A Lost Art

*photo courtesy of http://www.littlekanawha.com/.

To me, quilting is a lost art. I have 3 beautiful quilts in my home. One was handmade by my granmother as a wedding present to my husband and I. One belonged to my great grandmother and is in need of some TLC and repair. The third I'm not even sure counts as a true "quilt" in that I bought it from a store. Sure it has a "quilted" pattern, but unlike the other two, which were made by the hands of two of the women I admire most, I'm certain it was made by a machine. So for that fact alone, it doesn't have the love behind it that the other two have.

The very old one, made by my great grandmother, I'm sure was made out of necessity. Necessity to keep warm many moons ago, before the invention of central heat. It is worn and tattered, has a few holes in it, but is filled with love. She gave it to me shortly before she passed, wanting me to have a piece of her in my home.

Then there is the one made by my grandmother for my wedding present. I watched her as she made it. Watched as her hands sewed each piece together. She hand-stithced every thread. It is a "wedding ring" quilt, and it comes out of the cedar chest each fall to become the centerpiece of my bedroom throughout the winter. It is beautiful and colorful and most definately made with love. I loved watching her make it. I would stop by to visit her and she would work, telling me stories of her deep love for my grandfather. She made a quilt for each of her grandchildren prior to their weddings. Since she too has also passed, I cherish it.

I've got quilts on the brain because the other day I was going through some of A's old clothes and wishing that I had made my grandmother teach me how to quilt. Oh how I wish I could take pieces of fabric from those clothes she wore at different points in her life and create a masterpiece for her to have. What a lovely way to display all of the "special" outfits from her life. The gown she came home from the hospital in, the t-shirt she wore everyday one summer because she loved it so much, maybe a patch from her graduation gown, a patch from her first prom dress, patches of cloth made from memories.

Isn't that what quilting was about? Other than the necessity to stay warm? Isnt' that how stories were passed from generation to generation? How mother's and daughters communicated? But it is a lost art. We don't quilt anymore. That's not how we share stories, in this generation of email and Facebook and blogging. It isn't how we spend time together, us mothers and daughters.

So, A's clothes continue to sit in a box, each of these emories cherished by me, but not shared with anyone. Which has me thinking. Maybe I should learn. In this day of the internet, surely I could teach myself to quilt online. Or at least to weave together a tapestry of all those things that have so many memories behind them, yet are left in a box on a shelf in my office. Hidden behind the cardboard walls, not shared with anyone. Hidden in my mind, not shared with my daughter. So maybe I should learn to quilt. And teach my daughter to do the same. Then we can share a moment weaving all those memories into a patchwork quilt for her to have for her home one day. And we can create a new memory. Of how we sat, TV and computer off, talking and sharing, loving and caring, creating a memory.