I particularly like those last two and intend using them in conversation whenever possible.
Zoe – 2010
My Tree of Life quilt blocks are coming on well. I’ve spent hours stitching the stacks of starched triangles together, transforming the scraps of fabric into the larger squares that will form the central design of my quilt. Every now and then I take a break from sewing to stretch my back and shoulders and ease the stiffness out of my fingers from gripping the needle, and I lay out the completed blocks on Grace’s bed. I’m on the tenth one now. Just three more to go and my little forest of trees will be complete, ready to place in their matrix of sashing strips. But I’m going to need to consult Kate again about the next steps, so I give her a call.
‘Come over,’ she says. ‘It’ll be easier for me to show you. I’ve got some spare backing fabric, too, that you might like, and we can discuss what you’ll need in the way of setting triangles and a border.’
Like me, Kate has appropriated the attic rooms of her house to use as her studio. She sets down the tray and busies herself pouring coffee while I admire an example of her work, which has been hung on the gable wall. It’s simply stunning. The colours of the quilt are as vibrant as jewels and they seem to glow with a light of their own. The pattern is more complex than the one I’m attempting. Each block looks like a four-petalled flower, with feathery, finely pointed petals. It’s dramatic but delicate at the same time.
Kate comes over to stand beside me, handing me a fragrantly steaming mug.
‘What’s this pattern called?’ I ask her. ‘It’s gorgeous.’
‘It’s a Bear Paw quilt. See, the quarters of each block are stylised, six-pointed paw prints.’
When she points it out, I can see how the design has been built up. The prints radiate from a central square – which I now know to call a setting stone – with a cross of sashing strips framing them. The geometry is quite simple when you look at it in that way, but the overall effect is complex. The way Kate has chosen the colours and juxtaposed her blocks creates harmony and a sense of progression through the quilt, drawing the eye along a path that weaves from left to right and back again, from the top to the bottom of the wall hanging, rather like reading a book.
‘I particularly like this pattern,’ she says, ‘because it’s supposed to be one of the designs that were used by the Underground Railroad.’
I look quizzically at her, then return my gaze to the quilt. ‘Wasn’t that the secret network that helped American slaves to escape their owners?’
She takes a sip of her coffee. ‘That’s right. There’s a story often told in quilting circles about how the designs were used to help communicate the routes to follow and the times when it was safe to go.’
‘How did they work then?’ I ask.
‘Each plantation would have had a seamstress or two who worked for the owners. First of all, a sampler quilt would be sewn as a way of learning the patterns. This would be used to show the other slaves on the plantation how to recognise the different kinds of blocks. Then the seamstress would sew a couple more quilts. First, using this Bear Paw pattern, she would create a sort of map, showing a coded version of the route that the runaways should follow. It’s easier to memorise a map by visualising it than it is to try to remember a series of written or spoken directions. And the African tradition has always relied on signs and patterns to communicate.’
I nod. ‘Like the designs woven into Berber rugs?’
‘Exactly. Whole cultures can be recorded through methods of traditional weaving and painting. In North Africa this could range from the tattoos on women’s faces to the embroidered crewel work on their shawls. In other countries, tribes use beadwork or printed fabrics or even designs painted on to their bodies to tell the stories of who they are and where they belong. So you can see that it’s possible they extrapolated this to use quilting when scraps of fabric might have been all that were available to them in their captivity.’
I always like spending time with Kate. I’m not surprised Tom so enjoyed her company at Claudine’s dinner party the other evening. He’s mentioned her name once or twice since. And if that makes me feel a little uneasy, I tell myself again firmly not to be paranoid: she’s my friend, first and foremost, not the sort of woman who would betray my trust with a flirtation with my husband, let alone an affair. This is the first time I’ve been in her house and I’ll admit I was just a tiny bit curious to see whether she might show any reluctance at inviting me over or any sign of feeling uneasy in my company since that night, but she seems relaxed, her smile as open and warm as ever. She’s a natural teacher and I could listen to her all day as she shares her knowledge of crafting techniques from different cultures around the world. It’s more than just a hobby for her – it’s a passion.