I don't get very emotionally attached to the things I sew. Or rather, I get "emtionally attached" by way of association. Just a glimpse of a print of fabric can send me reeling down the memory lane of motherhood - back to the day that Calvin wore that green and white knit hat to the beach and said "ball" for the first time; back to the moment Adelaide took her first step, wearing that yellow gnome smock; or all the many moments late at night when I've removed a book - or two - from Ezra's sleeping still-gripping-the-book hands, and pulled that quilt up over his shoulders with a kiss. It isn't the hat, the smock, the quilt I care deeply about, of course, but sometimes just the sight of them remind me of wonderful moments with the very people I do care so deeply about. I make things with the hope that they be worn, loved, and assuredly made quite dirty. And like all pieces of clothing or bibs or whathaveyou, they are sometimes accidentally left behind in the places we go. I do not mourn their loss. Not terribly, anyway.
With all of that said, I must confess that there was a little twinge of something deep in my belly when I got a call several months back now. I can't remember the circumstances, but I was running errands when Steve called to warn me before I arrived home and discovered it myself. There had been a bit of an accident, you could say, with Ezra's quilt. A sweet sibling of his had, in a moment of solitary activity (oh those quiet moments), found his way to Ezra's bed. And with permanent marker in hand, used it as a blank canvas. A little gift of art for his big brother. Ahem.
For a while after that, I looked with eyes half-closed when pulling that quilt up over his shoulders at night. His quilt! His "baby" quilt! I wanted that to snuggle him for a very long time. But slowly, as I began to lift my fingers from my eyelids, and as I began to realize that no magic solution was going to remove that marker, I mean art, it began to look more like a really wonderful opportunity. Because that quilt I made when my little boy was three? While it's still his (and always will be - Sharpie only further personalizing it and adding to the story), it really doesn't fit the funky, creative, awesome nine year old he is today.
Ezra was thrilled with the prospect of a new quilt, and even more thrilled to have creative control as I welcomed him into my studio shelves, and for a little online fabric shopping, to choose the beginnings. And choose he did - pairing fabrics I never would have thought to put together. Ever. (My sweet boy who chose 'bandaid' as a wall paint color.) I kept all the "Wow!" "Really?" "Are you sure?" and "What about this..." comments to myself as I watched him make firm and clear decisions, answering my questions before I asked them. No, that orange can't go, Mom, it's the most important one. and Flowers are nice, I just don't want them on my quilt.
Happy with his color and fabric selections, he's turned the rest of the gathering and making over to me. I've had this amazing vintage quilt as a vision to work towards (it's wild! there's lots of color! it works!). I made one square (below) to give it a go. As I keep going, I'm a little stumped as to what fabric to add. More of the same prints? Something to ground all that color? Uh, to balance it? I can't take any of these fabrics away, but we can (and need to) add to it with a few more pieces (I'll need more fabric to complete it). If you have suggestions, I'm all ears.
I'm not certain of those details yet. But I am certain that this has already been a very fun project and I'm so excited to keep going on it. And I'm certain that this, this start anyway, fits my Ezra so very well. That I know for sure.
