a dress my grandmother wore.  The label is becoming my go-to; handwriting on a vintage doily.

I’ve written more about these spinster aunts before:  https://sandygilreath.com/spinster-sisters/

And, did I mention that the older girl is my mother?  Oh, the wonderful Papa stories I’ve heard!  I remember more every time I see his image.

The finished quilt measures 26″ x 16″.

Recess

Purple is not my go-to color.  But a discarded (finished but not framed or pillowed) piece of cross-stitch art came home with me to live a new life.  Purple I didn’t love, but old needlework from unknown hands – I love that!  And the words spoke to me.  “My Day is Complete – I Heard a Child Laugh.”  Well, doesn’t that speak to all of us?

These little girls had been playing on my design wall for months (okay, years), waiting to jump onto some yet unplanned quilt.  The purple girls decided they belonged with the purple words.

I plundered through my stash of vintage linens until I found an old embroidered dresser scarf that was the perfect size for a background.  Layering the girls and wool batting on the dresser scarf, I gave them dimension with dense machine quilting.  Then it was time to play with hand stitches.

My thread stash revealed a skein of hand-dyed embroidery floss in just the same colors as the girls.  So I used two strands of it to secure the edges of the fabric used as the base for the girls.

I appliquéd hearts (these words tugged at my heart strings, you know) from some similar fabrics to the white space, then stitched some hearts with that same floss to distribute the colors throughout the quilt.  A few fun buttons came to play as well.

I added a layer of thin cotton batting beneath the whole piece as well as a remnant of an old linen sheet I had dipped in the indigo dyepot.  Back to the sewing machine for some strings of hearts to glue the layers together.

I love the rolled up quilt stories – maybe there’s a bit of mystery about them.  So I sewed the first phrase on the backside of the piece, enticing the viewer to unroll it.  A big Mother of Pearl button along with a bit of silk ribbon provides a closure of sorts.

The label was part of another rescued dresser do-dad.  It seemed to fit the story unfolding.  These girls loved to play outside in a flower garden.

When I work on art quilts, I tell myself to channel the little girl inside.  This piece certainly did that.  I saw myself with Kaye and Rene and Marcia and Juanita and Margie and Debbie and more running and playing and skipping rope on the grounds of Sycamore Elementary School.  Thus, the title was obvious.

Oh, and the girls?  They are a fragment of my childhood, too.  My mother cut paperdolls from folded bits of paper, catalog pages, and even church bulletins to entertain me.  I tapped those memories one day and these little girls came to life. 

Unrolled, the piece measures 18″ x 34″.

Emma Sue’s Work Basket

Emma Sue Emerson was born in 1930.  No, her parents did not give her that rhythmic name.  She was born Emma Sue Whittle, marrying Bob Emerson at age 20.

Bob and Emma didn’t have any children, but they would have been wonderful parents.  They gave of themselves to nieces and nephews and to the community as a whole.  Emma never worked outside the home much; in those days women weren’t expected to have a career.  Oh, she substituted at the grammar school when they needed her, sold a little Avon, and she sang in the choir at church.

Emma and Bob had seventeen nieces and nephews. Emma spent some time working on items to fill the nieces’ hope chests.  She embroidered linens, tatted edging for pillowcases, made some baby clothes when a new generation came along.

An accident at the canning plant in the early 1970’s left Emma’s right hand with some nerve damage and she could no longer execute the fine stitches needed for some embroidery.  She learned to write with her left hand and didn’t miss a beat with other day-to-day activities.  Those hope chests of the youngest nieces were filled with unadorned sheets and pillowcases (with neat hems done on the sewing machine), and copies of recipes handed down through the years.

An assortment of treasures from Emma Sue’s sewing basket came into my possession and I collaged them together to tell Emma’s story.

A bit of a stained and unfinished dresser scarf, a remnant of barkcloth (from draperies in the 1950’s), some lace, a tab from a linen shirt, and a collection of buttons reveal elements of Emma’s life.  A corner of one of her pocket hankies is held in place by a belt buckle from her sewing basket.  A large hook and eye like those used to fasten coats was included, too.

I wove a base from strips of cotton – some of which were in the basket, others I added from similar fabrics.  I attached it all to a bit of an old grain sack to give it a firm base, then used a quilt remnant to provide a backing and frame.  The dimensions of the finished piece are 16″ x 26″.

I hope the wall hanging will trigger fond memories of Emma Sue when viewed by those who knew her.  I love it when pleasant memories are not packed away in a box.

In Joey’s Pocket

As a toddler, Joey loved to pull his elephant toy around the house. He pulled that toy until the wheels fell off and then pulled it some more once they were repaired.

Outdoors, he loved to climb trees and collect things. His pockets were always full of rocks and sticks and bugs. Once his mother found a lizard among the laundry. Joey giggled when she screamed, but he never admitted that he brought it in the house.

I used commercial fabrics, vintage fabrics, ribbons, buttons, and other treasures to tell Joey’s story.  The piece is mounted on a remnant of an old quilt and measures 19” x 16”.

Treasures were attached using both hand and machine stitching.

Seeing Clearly

I’m back in action.  We went antiquing yesterday and I could see details.  Just look at the detailed stitches in this old vintage piece.  I can really appreciate them now.

I’ve been out of action for a while – one of those medical issues diagnosed as “too many birthdays” – cataracts.

view from front porch with untreated eyes

I’ve been very nearsighted since the age of 9, wearing glasses, then contact lenses.  If you’ve worn hard contacts (as I had – necessary to correct my vision issues), you have to leave them out a while before surgery.  For me this journey took six months.  That’s a long time not to drive and to be unable to see things clearly.  But now I see individual leaves on trees.  And I can read street signs.  Nice!

view from front porch after surgery

My in-house photographer and I captured images that show images of my “before” and “after” outlook on things.  

quilt ladder in den before
quilt ladder after

I recently read Elderhood, in which Louise Aronson says something to the effect that “there is a lot of age discrimination in the area of health care.  But one thing that the system has got right is cataract treatment.”  I have to agree.  Even though I had a more complicated situation than the average patient, I can now see better than I have in a long time.  

front yard before
front yard after

The photos above make you glad I wasn’t driving, right?

Just to be clear, my surgery wasn’t complicated, it was easy-peasy. It was my own set of vision afflictions that made my cataract corrective experience so lengthy.

On our outing yesterday, we also visited a fiber arts show. 

Details of that in the next post.

Swatch Journal

I recently had to buy a new one of these.  If you sew, you recognize this as a seam ripper.  We all use them to rip out mistakes, but I’ve lately been using one a lot – to deconstruct some garments.

I came into possession of some old sewing paraphernalia and vintage clothing in our family.  I sorted and washed and cut apart and added the bits to my stash.  Most deconstruction is done with scissors and a rotary cutter, but button removal is most easily done with a seam ripper.  There were lots of buttons. There was some delicate lace edging to remove with a seam ripper, too.

The seamstress wasn’t a quilter, but she had some unfinished projects.  The yellow at the top of this photo is a little girl’s dress – almost finished – only the lace to add down the front.  Maybe buttonholes were needed.  Maybe the little girl decided she didn’t like yellow, maybe she outgrew the size of the pattern.

There was yardage of the navy fabric on the right in the photo above. From the shapes of the fabric that wasn’t used, I knew an apron had been made from that fabric.

In the bundles, there was fabric that was wool, rayon, cotton, silk; of course I am anxious to dip some of these in the dye pot.  In the interest of research and because I like to do such things, I wanted a record of what fabrics were made of which fiber.

Also on my “want-to-explore” list is making books with fabric.  I’ve done some of that, but for this one, I started with a paper booklet and stitched the fabric swatches on the paper, leaving room to add written notes.

There were also some patterns and what looks to be a template cut from a 1956 newspaper.  Some of these treasures will end up in art projects of mine.  For now, bits of all of them are in this project, the booklet.

I left room to add swatches of the fabrics once they are dipped in the indigo bath, and as I continue to dig through the treasure chest, more embellishments can fill some spaces.

Dipping in the Indigo

I recently gave a talk to a guild about using indigo fabrics in quilts.  I shared old quilts and new ones I had made.  I included purchased indigo fabrics from Africa (again, both old and new ones), commercial reproductions of indigo fabrics, and fabric I had dipped in the indigo dye bath myself.

Once home, I rearranged quilt displays so I could visit with these pieces more.

And, with warmer temperatures outside, I knew it was time to resurrect the dye pot and get busy.

So for the past couple of days, I’ve been dipping. Yes, even a lampshade.

This is a tablecloth my mother crocheted for me in 1985.  It was beige.  I would see examples of this in antique stores and think how beautiful these objects would be if they were blue.  

So I bought one to test my theory.  I dyed this one on Tuesday and I liked it so well that I dared to dye Mama’s handwork on Wednesday.

I dipped a lot of other fabrics each day, too.

Napkins are always a favorite.  The group pinned together is 9 matching linen napkins that had never been used.  All the same size, I think they will be great backgrounds for appliqué.


A printed black on white linen skirt takes the dye beautifully.  And, one of the most delightful pieces I dipped is a piece of Moda’s new line of barkcloth.  It’s 100% cotton, but beefier than quilting cotton, and dipped and washed and dried, it is soft and buttery and ravels beautifully.  Raveling well is important to me.

I’ve joined a new online group with Jude Hill, her latest adventure in soulful stitching.  Ragmates in this journey with me can expect to see some of this dye lot in future explorations.  I’ve written about Jude before in many posts, but she is the one who convinced me that I could explore indigo dying.  Thanks, Jude.

Indigo Playtime


Bundle of doilies at the flea market: $1

Others acquired at more junk piles later in the day:  total $5

One hour of dipping and rinsing, Maytag at work, some drying on the rack, then this:  Priceless!

Someone, or several someones, had a bunch of doilies and such that they didn’t want.  They might have a tiny hole or a stain or two, but in the donation pile they went.  I brought them home, dumped them on the table, and photographed them.  The first ugly photo above  is the $1 pile.

Another couple of pieces came from another store, the hankie with the hideous yellow lace was $1, a tea towel was $1.  You see those in the second ugly shot.

I had a fresh vat of indigo dye that I had mixed for friends earlier in the week, so I wet the fabrics and began dipping.

The dye appears green and when the fabric is first removed from the vat, it is green.  But, exposed to air, the chemistry magic takes place.  The oxidation process makes the color change to blue right before your eyes.

This photo shows the first few pieces as they oxidize.  The one on the bottom right is freshest from the dye vat, the others have been out in the air from 1 to 5 minutes longer.

One of the beauties of overdying old linens is the reveal on embroidered pieces.  White-on-white embroidery is beautiful in its own way, but, the dye takes it to another level.  This huck cloth pillow sham (an earlier find) is a great example of that.

Damask tablecloths and napkins are amazing, too.  The subtle color changes from the differing directions of thread in the weave is not subtle after dyeing.  This tablecloth (a piece from an earlier dyeing session) also has variations because I left some areas bundled up so less dye reached the fibers and/or less oxidation took place.


And, I thought the two yellowed tea towels I dipped yesterday were plain.  But, no.  Once I hung them up, I saw patterns woven in the fabric.  Amazing!

It’s addictive; this blue magic.  Every stage is exciting.  Seeing the color change.  Seeing what’s left after rinsing (the pale blue trim was dipped three times, but because it’s not a natural fiber – has a lot of polyester in it, I think – it never becomes the deep blue like the others).  Playing with it after it’s dried.  Then planning how to incorporate it into a piece of fiber art.  All stages are fun.  

And, that, for certain, is priceless.


The same mass of textiles, now blue.  Variations in color come from different fiber content of the pieces and the number of times I dipped them.

I’ve written about the process of indigo dyeing before:  several posts, in fact.  You can click on links here and here to see earlier posts…or if you are reading this later than the original post,  type “indigo” in the search box and you’ll find more with photos of finished projects using indigo-dyed pieces.

Margene’s Tablecloth

Margene was a master seamstress.  She made clothing for herself and her daughters.  She made a shirt for her husband once, but decided they could afford to buy men’s clothing.  So the husband and son wore all store-bought clothes.

Margene made her kitchen curtains, recovered chair cushions, pieced worn out clothing into quilts.  Most of this stitching, like the girls’ dresses, was done on the sewing machine.  It was faster, more efficient for the necessities of life, but Margene needed handwork to keep her busy after the supper dishes were done.

She did a little knitting and crocheting, but her real love was pulling a threaded needle through cloth.  That rhythm soothed her soul.  Embroidery met this need.  She could buy a transfer kit with a design on it, iron that ink onto her own fabric, and stitch away.  Or she could even buy a design already stamped on table linens or dish towels and get right to business.  The local five-and-dime sold cotton embroidery floss by the bushel, and even had some of the designs she liked.

This tablecloth was one Margene started, but never finished.  She was in the midst of it when she got the news that her son was killed in a car accident.  She tried, but could never bring herself to thread the needle for that project again.  After a long while, she did do other embroidery projects, but every time she picked this one up, her hands trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.  If she couldn’t see the design, how could she stitch it?

All the above is imaginative.  I don’t know anything about this project except I bought the unfinished tablecloth after looking at it in a favorite antique mall booth for months, maybe years.  At $17, it’s beyond what I normally spend on linens to cut apart and reuse, but the soft colors, the nice stitching, the possibilities, kept beckoning to me.

Here is the tag the vendor included with the piece.  Her linens are clean and pressed, and packaged to stay that way while on display.  I could see through the cellophane that there were traces of the stamped design that had not yet been stitched.  I could read between the lines of the tag that the vendor thought someone would buy the piece and finish the embroidery. 

I could do that.  I would enjoy doing that.  I might actually do that.  But it’s likely that I will include it in a quilt project with the design left as “Margene” stopped.  An open-ended story – so many possibilities.

The portrait is a discarded photo I found in a bin at another store.  I thought this lady had a story or two to tell.  Turns out, she had a tablecloth.

Since I’m sharing this again in honor of International Women’s Day, if you are a new reader, you might want to read about some of the real women who’ve influenced me:

Spinster Sisters is the story of two of my ancestors whose stories impacted my life from the day of my birth.

Quilting Sisters introduces you to two women who still influence me today. A site search for “Joyce” or “Hilda” will yield more stories of these women.