I love antique shops and second hand stores, where anything you buy comes with an unknown history - a story nobody browsing will ever know, the tale of travel from its first shelf to the one heavy laden in front of you with knick-knacks and Dad mugs and brass candle holders. Every one in a while, I go into the bedding section and look for a quilt. You can always tell which blankets are grandmother-made, and the gems are hard to find. I have one on my bed, hand-stitched by one of the older women in the patchwork of my life. There is time sewn there. Care. Intention. It is beautiful.
My quilts are made with newer technology, but just as much love. The first one I made was a little blanket, with squares cut out of an old yellow skirt, a dark purple t-shirt, two retired linens and a sundress. In that single piece, Ink and Thimble was born. I have since transformed baskets full of would-be-donated clothing into artistic apparel, each with a little bit of history. This square is from Florida, this one is a pair of pants I wore all the way through high school, this is from the sheets I lived in as a child -- all washed thoroughly, I promise! There is something wonderful about seeing somebody new carrying on a little part of my life. I'm currently saving up the proceeds to fund the fixing of my own sewing machine, so I can let my Mum have hers back. My Bernina, inherited from my grandmother, will soon be the beautiful beast responsible for giving new purpose to old cloth... but until then, patch by patch, I'm domestically quilting my way from the tremors of unrest to the peaceful hum of productive tranquility.
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