Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Fellow craft campers, steel yourselves. In a burst of Dammit! I AM a finisher! the quilt top destined to marinate in its juices for veritable epochs (i.e. ages longer than five months), is basted, quilted and completed with a smug, handstitched binding.
Here it is, not posed on the front gate...
There are 560 little and littler squares of the very scrappiest scraps. I love scraps. Scraps have history.
There are bits of screenprinting history:
Inklings of ‘T is for Towel’ history:
There’s the big girl’s favourite dress history:
There’s long-time-fabric-fave history:
After I’d finished the quilt top at Camp, I gathered up most of the scrappy quilt top scraps and made a scrappy cushion cover. There are scrappy cushion cover scraps, waiting in the wings and, a bit weirdly, I sense a scrappy potholder in my destiny. (Just thinking about scrappy potholder scraps is scary).
I keep throwing the scrappy quilt in an artful, spontaneously considered fashion, over the arm of the sofa. Tragically, no one else seems to appreciate the spontaneously artfully considered. Every time I turn around, the scrappy quilt has been unceremoniously pegged to the Other Thing Which Did Take Six Epochs to Finish and morphed into another kid cubby house.