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Have you ever-helped set up a Quilt Show? I always
help set our guild's show up, because I like to do it. I think it's because
that drafty old building, with the beams showing and the tape on the floor and
the rather dim corners, reminds me a little bit of that, Iowa cornfield that
was transformed into a baseball diamond in the movie The Field of Dreams. "If
you build it, they will come...", that old building says to me. It's hard to
believe, when you get there on Friday morning, that there will be a full-blown
Quilt Show up before nightfall. But somehow, it always works out, and they will come.
Think a minute about why we go through all of the work to
make Quilt Shows happen. In one way, it comes down to "fortune and glory" - we
do it to earn money for the Guild and to show others what we can do with fiber and
thread. In another way, it all comes back to the deep down reasons we make
quilts in the first place. Somehow, whenever I make a quilt, no matter what
its pattern or fabric, it connects me with all the quiltmakers, living or dead
that have influenced me. When I start to stitch, I can see the faces of my
Mother and Grandmother, and feel back home again. I can hear the voices of
quilting teachers in my head as I work and somehow, they live in my sewing room
and guide my hands. I get the same kind of feeling in that old barn of an Exhibit
Hall, as the frames go up and quilts are put upon them.
I'm almost certain the spirits of quilters dead and gone
wander through the aisles in the night before the Show begins, just like those
baseball heroes did in the cornfield. I can almost see them, fingering the
fabrics in the vendor stalls, checking out the quilt backs and bindings, and
inspecting labels. I can almost hear them say: "Well! In my day we never would
have put pink and purple together!" or "Maisie, look at those tiny stitches!"
"I do believe she painted on that quilt!" "My, my, where did she
find that paisley print? I've got to get me some of that!" and "Lord,
that old Nine Patch takes me back..." I'm practically positive we could see
and hear them if we tried.
So, we did it. We took our energy, our hearts and hands,
our skills and time, and we put it all together in one great Show for all the
quilters - past, present and future - to enjoy. We built it, and - good Lord
willing and the creek don't rise too much more - they will come. . .
And then, all of a sudden, it was SHOWTIME - and it was
glorious, wonderful, inspiring, and the people did come. Twenty-five
hundred of them. We shared our craft; we quilted and demonstrated and explained
and, we hope, inspired hundreds of people on to bigger and better things. We
talked and we laughed and greeted old friends - we were even filmed for a
television series on the Home and Garden Channel. And we bought stuff - you
know, STUFF - rulers and needle threaders and fabric and notions and all the
101 things we need to have to do what needs to be done. And then, just like
lightning, it was all over. . .
I could hear the fat lady singing as the last of the
frames was gently lowered to the ground, as the last of the people picked up
their quilts, as the last spirit quilter silently vanished, and the Exhibition
Hall became empty and silent once more. It was a glorious, fantastic, Show.
It made me proud to be an Amador Valley Quilter, part of this marvelous group
of caring, creative, artistic quilters. But, even though the Show is over and
the floor swept and the building locked, the quilts are still out there somewhere
filling the world with beauty, the Guild is still here uniting us with 361 kindred
souls, and the memories and photographs of the Show remain.
It was a growth experience, and I doubt we'll ever be quite
the same again, like a rubber band that can't ever quite regain its original size.
Our guild encourages our members to explore new ideas and techniques, to take classes
and go to shows and share our work, and we did. We cut our fabric up and got it
off our work boards and out of our stashes, into the empty hands and dreary places
that needed a bit of comfort and color. We've grown to understand that quilting
is an art and that we, as quilters, are artists. And when the show's all over
and fat lady sings, when we hit that wall and wonder how we're ever going to
make it over, when the road's too long and the burden too heavy, we just get out
the old newsletter and find another quilt show to go to. So that when you build
it, we will come.
Linda Schmidt
E-mail shortattn@attbi.com
Web Site http://shortattn.home.attbi.com
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