Cassiopeia – …Theresa Kishkan

patch 2

Cobble, as a verb: to do or make something quickly and not very carefully (from The Cambridge Dictionary). Cobble, v.t. Put together roughly: mend, patch up (from The Concise Oxford Dictionary)

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I use the word cobble all the time. To cobble up dinner from what’s in the garden or fridge; to cobble (as I am now) a novel, using a hodgepodge of parts (postcard messages, descriptions of paintings, memories, half-memories, old photographs); to work out a plan for travel, as we’ve been doing lately for a trip to France; to cobble together a life, I guess.

This past week, I’ve cobbled together a quilt top. I had some star blocks I pieced together a few years ago, using a Japanese print and some scraps of woad-dyed cotton, from an old sheet. They turned out the way so much of what I do turns out: the geometrics awry, the sewing uneven, edges not quite meeting, seams careless. I put them away.

And then I got them out again. I had a large piece of deep blue cotton-linen and at first I’d try to arrange the stars as a constellation. I had in mind the Big Dipper. But the prospect of trying to use my erratic sewing skills to piece together something that deserved care and attention was daunting. I realized though that I liked the pieced stars alternating with deep blue squares. I tried to adjust for, well, the anomalies of the stars and I cobbled together a top for the quilt. But there were problems, the same ones I often encounter. The rows of pieced stars and squares were of different lengths because I hadn’t sewn them carefully enough. I knew I could use sashing to sort of ease out some of the problems but then I’d run into others in the next phase. Short of unpicking the top and putting it together more carefully, I was at a loss. But then I thought, I don’t need perfection here. I just need something I can work with a little more easily. So I cobbled together some patches. You can see one in the star on the top far left and you can see a little patch of woad-dyed sheet below it and another patch on the bottom right star.

blue stars

Does perfection even matter? I’ve told myself it doesn’t in so many things I do. It’s the process, I tell myself; that’s what I love most. And the results? They are what they are. I think of the wondrous Gee’s Bend quiltmakers who created, and continue to create, the most beautiful quilts I’ve ever seen. And yes, there are lots of seams that don’t align, the geometries are quirky, but the results are astonishing.

patch1

So I am entering the cold season with a quilt to work on, a quilt of cobbled stars and patches. The stars I thought so insipid when I first pieced them together glow in their indigo sky. Last night, looking at the Aurora light wash through the darkness, pale grey and green, while Cassiopeia sat regal in her chair above Mount Hallowell, I felt the old excitement of immersing myself in the process of making something, something practical. I have in mind a recipient for this quilt, who will spread it on a bed and sleep under its lopsided seams. When the light returns in spring, I will have accomplished something imperfect and almost beautiful. Something cobbled.

Praise the mutilated world

and the gray feather a thrush lost,

and the gentle light that strays and vanishes

and returns.

Note: the lines are from Adam Zagajewski’s “Try to Praise the Mutilated World”, translated by Clare Cavanagh. Also, the link toggle isn’t working here this morning so I’ll just add the Gee’s Bend site here:https://www.soulsgrowndeep.org/gees-bend-quiltmakers

corner

Sashiko is a Japanese term meaning “little stabs”. It’s a running stitch used in embroidery or quilting, a running stitch, useful for structural work: repairing and strengthening clothing and other textiles. I’ve been making quilts over the past year in which I use a running stitch and heavy cotton thread, almost string really, and I love to see the results. I love to feel the results, a very satisfying texture as my needle binds three layers together — the top of the quilt (often a heavy linen I’ve dyed with indigo), the batting (and I mostly use organic cotton for this), and the backing. For the first little bit, my fingers get sore. Over the summer, for example, they are used to weeding, turning taps, hanging laundry out. The needles are often reluctant to pass through the layers easily, though I’ve discovered that there are actually special needles for sashiko, polished steel with fine grooves running their length. I’m going to order some. In the meantime I have some sturdy chenille needles. They’re sharp, with big eyes to hold the heavy thread.

The photograph above is a corner of the quilt I made for my grandson Arthur’s 3rd birthday in October. He was visiting with his parents and brother from Ottawa and so I snuck into his room and put the quilt on his bed while he was having breakfast. When he went into his room, he saw what I’d made him: a single-cloth bedcover with a loose spiral of salmon taking up 2/3s of the top and then 3 constellations outlined in shell buttons across the top 1/3. I used deep blue cotton for the body of the quilt and saffron yellow to border it. With John’s help, I chose constellations visible in our western sky on the night of Arthur’s birth: Cassiopeia, Orion, and Cygnus. Stars and salmon: constants here in our wild corner of the earth. We sent Arthur binoculars for Christmas and he told me on the phone that he’d seen Cassiopeia on Christmas night. We saw Orion on December 29th, on our way home from a party, and it reminded me that we took Arthur on a starry walk, as John once took our children, just before bedtime on the last night of his visit. Orion was stretched out across the sky, the 3 stars of his belt as clear as anything, and Cygnus was flying the Milky Way. I love to think of him sleeping under the quilt that remembers the fish in a nearby creek and the stars that help to guide them home.

A little stab is a good thing to think of this time of year when the months wait to unfold in front of me, the baskets of fabric wait for their moment, and the needles with their generous eyes are willing to carry thread in and out to strengthen the structure.