rules

I don’t do well with rules. Well, that’s not exactly true. I don’t do well with creative rules. I can very quickly feel creatively boxed in, and then I spend a lot of non-creative energy trying to get myself out.

a quilty friend gave me suggestions for how to piece a curve, which I suppose technically counts as working with rules, but then I very quickly went off piste and did my own thing. Always wonky. Exactly how I like it.

I still remember performing in a flute masterclass in England and my flute teacher telling me, on seeing a skeptical look on my face, “At least try it, Sonja.” My creative vision is generally very strong, and it doesn’t always take kindly to being redirected (my husband would tell you that the second half of this sentence is an understatement).

I understand that rules exist for the breaking; or, rather, that understanding that rules exist is necessary to break them. Same words. Slightly different meaning.

But what if you ignore rules (almost) completely? What if you write your own rules, right from the start? What happens then?

*tools: cutting mat. fabric. ruler (in back corner). kid scissors because I’m not exactly sure where my actual scissors are right now and I didn’t feel like stopping and looking for them.*

One of the things I enjoy about quilting is that it hasn’t been passed down to me by family elders. That sounds wrong. Many quilters love the fact that they’ve learned from mothers, aunts, grandmothers, uncles, great-grandmothers. Tradition – through the sharing of knowledge – is integral to how they understand quilting as a practice. It’s also important to how they understand themselves as quilters and as human beings.

I don’t have that lineage to draw on. My mother quilts, but she started after I left home and she lives a few thousand kilometres away. My paternal grandmother did all kinds of stitchery: embroidery, crochet, knitting, sewing, but she didn’t quilt. She also lived on another continent and she passed away before I was a teenager. I don’t think I ever saw my maternal grandmother holding anything remotely resembling a sewing needle. My aunts and uncles don’t quilt (although one aunt is very handy with a sewing needle), and even if they did, they also live on another continent.

So, when I first started quilting, there was nobody around to teach me. I figured it out. I looked at pictures. I cut fabric however I felt. And I started sewing (I also sewed my thumb into a sewing machine, but that’s another story). It wasn’t straight. The seams didn’t match up (they still don’t). But it felt good. I was having fun. I liked the feeling of fabric and the hum of the sewing machine.

the very first quilt I made. It makes me happy every time I look at it. Whenever contractors see it on a bed, they assume that it’s ‘the girl’s room’. Maybe because of the riot of colour? But actually, it’s the mine and my husband’s room.

I’m not an “accurate” quilter. I’m also not a “precision” quilter. I’m not wedded to sewing in straight lines. Or to symmetry. I hate ironing and avoid it as much as possible. I don’t know the names of fabric lines. I don’t buy or follow patterns. I’ll use whatever fabric I have available, even if it’s not 100% cotton. I’ve learned that the sides of fitted sheets make excellent binding. If I can dye my own fabric, I will. I forget to change my sewing machine needle. I will do almost anything to avoid unpicking stitches. I’m a speed demon who usually sews too quickly.

*current project. I started off with good ironing intentions, but then I didn’t feel like it anymore. No idea if it will lie flat. I guess I’ll find out?*

My quilts have lumps and bumps. They’re not totally straight. They don’t follow colour rules. Every single one is an experiment, and I often change my mind – sometimes several times – along the way.

I know that knowing some basic rules would allow me to be more efficient. But I also know they’d hem me in (pun not intended!). And I know how much I love the feeling of absolute creative freedom that my approach to quilting affords me, a freedom due in no small part to the fact that I don’t know (or refuse to know) the rules.

What rules do you break, and why?

peopling