Monday, 29 January 2018

Vintage Home BOM

You might remember that at the end of this post, I mentioned that Jo Avery would be doing a block of the month quilt pattern, called Vintage Home, which unfolds over the course of twelve issues of Today's Quilter, revealing a new piece of kitchen paraphernalia each month and that Jo had invited me and a handful of other bloggers to sew along with her. I claimed February, whose theme is storage caddies, mainly because I'd requested a month that wouldn't challenge my foundation paper piecing skills (which are minimal), but also because I am one of those curious people who loves decanting things into pots different from the ones they originally arrived in, so as a theme, it appealed.

I hadn't actually realised that decanting things into different pots and tins wasn't something that everyone did as a matter of course until a few years ago, when my mum was working in my kitchen and commented on it as being a trait I must have inherited from my grandmother. Since then, I've been scanning family and friends' houses for signs of decanting and found that it is indeed a rarer activity than I'd initially assumed, unless decantment is a guilty pleasure that they're hiding behind cupboard doors. I wonder if it's a thing more likely to be something that makers do though, as though we've subconsciously decided to replicate the joy of the button tin (even in a blind rush mid-dressmaking, opening a button tin still registers with me as feeling totally magical) in every area of our lives? I have a sense of this being a feature of photos I see posted online, at least in people's sewing rooms. 

Anyway, upon realising that decantment wasn't a universally-experienced habit akin to breathing/having a shower/wearing shoes, I began to wonder if what I was doing was just one step away from putting a knitted doll cover over loo rolls (for the uninitiated, Google images can enlighten you). Was it really pernickety to be putting everything into nice tins? I decided that if most people didn't do this, then maybe I should trial it to see what it was like. I packed away several tins and began to leave washing tabs, dishwasher powder and teabags in their branded packaging. My main conclusion: it was certainly quicker. 

Since that time, I've not really reinstated receptacles in those areas, although I miss them, so maybe I should. When I stopped to think while writing this post though, I realised that in the intervening years, I've transferred my obsession onto baskets, which I love and which, on analysis, maybe feel a bit more carefree for their lack of lid: Oh look, a basket that I can casually sling things into! I have water hyacinth baskets and coloured woven boxes for dog toys; laundry; electrical leads and camera paraphernalia; my hairdryer, brush and other hair-related things; table tennis rackets and balls. And then handmade rope bowls everywhere, which hold pairs of glasses, photos, pens, loose change (not mixed - each has a dedicated purpose...there is no need to go completely mad just because a basket doesn't have a lid).

Anyway, I think, wherever my experiments have led me over the last few years, I have a fundamental delight in storage tins and baskets, so onto Jo's lovely patterns for this month: storage caddies. There are actually two patterns (see Jo's blog for the sugar caddy) - here's my version of the tea caddy. 

Faced with a list of squares and rectangles to cut out, I find I often make mistakes while measuring, so before I began I quickly drew up and labelled little templates on my computer for all the pieces needed (just as easily done with paper and pencil though), so that I could relax and not have to think too much while cutting the fabrics.

This is a sweet pattern, as there's room for some fussy cutting, as well as combining lots of patterns and prints. My main prints are Anna Bond for Cotton + Steel, with the plain fabrics being Cirrus Solids from Cloud 9 (they're shot with a different colour on the warp and weft, to add a bit more interest).

Piecing together the smaller squares and borders, my feed dogs kept attempting to eat the fabric and, for reasons which will be explained later in the post, I felt too muddy-headed to investigate or change over to my single stitch plate, so it was more easily solved by starting off each line of sewing with a small piece of tissue paper beneath the fabric, which could then be torn away - it's a quick fix if you ever find your sewing machine doing the same (mine doesn't usually). The pattern was fun to sew and it was easy to piece together just by following Jo's photo, although of course, there are full instructions. 

Returning to the muddy-headedness, I had been racing to finish this before the migraine, which I could feel hovering menacingly in the wings, crashed in. The moment I'd finished sewing, I went to bed, where I stayed until the next day.  I usually really struggle with migraines because I'm not very good at doing absolutely nothing, but I'd happened to read Kerry's post that morning, mentioning that she was listening to the audio book of Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, so I downloaded it and then lay in the dark drinking it all up. Eleven and a half hours later it was finished. It is both incredibly funny and painfully sad and, having listened to it is an audio book, like Kerry, I felt the narration added a lot to it too. I now feel like I would have missed a whole layer of it I'd read it as a book - it must be such a nice feeling as an author when your book is narrated by someone capable of adding an extra dimension to your work. 

I think an audio book's strength is partly in the narration, but also on how easy the story is to follow when you can't flip back a few pages to check the name of someone or, horrors, if you zone out for a moment and realise that you've missed a paragraph or a whole page's worth of reading! 

Have you listened to any good ones lately? 

Florence x

Ps. Kerry did the previous month's Vintage Home BOM quilt along, which you can find here, if you'd like to see her lovely fabric choices. 

Tuesday, 23 January 2018

The Twin Peaks Quilt

I made this quilt last December over the course of a really joyful, if slightly frenzied, few days. Every now and then it feels refreshing to cast off the coat of my own self (my regular coat being cut for a person who is slow and purposeful, whether cutting fabrics or sewing pieces; ponderous and unhurried whether deciding upon a pattern, choosing prints and colours or laying out pieces) and try on somebody else's coat. I'm not sure who the coat belonged to, but while I wore it, I sewed like the wind and didn't stop to question anything, so I'm a little reluctant to give it back.

I think this wardrobe change was brought about by having just a few days in which to make this quilt. You might remember, back in this post, I talked about how helpful I found it to put parameters around a creative project (in that case, matching the colours of the project to favourite paintings), and here, I found the same goes for imposing a seemingly unrealistic deadline on myself (through circumstance, rather than choice).

So, December: a friend was expecting twins and I'd been aware that her baby shower was approaching (baby showers very suddenly seems to be a 'thing' in the UK - I don't think I'd ever been to one before last summer, even though I know they've had them in the US for years), but then suddenly it was on top of me and just a few days away. When I stopped to think about what I wanted to give her, it was (unsurprisingly) a quilt. Or ideally, two quilts, but for me that would have moved things into the 'potentially inducing a total breakdown' territory, rather than the  uncomfortable 'seemingly unrealistic' category. So, in lieu of two quilts, I decided that making sure both babies were represented in the quilt in some way was the next best thing, so I called this the 'Twin Peaks' quilt and every triangle of fabric is repeated in pairs.

I sewed it together using Thangles (they're foundation paper piecing in its simplest form - you just machine-sew on the lines and then tear the papers away, but you're never piecing more than two pieces together per strip, so it's really simple). They speed up the sewing and ensure all your points meet up perfectly. I bought a selection of Thangles in different sizes years ago from M is for Make and have used them several times (to clarify: they're not reusable, I've just used different packs from my selection a few times!), and when I've gone to link to them, I've seen that they're now in the sale and a few sizes are completely sold out. Cue some panic purchasing on my part before sharing the link; if you'd like some, proceed calmly to the emergency exit shoot, where many of the oxygen masks have already been taken.

Here are some of the pieced strips, hanging from my chair, with numbered Washi tape stuck to each row to keep them in order.

I think the only thing I had to order for this quilt was a little extra linen (I used Essex Linen, in Flax), but everything else came from my stash. When it came to wadding, I considered piecing some from offcuts, but when it's a shared quilt for two babies, I thought it may be nicer to make something that they could lie on rather than under, so I wanted to make it thick enough to provide adequate padding for their heads if it were placed on the floor. I've had a super-soft fleece blanket in my cupboard since my own children were small - for some reason, it never got used and I've saved it, thinking it would make a lovely gift for someone at some point. Well, it has, although they'll never actually get to see it as it's safely tucked away inside the quilt!

Taking a small thought-detour: this great beast of a sofa takes up nearly a whole wall in our back room and it's perfect for afternoon naps (ever since I've known him, my husband has had a twenty minute sleep in the middle of the day, even when he used to work in an office). We don't currently have a dedicated quilt for it, although my husband's favourite is the red Charlotte Bartlett quilt and he often leaves this sprawled over the sofa once he's got up. It's an upsetting sight. Not because of the sprawling - which I actually like seeing, because it means that my quilts are in use - but because the colours, which in the garden feel vibrant and joyful, suddenly feel jarring and shouty in this plain room. It's impossible to convey quite how horrible it looks when not surrounded by other similarly bright things and while it isn't ideal to compare oneself to a bull, its redness does make me feel like going on the rampage. 

About once a week, we have the following conversation:

Me: Do you have to use the red quilt inside?
Husband: Yes, no other quilt is as comfortable. It's one of my favourite things. I have no idea why you don't like it.
Me: I do like it, but only in the garden. It wasn't meant to be used indoors.
Husband: Why do we have to have different quilts for different areas? Why can't I just use my favourite?
Me: Because it makes me feel cringe when I see it inside, because it makes my quilt look ugly. I'm going to make another one that you can use in here.
Husband: I won't use it. You'll never make another one that I love as much as this one. It's softer and nicer to lie under than all the other quilts.

Anyway, when I went to photograph the Twin Peaks quilt, I suddenly realised that linen will make everything right - it seems to temper down any colour or pattern that it mingles with...meaning that I could still use lots of vivid, colourful prints...but they'd be less...violent. Although there's a niggling voice at the back of my head presenting the following concerns:

1. My husband will almost certainly say that it's not as comfortable and may continue to use the red quilt.
2. He may use the new quilt, but will never love it as much as he loves the red quilt. And then there will be a subtle, but fundamental shift where he stops loving the things I've made because I've been so bossy about the hows and wheres of using them and wrenched away his favourite.

The whole idea of No.2 reminds me of a poem by Brian Patten, Angels Wings, which had been one of our favourites when we were teenagers. When I reread it just now, I think I've changed my mind slightly about what I think the poem is saying, but then we felt it was about wanting to change all the little bits of someone that annoy you, only to realise that you've lost the very essence of them in doing so. Either way, it's a beautiful poem. Although to clarify, it's not actually that my husband annoys me by using the red's that the red quilt annoys me by being so red when it's inside the house. There could be a case for a chameleon quilt that changes to its surroundings.

Anyway, back to the Twin Peaks. I sat on the sofa hand-stitching the binding down with a racing heart - I don't think I've ever sewn in such a rush before and it made it clear to me (if it wasn't already) what an unfit candidate I'd be for any kind of sewing race, because I just kept telling myself: the time doesn't matter, you just need to make a quilt that will last for years, while accidentally stabbing at my fingertips over and over and trying not to hyperventilate. I considered going on time, but empty-handed, but in the end  texted to let my friends know that I'd be half an hour late. Although I then added a few minutes on to take some photos and package it up, because obviously, it doesn't exist if it hasn't been photographed. In seriousness though, I sometimes feel so attached to quilts, that I'm not sure I could go through with parting from them if I hadn't photographed them first, so while this may seem a loopy thing to spend time doing when already late, to me, it was the only way I could let it go! I say this as someone who is rarely late.

My friend's reaction on opening it was possibly one of the sweetest I've ever had when giving someone a quilt. Her lovely face was instantly flooded with tears and another one of our friends took a really beautiful photo of her at just that moment and I feel so pleased to have that as a reminder. I was really blown away by her reaction - it's feels a privilege to make something that means a lot to someone.

Her two babies have now arrived safely in the world and I'm so excited to meet them!

One of my favourite parts of this quilt is its binding - despite the stress of its application - Liberty Betsy is one of my very favourite prints.

The next day, when I was tidying up from making this quilt, I posted this little bird's nest of scraps on Instagram and someone unexpectedly told me that she could use them for her appliqué, even though they are barely any size at all, so they were posted off (minus the bits of paper from the Thangles) and it's made me happy to think that nothing went to waste with this quilt.

I'm off to bed now with a new book that my mum chose for me. What are you reading at the moment?

Sleep tight,
Florence x

Tuesday, 16 January 2018

A tutorial: A Shortcut for English Paper Piecing

In late Autumn, I designed something for an empty wall in our house that I fell utterly in love with. I often have a vociferous inner critic at my side, questioning: 'is this any good?', 'are the colours quite right?', 'should the shapes be tweaked?', but with this, every time I opened the file on my computer and looked at it, I just felt happy (in as much as you can when the piece also has a sentimental meaning that causes your eyes to spontaneously overflow whenever you think of it - more on that in another post). But despite my enthusiasm, I somehow couldn't bring myself to start cutting fabric for it; I felt so overwhelmed by the task ahead. My English paper piecing projects often seem to take up to a year to finish, often as much because I stall or lose interest because they're taking long, as because they are so labour-intensive. Although I love the process, I felt frustrated by how long it would take to get this up on the wall and how it would monopolise all my hand-sewing time to get it finished.

Feeling slightly traitorous to my beloved EPP, I explored whether it could be done using foundation paper piecing on my machine, which would have been much quicker. But, as I'd suspected, I found that this wasn't the right pattern for that method, involving sewing Y seam after Y seam and doing what felt distinctly like 'bodging' manoeuvres in order to piece them together.

I then tried hand-piecing with a running stitch, but found that I missed the crisp lines English paper piecing lends and that are intrinsic to how I wanted this piece to look. I'd pretty much decided to abandon the project entirely, which pained me as it felt a hard one to let go of, when I woke up in the night and realised that if I mixed machine piecing and English paper piecing, then I could speed up the making process substantially. I thought I might share the method I've been using here, in case anyone else might find it useful. It has the bonus of requiring all the machine piecing to be done first, so that the meditative and portable process of English paper piecing is left unaffected by this shortcut.

This is my basic block that I'm using - focus on the half-diamonds for this tutorial! For pieces like this, which are separated by a straight vertical line, I've found it's easy to piece the fabrics together on the machine and then wrap the shape as though it's one piece rather than two, meaning that instead of cutting, wrapping and hand-sewing 13 pieces for each block, I only have to sew together 9. Using the same method, I'll be able to reduce the pieces that will join these blocks together from 8 to 4. Over the course of an entire quilt or large wall-hanging, that economy actually makes a huge difference.

This method won't work for all projects - it's easiest when you're not fussy-cutting particular motifs (although you could always use fussy-cut prints on the surrounding pieces) and it will only work with certain shapes. I think it would work really well on my Perpetual Spring EPP pattern, which uses similarly divided shapes. Whatever, it opens up options for leapfrogging through at least part of an English paper pieced project.  Here's how:

Cut two pieces of fabric that are about 1/2" bigger on all sides than the half-piece you're hoping to cover. If you're using the same two colours throughout your project, you can cut a much longer length of each fabric to speed up the process further! Sew these together on the sewing machine along the long side, reducing the stitch length to 2 to give extra seam security once cut. No need to make securing stitches at the beginning and end if you'd like to chain piece them.

Trim the seam allowance down to reduce bulk. I've taken off a hefty 1/8" here as my piecing is headed for a wall, rather than a quilt. You may prefer to take off a little less if your piecing is going to have to withstand a life of being snuggled under and washed frequently.

Press open the seam with an iron (you can use a tailor's awl if you're keen to avoid singeing your fingers)!

Place your template on your pieced fabric (it doesn't really matter whether this is on the right side or the wrong side) and v e e e r r y carefully line up the point of your template with the seam line. (Nb. your template for cutting fabric should always include a seam allowance, so that the fabric shape is big enough to wrap around the corresponding paper piece).

Now cut around it with a rotary cutter.

You can see from the line on my paper piece that I'd normally cut this shape in two and wrap each half individually...but not now :) Take care to keep the points of your paper piece perfectly in line with the seam when wrapping it.

You now have a wrapped piece. This may seem like quite a few steps to get to this point - I know it would leave me questioning if it's actually quicker, but once you're working in bulk quantities, it's really quite speedy and I've torn through my hand-piecing as a result.

In the picture above, note the folded coral fabric at the bottom left. I've seen Kate mentioning how lovely Cloud 9's Cirrus Solid fabrics are and subconsciously wondered what made them so lovely, without ever actively trying to find out. To my shame, I only finally trialled them because I needed to fill a few gaps in my collection of solid fabrics, but it now appals me to think that I could have carried on bypassing them forever. They are ridiculously soft and drapey and I'm dreaming of making a whole quilt from them - if you're familiar with Kaffe Fassett's shot cottons, then they're like that, but softer, I think. They have a really subtle colour difference between the warp and weft, which doesn't show up so well in photos, but which gives them an appealing 'alive' look.

The piecing above uses a mixture of Free Spirit solids, Oakshotts, (unbranded) silks, Art Gallery Fabrics Pure Elements and Cloud 9 Cirrus solids. As it stands, I can see that this looks quite dull and certainly not worthy of hours of EPP, but there are many more blocks and colours to be added and I'm hoping that once it's viewed as a whole, it will justify the hours it's gobbling up.

My husband has now had flu for nearly two weeks, giving me much a milder version that left me feeling too unwell to do much, but well enough to have something akin to an EPP lock-in - I pieced these blocks and tore through four series of When Calls the Heart on Netflix! If you are ever in need of the televisual equivalent of a comforting bowl of macaroni cheese, this is it (if you're craving any other type of television food, realistically, it's probably not going to be quite right for you).

Wishing you a wonderful week,
Florence x

Tuesday, 9 January 2018

Experiments in Weaving

For me, it feels like the old year was led out and the new one shepherded in by new craft activities. In December, I did a few courses - one, with a group of local friends, on Christmas wreath-making and another learning to lino-cut - and following the arrival of a small rigid heddle loom under the Christmas tree, I've spent the first days of the new year experimenting with weaving. Above, is my first piece of cloth.

The loom was a gift from my husband, although I'd done a bit of research before he bought it. In the end, I chose a little 15" Cricket loom, primarily because it's really small and you can sit and weave with it on your lap, which appealed to me, as when I think realistically about what craft-related things I end up investing a lot of time in, it tends to be those that can be done on a sofa, a bed or around the kitchen table, rather than ones that require me to sit tethered to a desk or be in a particular part of the house. The Cricket is made from nice, smooth bits of ply (I may be alone in this, but I find plywood oddly attractive and clean-looking, although I'm aware that the formaldehyde in the glue isn't a great thing) and it was relatively easy to put together - I did it one night as I sat up in my daughter's room and we discussed weekly goal intentions, inspired by a notepad that I'd bought her - we both liked that it required us to list how to make those things happen, rather than just what the end result should be. It's often easy to know where you want to be, but somehow harder to home toward that place if you haven't taken the time to think through the simple things you need to do to make it happen. I hadn't really been aware of wanting to set any weekly goal intentions prior to that evening, but I'm now thinking what a good thing it is and considering buying myself the same pad, as it feels akin to a weekly self-guided life-coaching session...I've never actually had a life-coaching session, but I imagine the end result is similar. I always feel wary of sharing the actual goals or things I'm attempting to do differently, as I've read that if you announce something before you've actually achieved it, you're far less likely to see it through, because just by vocalising it, the brain registers it as having already being done at some level. In my case, even sharing something that has become a fairly well-established habit - yoga lessons, spinning classes - seems to be the death of it for me, so I've learnt that I'm best keeping any positive changes in my pocket if I want to retain them!

So, back to looms. I'd done a lot of research into weaving over the last few months, as it had become something I was really desperate to try. I watched hours of tutorials about how to 'warp' up a loom, wondering whether I'd find that aspect too complicated or time-consuming, as before you can even start weaving (the weft), you have to thread all the warp strands onto the loom, keeping them under perfect tension throughout. In practice, warping is time-consuming, but it's also oddly enjoyable once you've got the hang of it. The first time, it took me a whole afternoon to do all the warp threads (partly because I was untangling a skein of yarn for every strand...more on that later in the post), but by my third time, it took less than an hour and the process of hooking yarn through the heddle slots is oddly absorbing.

That part of the process requires quite a large space, as the threads are all stretching from the loom, to a clamp placed a reasonable distance away - I took over our kitchen table with the leaves extended to warp my loom - as my husband was working on making a guitar at the breakfast bar, the whole thing felt quite sociable.

For both the warp and the weft, I used some really beautiful lace-weight yarn from Loop - it's (comparatively, at least) reasonably priced and seems soft, strong and not prone to shedding or fuzziness.

What I hadn't realised at first though, was that yarn in a skein needs turning into a ball before it's usable. My very first warping attempt was made much slower by being forced to untangle a little more of the skein each time I laid down a new strand. Much of subsequent days were then spent winding the wool into balls - my mum remembered her father moving the skein between his outstretched arms for my grandmother as she wound it into a ball, and so she did this for me, followed by my husband and then a friend who was visiting the following day. I also used two chairs placed back-to-back, as well as my knees at times. But it's quite physically exhausting when you have many skeins to work through, so eventually I ordered a yarn winder and swift (after googling how other people make balls of yarn) and the whole thing was done in under half an hour once they'd arrived. We'll call this No. 58 in a long list entitled Rookie Learning Curve in Working with Yarn and Learning to Weave, because it has felt like one long googling and YouTubing session, with everything from tying an overhand knot, to the right way to untwist a skein, requiring me to pause and consult a tutorial. It was an odd experience to be back at the beginning of something and out of my depth in nearly every way!

I've also realised that it takes a lot of experimentation to understand how colours will appear once woven. Whether you use a colour in the warp or weft, seems to have a sizeable impact on how dominant it will appear to be in the finished cloth. My husband also pointed out that once two individual colours are woven, they visually merge to create a third colour and it's often hard to predict whether it will look exactly as you were hoping for. I was also surprised by how difficult it is not to weave something that looks plaid...I'm not actually overly enamoured with linear-looking fabrics and I'm now experimenting with pick-up sticks (which can be placed behind the heddle to change which warp threads are being woven) to create a more textured, less linear pattern.

It's worth mentioning that although you can weave a piece of cloth as long as you like, the width of the fabric you produce is always determined by how wide the loom is (although you can weave pieces narrower than the width of your loom, just not wider). I'd thought that a 15" loom would allow me to make cushion covers, but actually, once the fabric has suffered from a little 'beginner's draw in' at the edges, it's not quite wide enough to make a standard square cushion's really more use for making one of these long thin cushions (pictured below), which I made a few years ago. If you're thinking of getting a loom, I'd suggest you buy one as wide as your space will allow to maximise the things you're able to make, although the Cricket offers a really nice entry to weaving and is a good way of trialling whether weaving is something you actually enjoy before committing to a larger loom.

In other thoughts, I realised at the end of last year that I was spending relatively little time reading blogs, even though it's a medium I enjoy far more than Instagram or Twitter. When I eventually took half an hour to look through the blogs that I followed on Bloglovin', I realised that many had either disappeared or were no longer updated, which, with so few posts appearing in my feed, had given me the feeling that far fewer people were reading and writing blogs now. Although that may be true to some extent, when I went hunting for new ones to fill my feed with, I found all sorts of good things and it made me happy to think that blogging isn't the dying form I'd started to think it may be. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear what your current favourites are, as I'd still love to discover more (they don't have to be sewing related - one of my favourite blogs is still Cup of Jo, which is completely un-craft-related).

Like much of the rest of the country, my husband has spent the first days of 2018 (including his birthday) with an awful cold and flu bug that seems to involve sleeping all day and then being awake for most of the night struggling to breath. Even singing happy birthday wasn't permitted, due to its potential to hurt his head and many of his presents stayed wrapped. I seem to have finally caught it myself too now. Very early this morning, we went on a slightly surreal emergency mission for satsumas and Neurofen, before scuttling back home where I think we may stay for some time, although I am determined not to become as ill as he's been with it.

Finally, when I read Sonja's message recently, wishing people 'health, wholeness and hope' they felt like three perfect words for welcoming a new year, so I'm going to shamelessly steal her greeting and end this post by wishing you the very same thing. I hope it's a very good year for you.

Florence x
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