I recently promised more images of things from the indigo dye pot. I love them all, but perhaps my favorite is the old embroidered tea towel you see above. I bought this tattered piece at an antique store, and though the stitching is lovely, it was a bit pale, as you see in the next image.
The beauty of buying a towel with stitching at both ends is that I can play with one and save the other, so I at least have one intact bit of stitch with history to use. So I ripped it apart, and dipped one in the dye pot. Oh, my. Isn’t it lovely? Yes, now I know the other end just might go for a swim, too.
Here are more results from those recent days of dyeing.
a pile of linens fresh from the dryer
A beekeeper’s garden toile from a bargain bin is now happier in my stash – it’s blue!
some handwoven linen from Belgium overdyed…great for tea towels, placemats, who knows?
A bit of old barkcloth curtains is now brown and blue…my favorite combination!
And the blue roses I shared last week…they still thrill me. Here they are on a different background.
I love blues and browns and I especially love them together!
Mother Nature loves blues that go to brown, too. Look at this hydragangea in different stages of its blooming life this summer. The final brown bloom hanging on is just as beautiful to me as the most cobalt of blues!
I recently made a slow stitched study in blues and browns.
It started when I made this notebook cover as a gift. The colors were so rich and entrancing that I wanted to use the leftover bits in another project.
The linen background came from some yardage a friend brought to our quilt guild from her mother’s stash. The mother was downsizing and moving – we benefited from the clean out!
The bits of blues and neutrals were from my collection of old and new bits of fabric and lace.
The hexagons led to a bee theme of sorts.
I experimented with various weights and colors of thread, added beads and buttons.
This format, the rolled up collage, is a favorite of mine. I used a thin layer of batting under the brown linen while doing all the stiching. For a backing to cover the messy seed stitching, I added a bit of an indigo overdyed linen sheet. I attached this with a tiny seed stitch with a fine thread; going only through the layer of blue and the batting.
Friends I encounter many days on my morning walks.
During the five months that we’ve been staying at home, I’ve had time to explore new things.
A zebra longwing in our front yard.
I’ve used my camera a lot, learning more about it, and even adding to the equipment inventory. When we first learned that we were elderly and in the high risk group for Covid-19, I started sendng a morning photo greeting to our girls via text message. Just a pretty way to say to them, “the old folks are fine,” so they could get on with their day without worrying about us. I used my phone at first, learning new photo and editing capabilities.
Then there were things the phone didn’t capture as well as I wanted, so I pulled out the digital mirrorless camera and learned more about it.
We have several rabbits in our yard this year. So far, we’ve only SEEN them eating grass, but a few other plants have been mysteriously pruned.
When I needed a faster lens, or more “reach” for some of my subjects, I needed a better zoom lens.
A woodland sunflower captured on a visit to Piedmont National Wildlife Refuge.
Looking through the lens of a camera changes things. I’m not much of a gardener, but I needed to know the names of the plants I was photographing – because at least one of three recipients of these messages would ask. And, distractions in the background weren’t good, so I pulled more weeds than I ever have before. Who knew that such a simple act was so transformative?
A drawstring bag incorporating a bit of vintage embroidery and hand-dyed indigo linen.
Simple things are transformative in the sewing room, too. I’ve used this time at home to explore more stitching opportunities, too. I’ve finished several traditonal UFOs (and now I realize I need to photograph those), explored ways to include vintage linens in different projects, and reread many of the quilting books on my shelves.
Exploring more uses of ink on fabric inspired by Pam Holland’s draplique tutorial.
Though I could have done all this at any time, there’s something about not having plans to go anywhere, not having deadlines to meet, that is liberating. I do miss seeing my quilting friends at guild and I miss teaching classes, but without those obligations, I’m enjoying researching new aspects of my own creativity.
A fabric flower adorns a notebook cover made from vintage linen fabric. I secured all layers using a double seed stitch to add texture. This new-to-me stitch is a fun one I will use again!
The day was sunny and clear – perfect for a big thick quilt to dry on the lawn. So I gathered some old ones that had been waiting for an outing and draped them on the fence to air.
This pattern is called Chain and Bar, according to Jenny Beyer’s Album of Patchwork Patterns, designed by Clara Stone, published in Practical Needlework, ca. 1906.
These are specimens from Jim’s family. Two grandmothers made quilts in styles distinctive enough that he and his sister can specify the household from which they came. But they don’t always know which generation the maker was from.
Most are tattered and need repair before they can be washed. But what treasures they are, and what stories they tell.
My research tells me this block is a variation of a Cogwheel block. I find a similar block published in 1931. These compass style blocks take on many forms as each “ring” can be combined with portions of other similar blocks.
One grandmother’s quilts are heavier than the other’s. Granny used a thinner cotton batting than Grandmama did. They may have processed both at home, or one used ginned cotton while the other used some straight from the fields.
Some of the fabrics are delicious and vibrant colors, others have faded to be unrecognizable, still others have disintegrated completely.
I personally love the backs of these old quilts, too. Homespun cotton on every one – and, interestingly, in many cases that fabric has NOT disintegrated.
I am in the process of repairing these pieces of history so that they can travel on through the generations. Sometimes that means more labor intensive work than others, but it’s a joy to join these women’s work with my own stitches.
I am adding a label to each quilt that tells what we know of their history and maker – but the fabrics and stitches tell a story, too. The rust circles on the back of this one tells me that this quilt lay under a mattress at sometime, against bare bedsprings.
And, the one quilt that was ready to wash is now drying between two layers of cotton sheets on the grass – the bottom sheet to protect it from grass stains, the top sheet to protect it from birds flying over.
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!
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.
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.
I don’t say this often, but this art quilt was all hand stitched. I almost always attach something by machine, or get a trapunto effect by using dense machine stitching to add dimension.
In this case, the underlying quilt itself was all hand stitched. But it is not all my hand stitching – some unknown woman made the quilt remnant which is the base of this piece. She pieced baskets from a rather unattractive orange fabric with a white background. As I stitch things onto it, I know at least part of it was made from sheets – the thread count is high, making my stitches less than pleasurable.
I overdyed the remnants of this antique store find in the indigo dye pot and now I have green baskets on blue. Much better color.
This piece got its start when I found escutcheons at Seventh Street Salvage and brought some home. The composition was started with a thrill, but stalled when I struggled to find a way to attach the heavy piece to the cloth. After months of staring at it and rejecting first this potential solution, then the next, I just sewed it on. Who knew it could be so obvious? Or so simple.
The weight did dictate that some support was needed, so I mounted the piece onto a canvas mat – that involved hand stitching too. You can examine this photo taken from the back and see that stitching.
The machine was needed to attach the label to the canvas. That could have been done by hand, but it’s faster and easier by machine – gives my hands a break. I first remove the needle and presser foot, put the canvas under the needle bar, reattach the needle and presser foot, then stitch free motion to attach the label.
I combined elements I liked because of the color or the mood they conveyed. The title is obviously linked to the key and the escutcheon, but I like to think of our home as a safe place for the birds and the bees and the flowers, as well as for the humans here.
Old spools, old quilts, old ticking, old buttons, memories in old clothes. What’s not to like?
Put them all together in a new format. Unroll to see fresh delight every time.
It seemed a perfect place to collect some old reds and make a Valentine’s project.
The old quilt was soiled and tattered, tan and white with red accents. I love that the indigo dye subtly changed the backgrounds, but left the reds RED.
The unfurled piece measures 7” x 30”.
I love the rolled format for story quilts. The first one I did is the one above. And, I’m working on another one now. It has hearts on it, too.
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.
