Fall is drawing to a close here in Vermont. The vibrant colors of the maples and aspens have mostly faded and what is left are a few of those dark maroon-brown leaves that cling tenaciously to the branches and piles upon piles of leaves on the ground.
For some reason this is the time of year when I am drawn to creating colorful pictures of the tri-toned hills and birds. In fact, making hills and mountains is where I began this fabric journey. A sense of coming back to where I started? Of preparing for the transition to the greys and whites of winter?
There is a simplicity about the landscapes I create that is soothing. It’s just a matter of choosing colors and employing a “kindergarten cut” technique of rolling curves or sharp ups and downs for the mountain peaks and then placing them down in a layered fashion.
A Mini-Lesson
Starting with the sky – will it be grey, partly sunny, stormy or a night sky?
Hills – reds, yellows and oranges for fall; light green and kelly greens for summer; whites and emerald greens for winter?
Mountains – greens, purples, grey, white snow covered?
Take your fabric and just gently cut a rolling wavy shape. Then cut another of a different material. Starting in the distance, layer the view from back to front. Stop, step back and squint at it. Too dull? Add a spot of color. Shapes too synchronous? Move one of the layers to the left or right. Try out fabrics that you don’t think would work (the green with gold pinecones below.) Step back. Squint again.
And that is all it takes to create a landscape, besides the sewing, that is. I use a blanket stitch to give the appearance of being handsewn.
Although spring is my favorite season, over the years I have learned to appreciate the lessons of fall and the upcoming winter.
A time of reflection –
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- Of letting things fall away
- Of trusting in the process
- Of deepening one’s faith in the process of life
- Of living with awareness with the uncertainty
- Of the shift from busy, busy, busy to a steady energy of replenishing
- Of knowing that in 5-6 months there will be rich “compost” from that which has been discarded over the fall and winter
It also is that time of observation. At least one of the pairs of cardinals still visits the feeder outside my kitchen window. The goldfinches are getting the last of the coneflower seeds. Pesky squirrels have figured out a way past the baffle on the feeder. The Green Mountains outside my front window still have that tinge of golden purple haze in the late afternoons. I know soon that will shift to traces of white amongst the greens of the pines.
While I am sure there are owls in the woods beyond the next house over, I haven’t sighted any yet. Instead I am left to create them in fabric and let them live temporarily in my shop. Here’s part of the current parliament of owls.
Something has shifted for me these past few years. I find winter to be my most creative and experimental time. Maybe it is because I have the time to participate in Challenges (a set number of days where one works on something specific to a theme, technique, or prompts) since I’m not gardening. Perhaps it’s that all the ideas that have been swirling around spring and summer come bubbling to the surface. It could be that I become open to stretching myself, to trying things I’ve never done. Whatever the reason, I am enjoying what I create.
Works in Progress
I am committed to finishing two works in progress, “What About Me?” (my juvenile polar bear) and “Four Seasons”. They need some touch-ups (poor bear lost his left front paw going on and off the design wall so many times) and then a final sewing time. I will be posting their progress photos on my IG (www.instagram.com/thequiltedjardin) and Facebook (www.facebook.com/thequiltedjardin) accounts.
Speaking of works in progress, here is a dragon I’ve been working on. However, the puzzle that perplexes me this late fall is this: exactly WHAT is my dragon flying over? A city? A castle fortress? A forest? The sea? I love how her body and wings show texture and depth but until I unearth the story around her, she remains in her cave (a folder on my sewing table).
So, perhaps you can help me. If you have heard anything on the winds about her story, shoot me an email: martha@thequiltedjardin.com.
And finally just to get us in the mood of winter, here is “To Grandma’s House”. I took great artistic liberty with a house and property down the street from where I lived in Galway, NY, added in Maggie’s horse, and moved the pond.
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