Finished! Denim Rag Quilt

The way we get around, we need rugged quilts!

This was a fun little project.

Denim rag quilt, 40″ x 40″

My mom and I had taken a class, probably ten years ago, on flannel rag quilts at Ladyfingers. I’m not even sure where that project bag is at this point. Suffice to say, I was not a fan. The instructor kept emphasizing how this was a quilt for people who didn’t care about accuracy, that “anything goes” with rag quilts, and if things didn’t line up, don’t worry because it wouldn’t matter. And while this approach may set some beginning quilters at ease, it was simply not what I wanted to hear at that stage of my quilting journey. I was just starting to feel like a decently competent piecer, achieving a fairly consistent 1/4″ seam and matching my intersections most of the time. The last thing I needed was a project in which precision was not only NOT a goal, it was a liability. (The ridiculous stretchiness of the flannel I was using meant that nothing stayed square, straight, or remotely the same size, even with a walking foot.) Throw in the fact that I was really not looking forward to clipping all those seams once the darn thing was finished, and this was a project born to become a UFO.

*Little bit of a tangent here:  although the instructor for the flannel rag quilt class was very nice and very competent as an instructor, it was clear she and I were not on the same quilting wavelength. While we were working on our squares, she talked about how she designs quilts for fabric companies, incorporating entire lines of fabric for them. All well and good and very interesting. However, she then went on to say that she plans everything out in advance for all her quilts, not just those, and that she has NO STASH. Let that sink in for a minute. In fact, she said she had recently purchased 3 yards of a fabric that she planned to use as a border, and when it became clear that it would not indeed work as the border for this particular quilt, she was very upset because “now what am I going to do with it?” I absolutely could not relate.

After that experience, I can confidently state that I had given absolutely no thought to ever making another rag quilt until I started researching the purchase of my GO! cutter. Accuquilt makes rag dies that precut the fringes on the edges of the squares so that all you have to do is sew the blocks together and then wash the quilt:  no hand-crippling, mind-numbing seam clipping to do! I still was in no hurry to work with flannel again, but I knew I had a stack of Dan’s worn-out jeans in the basement that were guilt-tripping me and making me feel like a hoarder, and the wheels started turning.

A stack of die cut squares, 8.5″ jeans and 6.5″ batting

I had started saving the jeans after seeing a show on DIY or HGTV in which they discussed sustainable building practices including the use of recycled denim to make housing insulation. On the show, they promoted a recycling program that was doing drives throughout the country to collect the jeans. However, by the time I had any to contribute, the website said that drives were temporarily suspended for the year, and would I like to get on an email list for when they restarted? I did, but that was an email that never came. Since then, the only comparable program I’ve been able to find is Cotton: From Blue to Green, which only accepts mail-in denim donations. And they’re in Phoenix. I can’t imagine how expensive it would be to ship a big cardboard box of jeans to Phoenix, and I can’t imagine the carbon footprint of that decision would end up being particularly sustainable. So the jeans sat in my basement.

I had seen a magazine photo several years ago of a large denim picnic quilt, but had dismissed the idea for my own projects because the denim would be so heavy and difficult to work with. The die cutting definitely solved part of the problem; I had initially envisioned making the quilt much larger, but I only had six pairs of jeans to work with. (I think there are more in the basement somewhere, but these were the ones I could put my hands on.) In the event, I was fortunate to have the size limited by the amount of materials, because the 6 x 6 block quilt was heavy enough that my arms felt fatigued after putting it through the machine to join the last rows together.

I love the idea of a denim quilt for outdoors. I don’t scruple to take my regular quilts outside; I made them for my kids and I would rather they use and enjoy them, even if it means the quilts occasionally get a little dirty or abraded. However, a denim quilt is durable, HEAVY (having trouble keeping the child in bed? Lay one of these puppies on top of him!) and only improves with washing and wear, so it’s a natural for more rough-and-tumble settings. We really enjoyed attending some of the free outdoor family movies shown in Farquhar Park this summer, and quilts always came with us.

This one got to make its useful debut as a roll-around quilt for Finley as we ate our picnic lunch at Knoebel’s:

As to the actual construction of the quilt, I “deboned” the jeans, cutting each pair with dressmaker’s shears into two leg fronts and two leg backs by just cutting along the seam lines. I then removed the fly and the back pockets. (I had wanted to keep the pockets on the squares and thus have some blocks with usable pockets on the quilt, but the pockets on these jeans were too large and too close to the back yoke seam for that to work on this project. A future quilt made with different jeans, perhaps some of Ronan’s, will have pockets.) I then fed the resulting long denim pieces through the die cutter, only cutting one layer at a time since the fabric is so heavy. While cutting the squares individually and having to pull denim threads out of the die after each cut made this process much more time consuming than the typical die-cut project, it was still orders of magnitude faster than cutting all those fringes by hand. I was able to get 14 8.5″ squares (6.5″ finished due to the 1″ seam allowance), or 7 blocks, from each pair of jeans. Although there were plenty of oddly-shaped scraps that couldn’t be utilized for this project, I was also able to save 4 pieces (including the 2 back pockets) from each pair big enough to cut a 5.25″ rag square from once I purchase that die.

I was able to die cut the 6.5″ batting squares as well; this is a perfect project for using up those long odd leftover pieces of batting. I also cut 6 squares of the orange batik, and then  die cut the Funky Flower out of the corresponding denim squares for a raggy reverse applique. I used a cute primary variegated YLI Jeans Stitch I’d had for years for the quilting, simple X’s in the plain blocks and echo quilting around the flowers. I used the walking foot for the quilting, but I found I had to switch back to my regular foot for joining the blocks because I skipped too many stitches otherwise. All those layers of denim are no joke:  I even broke two #100 denim needles on this project.

The amount of lint when I washed it was ridiculous. I had heard that you should always clean the dryer lint filter mid-cycle when washing a flannel rag quilt. However, even pulling this one out of the washer involved handfuls of wet lint and a moment of panic that the whole quilt might have somehow disintegrated in the wash cycle.

This is not even all of the denim lint.

Now to wrap this post up on an appropriately bizarre note, my sister Eleanore sent me the following text yesterday morning:

And some people think quilting is a boring hobby for mousy little homebodies. I like to think I’m keeping them guessing.

Psst! Lady, Wanna Buy a Sewing Machine?

I had a request for this story after mentioning it in passing in my last post, so here goes.  Sorry for the length, but it is all true, and decidedly stranger than fiction.

I can’t title this, “my first sewing machine,” because that title belongs to my mom’s Bernina, which continues to be her one-and-only.  Despite its being nearly as old as I am, it still sews like an absolute dream.  She likes to tell the story that when I took a home ec elective in 8th grade, I raised my hand and told the teacher my classroom machine was broken.  When the teacher came over and checked, she said it was working fine.  I said, “but it’s making that horrible noise.”  She responded, “that’s what sewing machines sound like.”  I said, “not my mom’s.”  “What kind is it?”  “A Bernina.”  “Well, that explains it.”

My mom's Bernina 800, purchased in 1976 and still going strong

I can’t even call this story, “the first sewing machine I bought for myself,” because that distinction belonged to a 50’s- or 60’s-era store branded machine, mounted in a cabinet, that I bought for a dollar at the Monday night auctions in Annville, PA, where I went to college.  What a great place for college students to find furniture!  Many of the ugly couches on campus were purchased for under $20 at the auctions, back in the days before Craigslist and Freecycle.  I used that machine to make a duvet cover and some curtains for my boyfriend at the time, but the tension was so far out of whack that I had to run each seam between my fingers after completing it to distribute the gathers the stitching caused.  It’s possible that a trip to the sewing machine doctor would have cured what ailed it, but I lacked both transportation and funds.  Also, this particular machine was straight stitch only, and a zigzag is nice to have.  So that poor machine went to the curb rather than continuing to fight with me.

By the following summer, I was dating my now-husband, and I wanted to make costumes for us to wear to the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire.  I knew better than to try for another $1 special from the auctions, but I didn’t have the disposable income to spare on a new machine, even a cheap one.  Knowing what I know now, it’s undoubtedly for the best that I couldn’t afford a new cheap machine, as by the early nineties they were mostly plastic construction and not worth the money.  I know of far too many new sewers who make the mistake of buying an inexpensive machine from Target or Costco after being inspired to sew by watching Project Runway or DIY Network, only to find they spend more time fighting with their machines than actually sewing.  I know of nothing that discourages a new quilter more quickly than a “bargain” sewing machine.  What I now normally recommend to someone who wants to sew but either can’t afford, or doesn’t want to make the commitment to, a high-quality new machine is to hit Craigslist, eBay, the repair shops, and the yard sales and find a good, solid, metal machine, a Kenmore or a White or a Necchi or a Singer from the 1960’s.  Not only do these machines tend to be adorable, but they’re indestructible as tanks.

A vintage White sewing machine from my own collection. Atomic cute!

So:  back to my story.  I wanted a sewing machine for less than $100 that would actually form a reliable straight stitch and zigzag.  I looked through the local Pennysaver paper (remember those?), expecting that any sewing machines I might find would be from estate sales or attic cleanouts, and therefore might not be in working condition.  However, I found a listing from a sewing machine dealer who said he had second-hand, freshly serviced machines starting at $29.  I called, expecting to be given directions to a shop.  Instead, the man who answered said that he’d come to me.  I gave him directions to the campus and we set up an appointment.

Once again, my expectations were confounded.  I expected to meet a van or a panel truck.  Instead, a rangy older man pulled up in an avocado green, two-door, seventies sedan that was packed to the absolute gills with sewing machines.  There was literally only room for him to sit in the driver’s seat:  every other available space was occupied by sewing machines.  The seats were covered, the footwells were full, some machines in cases but most without, with cardboard boxes of footpedals, light bulbs, power cords, and who knows what else balanced precariously wherever they’d fit.  I tend not to find myself speechless as a rule, but this was definitely one of those rare occasions.  As he explained, he didn’t have a shop of his own; rather, he went around to sewing machine repair shops and bought up abandoned machines which he then resold.  I deeply regret not having had the inspiration or the opportunity to take a photo, but suffice to say the mental picture has held up well these 17 years.  Made an impression, you might say.

We got down to business:  I explained what I was looking for and what I was willing to pay.  He opened the trunk (apparently the location of his “zigzag machines under $100” department) and sold me a two-tone brown-over-tan Kenmore for $79.  It had the mounting brackets from having formerly been housed in a cabinet, but I always used it on a desk or tabletop.  He somehow managed to get the trunk closed again — even minus a machine, it still appeared impossibly overfull — and went on his mysterious way.

That sewing machine and I had some grand times.  Not only did I make Dan’s and my Ren Faire garb, but I made Halloween costumes, sorority letter sweatshirts, the previously mentioned friendship quilt, and even one of those poet blouses that were so popular in 1993.  I also learned quickly that having a sewing machine in one’s dorm room is an excellent opportunity for practicing saying “no” to the myriad people who suddenly think you’re going to be thrilled to do their mending for them.  That selfsame old workhorse Kenmore was the machine I made my wedding gown with, years later.

Our wedding day, May 24, 1997.

I finally had to sacrifice the Kenmore; its zigzag gear cracked in half and could not be repaired or replaced.  By that point, I had moved several times, graduated from dental school, and had rediscovered quilting.  The tiny throat space on my Kenmore was ill-suited to machine quilting, and I had found a 1920’s Featherweight at an antique mall for a surprisingly good price, so I didn’t need another straight-stitch-only machine.  When we moved to our current house, in the interests of decluttering, I got rid of it.  I can’t say I regret that decision; I don’t want to be the kind of person who lugs around a heavy, bulky, not particularly attractive, broken appliance out of pure sentiment.  (The third season of “Hoarders” starts on Labor Day!)  But I will always have fond memories of that machine and the experiences I had with it.

And I’d like to think that somewhere, in the wilds of central Pennsylvania, an old man is still driving around in his old green car packed perilously full, making matches between young women and old sewing machines.  Like some sort of enchanted peddler out of a fairy tale, he certainly had exactly what I’d wished for, to help me reach the next chapter of my story.

UFOs Part II: Convergence

In July 2006, I helped the guests at my niece’s birthday party to tie-dye T-shirts.  This represented my first foray into working with Procion dyes; more on that in later posts.  Naturally, it seemed a waste to only dye shirts; I had to dye some fabric as well.  One piece looked like a good candidate with which to try Ricky Tims’ convergence technique:

Tie-dye Convergence

The technique starts with an oversized four-patch, either from one extremely varied fabric, or from two, three, or four different ones.  The four-patch is then sliced, diced, resewn, resliced, and ultimately transformed, as you see.  To two squares of my tie-dyed fabric I added a purple mottled print and a yellow batik that picked up the fuchsia/purple and yellow accents in the predominantly green-dyed fabric.  Unfortunately, I didn’t buy much of either one.  Generally, I see it as a good thing that I very rarely buy any more than a half yard of a given fabric, unless I know I’m using it for a border.  However, in this case, my fabric-buying sobriety backfired.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

This project really was more about the process than it was about the end product; I had bought Ricky’s Convergence Quilts book, ate up the pictures and the description of the technique, but wanted to try it for myself, and this tie-dyed fabric offered the perfect opportunity.  If it hadn’t worked, I would have just put it aside.  But it did work.  In fact, my husband, who is normally very supportive of, but pleasantly detached from, my quiltmaking, was quite taken with this one while it was in pieces on the design wall.

But here’s where we get into the obstacles again.  The first obstacle was just logistical, a fabric emergency:  I wanted to put a border on it, and as I didn’t have enough of the fabrics I had converged, I needed to choose something else.  In general, I see that as more of an opportunity than a roadblock; to quote Paula Nadelstern again, “when it comes to fabric, ‘more is more.'”  In this situation, though, I had an extremely difficult-to-match fuchsia/purple color AND an extremely difficult-to-match green.  Suffice to say, I am unlikely to find a batik or a large-scale print that contains both.  I did drag the top to a couple of quilt shows, but I never found anything I particularly liked, and by that point I had lost momentum.

Lost momentum is a majorly recurring theme in my UFOs.  I definitely have some personality traits of obsessive-compulsive disorder, albeit fortunately not ones that negatively impact my life in any significant way (although I have been known to put the toilet paper roll on the holder the right way in bathrooms not my own.)  In many ways these personality traits have been assets:  I can become extremely focused on a task until it’s complete, I am a scrupulously thorough researcher with a Boy Scout-like conviction to be prepared, and I always have clean hands.  The downside is that once a particular obsession has run its course, it’s difficult to kindle up enthusiasm for it again.  I can eat, sleep, and breathe a project for a while, but if I get distracted (ooh, shiny!) or derailed (no border fabric!) the project loses its Most Favored status, and if there’s no deadline for it, off to the UFO cabinet it goes.

This project also reeks of Quilt Guilt.  I’d had pretensions of finishing this quilt to take to the Ricky Tims Super Seminar last May to have Ricky himself autograph the label.  Didn’t happen.  I even feel guilty about the fact that this was one of the few quilt projects my husband really took an unsolicited interest in the mechanics of, and I didn’t get it finished so he could enjoy it.  This is something I need to work through and just get over; once again, this seems like a “Hoarders” impulse, attaching unwarranted emotional weight to an object.  It’s not the quilt’s fault I didn’t get it finished; I shouldn’t wrap all those negative emotions up in it.

I just read a New Yorker article about a form of nightmare therapy in which sufferers of recurrent nightmares are encouraged to spend daytime hours visualizing the upsetting scenes from their nightmares and reimagining them to be less upsetting; one example given was of a woman reimagining the sharks circling above her as she tried to swim to the surface of the ocean to breathe, as a circle of friendly dolphins.  Perhaps I can visualize making all the negatives, all the “should-haves”, into tangible, squishy objects.  I can visualize myself placing them into the Convergence quilt top center, then gathering up the corners like a hobo sack.  I can visualize myself carrying that sack full of gelatinous, drippy, toxic emotions down the upstairs hall to the back bedroom and out the door to the balcony.  It’s a bright sunny day, and I can just let the edges of the Convergence quilt top fly, waving like a beautiful, colorful flag in the breeze while those lumpen blobs of guilt tumble forth — and are gone.

I’ll report back when I get that border on.