Confusion Posted by Virginia "Ginnie" Leiner on June 29, 2022 at 2:30pm View Blog It’s always an interesting experience and a gamble when you finish a quilt and share it with others, most of whom are not quilters and do not have one scintilla of an idea how much time, talent and resources go into creating a quilted object of art, let alone, blood, sweat, tears and love. You will get reactions such as “Aw, how pretty!” “Aren’t you talented?” “How long did it take you to make that?” (I get that one a lot) and the winner of all time, “You mean you cut up fabric into little pieces and sewed them back together?” (Love that one, as if that is all it is!) Today however, I got a new reaction when I showed my husband who is my gentlest critic, my most recent finished quilt called “Sunflower Summer Sky.” And his reaction got me thinking about what it is we expect from a quilt and what the quilt's (and quilter's) obligation is to deliver on that expectation.

I finished this quilt on a Sunday, having finished the hand stitched binding in the evening before dinner. So excited to see how it would look on the guest room bed, I took it upstairs, put it on the bed, took scads of pictures and waited for hubby to notice it was done and in place. I waited and waited. I waited all evening and all of the next day and finally asked him Monday evening, “Did you look at the sunflower quilt on the guest bed? What do you think?” It was dark by this time but we went into the guest room, turned on the light and looked at the quilt. His first comment (and my first clue) was him saying that he needed to see it in the light and would look tomorrow.

Tuesday passes. Wednesday comes and I am working on my quilt documentation. I have both a written record and a pictorial record of all my quilts and I was ordering pictures of recently completed quilts and wanted to include this one. So I took it off the bed and spread it out on the living room floor to take pictures front and back. Both hubby and I work from home so I called him on the phone (he was in his attic study, I was on the first floor) and said, “Hey, I know you are working but if you want to see the new quilt all laid out, it is in the living room right now as I am taking pictures of it.” He said he would be down in a minute. When you show someone your artistic creation, the object of your constant attention over a number of weeks, months, or years, you are always a bit apprehensive about how it will be received. I have been making quilts for over 50 years and I am always looking for what my kids coined “the Bridget reaction,” where a recipient of a quilt literally loses her mind over said quilt. My husband has never given me a Bridget reaction but he has liked many of my quilts, some very much. He is my constant supporter of this obsession and never asks what I spend on fabric. However, there is always this inkling of a feeling I get that he does not see what I do as having a great deal of significance in the world. Granted he is a puritan by faith (social justice Congregationalist) and a philosopher by profession so what I see as putting a beautiful thing out into the world, often as a gift that bring much happiness and expresses love, pales in comparison to fighting injustice and explaining philosophy to undergraduate students and translating Nietzsche from 19th century German to modern day English for the Stanford University Press. I get it. In my head, however, a sneaky part of me tells him that quite possibly, these fabric creations made and given with love by me to others, which will be passed down from generation to generation (unless they land in the Goodwill in which case I will come back and haunt them) will be a legacy more resilient and meaningful than the will to power (Nietzsche) ever was. Because love is, right? And Quilting is love. I seem to remember actually telling him that in fact. I doubt he agreed. But we love and value each other and are old and wise enough to know when to leave well enough alone on a topic. So, back to the story. The quilt is on the floor, the camera (actually my phone) is ready to take the pictures, and the husband come down two flights of stairs to have a look-see. He stares at the beautiful blues and golds and crimsons and brown and says…nothing. Dead silence. Big clue number two. When he finally does work up a response, it is “It confuses me.” I admit that was not what I was expecting. I am totally in love with my creation, mind you, which to me exudes sunshine and brilliant color, the essence of a day in late summer when (this actually happened to us on a trip west some years ago), you come upon a field of sunflowers, all nodding and following the sun as it treks across the sky and for one moment, life is good and God is in his kingdom and all is right in the world. The quilt says to me order and chaos, great planning and willful abandon, structure and freedom and above all else, color, color, glorious color. But it confuses him. Okay. Alright, I say, how does it confuse you? “I don’t know what it is saying or what it means” he says. And then I have this epiphany. Quilts, like other forms of art, have different meaning (or no meaning) and say different things (or nothing) to different people. Maybe the miracle of art is not so much that it says so many different things to each of us but that SOMETIMES it actually says something close to the same thing to two or more of us. What are the odds that someone would have the same reaction to a piece of art that I do? And is a quilt obligated to say or mean anything? Can it not just be a quilt? Just be a thing of effort and beauty? I will give you an example of our differences in art tastes. My husband loves modern and abstract art. I work by day in an art museum where we have some such art and we live near Pittsburgh, the home of Andy Warhol, the undisputed first king of such art. He loves it, I find no meaning in it and it actually irritates me because I am somehow sure someone is playing a trick on me and getting away with something. This is not art!!! To each his own, I guess and it is our differences that make us so interesting to each other. So it confuses him because he cannot find a meaning or understand what it is saying. My husband knows I am an approval junkie. He knows I want that Bridget reaction or something close but he is also as honest (and as gentle) with me as he can be and does not want to hurt my feelings. So as he stands there, struggling to find something nice to say, I decide to help him out and ask him, “What about the color? Do you at least like the color composition?” “It is colorful,” he says. “Will this one be around for awhile?” he asks. As I give most of my quilts away (share the joy is my motto and after a short time if you kept them all, where would you put them? This one is #179.), this is a valid question. I grit my teeth and say, “Yes, it is the summer bed quilt in the guest room so we are keeping it. It is ours (or maybe it is mine).” Then as he walks up the stairs to return to his long dead 19th century tormented but insightful philosopher, Frederick, he throws me a bone. “Then if it stays here, I will have a chance for further conversation with it in the days to come.” Deep sigh…life with a philosopher and (gentle) art critic. In the meantime, there is NO dampening my joy. The quilt has many enduring qualities, from the hand stitched mitered corners on the 30 some blocks to the deconstructed then reconstructed offset sunflower panel, to the clerestory of small sunflower blocks under the first row of blocks, to the large gold and red sunflower border, she is a beauty and she is mine! I will use her and admire her, cherish and show her off (my neighbor has been over already and she had no confusion. Her first comment was “Oh Ginnie! What fabulous color!”) and in the fullness of time, pass her on to one of my daughters, who will pass her on to her daughter, who will pass her on to the next generation where this quilt will be loved and honored and understood as what she is, a gift of love and beauty to those I love and to the world. Amen. Ginnie