PRIZM Takes Shape

 

I wondered if I had something better than polka dots in my stash for the lighter triangles in the PRIZM quilt. I had to really hunt to find these, and before I could make any changes I had to make sure I had SIX light sort of pale fabric, and enough of them. As you can see from the photo above, I did.

Last night, as the Alcatraz / Medvedev match went through the third and fourth sets, I cut my strips and this morning I sewed them together and cut them into triangles. 

(btw, WHAT A MATCH! NOBODY saw that coming.)

Here are the warm tones.

And here are the cool ones. They are separated with various WOWs.

I arranged the lights differently than I have in the past. I decided to make them extend beyond the bright triangles and "continue the wave", sorta. I did a colored drawing so you could see it better.

And if you look at the drawing and think, "that's kinda muddy," you're right. In Design, dark areas tend to pop forward (visually,  unless you do something to push them back) In this case, using the WOWs between the pale strips connects the light areas visually, and because they don't have a lot of contrast, they don't "fight" with the bright blocks, and sink nicely to the background, allowing the bright sashaying shapes to come forward and command your attention, which is what I want them to do.

In the drawing I didn't bother taking the time to make it fussy - I wanted to convey the idea that the lighter areas were connected to the shapes by their color.

The contrast between the two sets of triangles is what is required to make this particular quit a success. You need the primary shapes (in this example, the six primary colors) to have a great degree of contrast to the fabrics that make up the secondary shapes (the paler triangles. In the earlier versions of the pink quilt...

I had fairly strong contrasts between the pairs in the sashaying triangles, but the secondary triangles didn't really have any place to go. Their darks were often equal in value to the lights directly adjacent. So the sashaying triangles did their thing, sorta, but the lighter triangles really distracted from that. And THEIR dark fabrics didn't sink back into the background, so they fought with the sashaying ones.

I believe that if you have to THINK about what a design is trying to do so you can figure it out, then the design is a failure. PERIOD.

What's kinda funny, is that the green version, Greensleeves seems to work in spite of this:

In Greensleeves, the sashaying shapes are LIGHTER, and while the contrasting shapes are not all darker fabrics, (they are generally duller, or less intense) there is a kind of ambiguity that makes it work. The other thing that makes it work is the sashaying shapes have brighter, more patterned fabrics which capture your eye. And this photo is somewhat deceiving. In real life, this quilt is much more successful than in the photograph.

That the green one works better than the pink one is also due to the fact that there is a larger range of values to work with in green than there is in pink. Between light green to dark green there is an ocean of difference. But between light pink and dark pink, not so much (and available fabric makes it less so.)

Now, Gail. You didn't like the reworked pink with whitish because there was, in your estimation, too much blue in the white. To wit:

However, it was the biggest piece of light anything in my stash that was big enough (yardage wise) to do what I needed to do. I didn't mind the blue, because there are several kinds of color contrast: Value, Hue,  and also Temperature. The pink quilt use primarily Value contrast, so introducing a cool bluish white was another way to make the pink show up. Besides, I keep telling everyone that pink is really nothing more than a light red violet. So in color formula it is this: Red = R, Violet = Red + Blue. Thus pink is a light RRB. Blue is an inherent part of pink, so the blue was not out of place.

If you don't LIKE something, that's a SUBJECTIVE opinion. It doesn't mean the design is bad or wrong.

Lastly, some have asked WHY did I take this apart? What did I think was WRONG with it?

The answer: Nothing. Nothing whatsoever was WRONG with that quilt. It was perfectly lovely. It was fine. It was OK. It was predictable. 

THAT was what was wrong with it. It did not SING! It did NOT say "LOOK AT ME!! LOOK AT ME SOME MORE!!!! LOOK AT ME AGAIN!!! Don't look AWAY! ME! ME! ME! LOOK AT MMEEEEE!!!!"

Now, it's OK to laugh. But I am quite serious. With my quilts, I want to grab you by the collar and say LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME SOME MORE! OH YOU JUST FOUND SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T EXPECT? LOOK AT ME AGAIN."

This quilt was an epic wimp. So I took it apart.

The Value of "Meh", Redux

This is an updated version of a post I wrote back in 2013 about Julie wrestling with her quilt, See Rock City. It was my Mother's comment that spurred Julie to make major changes in the quilt, which she had thought was finished. The "Meh" story is hinted at in Julie's book. 

Honesty is crucial in a good relationship. But so is kindness. Julie and I get along so well because we tell each other what we see in each other's work, even if it isn't complimentary. At this stage of the game, we have so much trust in each other that know it will be beneficial, and we have each gained from the other's perspective. Julie had worked so hard on her barns and they were truly breathtaking. Julie had really cracked open something inside herself and made a terrific breakthrough, but then she stopped. I knew it right away, but hesitated. I didn't want to hurt her feelings. When my mother expressed the same disdain, I knew i had to tell Julie. I knew I wouldn't be a good friend if I kept silent. So this was a big moment in our friendship. And I didn't do it via email. I picked up the phone and called her. I have to say, however, that I had NO IDEA that the SECOND part of Julie's quilt would be as big a breakthrough as her first. She didn't just go for it, she WENT ALL THE WAY. I was, and still am, so proud of her for her courage and the fearlessness with which she tackled it. And she did it (pardon the pun) like a barn on fire. Julie generally makes her quilts very methodically and patiently. But when she took the blocks apart and rebuilt the thing, she worked like a proverbial tornado. I don't think I've ever seen her work that passionately or voraciously since. Then again, I could be wrong. After all, I do live 1127 miles away...

(This jumps a bit ahead in our friendship story timeline, but I'll get back to it next time.)


Back in November of 2013, when I was making letters for Too Much Chicken, my Mother and I had lunch together.

"That quilt of yours with the box... " she said, "the one where the words pop out of it... (The Black Box)  That's a piece of art, and deserves to hang in a museum."

Then she continued, "The one you're making now, with all the letters," she paused. "Meh."

 This is an in-progress shot of the Chicken quilt. Yes, it was kinda boring.

I laughed. "Ma, the one I'm making now with the chickens is just a silly quilt. It isn't anything close to the Box. I'm not done. I've got a lot to do still."

I really enjoyed telling the story of lunch with my Mom, both on this blog and to my colleagues at work. What was really interesting though, was the reactions. Most of them were of the "You are so lucky to have a relationship with your Mom where you can tell each other what you really think," variety.

 My Mom thought Julie's quilt, "See Rock City," was a knockout, and deserved "Best in Show."

It was true, but that wasn't what struck me.

What really struck me was the concept that many artists simply don't have anybody to give them a good critique. What's a good critique?  A good critique recognizes craftsmanship (or good drawing), design (or structure), execution (or technique.) The rules apply to these no matter what the medium. A good critique will tell you if what you've created is what you think you're looking at. 

Let me explain.

Sometimes you work so hard on something you can't see it. You can't see what's wrong, you're too close. You need to step back, or take a walk and look again with a fresh eye. A good crit comes from somebody else who brings a fresh eye.

Somebody who isn't tainted by being in love with the idea.

The most important thing is the crit is about the WORK, and not the PERSON. My Mom can paint, and draw. She's been making a living as a working artist for over 40 years. She knows what she's doing, and she can tell right away. She knows to consider only what she's looking AT, and not criticize or offer her opinion on what I am trying to DO, whether my concept is a good idea or not.

We know that juries or judges don't care how much work you put into it, or how hard you tried to come close to the idea you had in mind. If the artwork doesn't say it on its own, there's not much else that can help it. (Quite frankly there's nothing that bugs me more than a little story next to the piece that explains what you should be seeing. To me, that's a crutch, and it's like cheating. Like somebody explaining the joke. Unnecessary.)

A good critique can help you know if the artwork (or quilt) says what you WANT it to say, or if it doesn't.

A good crit tells you what is working, and what isn't. What isn't? Maybe something is taking attention away from the main idea. Maybe some elements are competing with each other. Remember, a good piece of art is one where all the elements convey the main idea TOGETHER.

  My Mom and I also know the difference between what we like (subjective) and what we're looking at (objective.)  I am not interested in making traditional quilts (subjective), but I can tell a really good one from a mediocre one (objective.)

This is what my Mother looked at and said, "Meh."

 
The subjective is what the "Meh" came from that day. My Mom simply loves color, and a mostly grey chicken quilt just doesn't float her boat. (Meh!)

But "Meh" can also mean, "It's not as good as it could be." or, "It's just so-so."  It could be a good idea and poor execution, or some variation of "good start, lost energy, direction..." whatever.
  

 My Mom thinks this could be an award-winning quilt and deserves to hang in a museum.

Regular readers know I'm always after the emotional response. I want you to look at my quilts and say "WOW."  The Black Box does that. If you followed along my journey of making that quilt, you know there were times when it just didn't have that punch, and I set it aside for a while to regroup.

"Meh" isn't necessarily a BAD thing. "Meh" can simply mean, "I've seen it a million times before, it's pretty, but it's boring." If you like making pretty and same-old-same-old, that's OK. It's not for me. Which is not to say making lovely quilts is a bad thing. There are a lot of truly beautiful quilts out there. Hell, I make pretty quilts too, in between the "Arty" ones. They are different, and they have different audiences.

When my Mom looks at one of my "pretty" quilts (Sunshine, Exquisite, Rainbow Baby) and says "It's nice," in a rather bored tone, I know what she means, and I'm not offended. (For the record, my Mom loves the Red Sticks quilt, and the Sunburst Rainbow.)


The "Meh" can also be a swift kick in the ass. It's a "Look, it's okay, but you can do better than that." It's a call to action. It's a "What happened, did you lose your nerve?" or a "Is that it? You're stopping there?"

Want proof? When my Mom saw the Barns quilt when Julie first put the blocks together, do you know what she said?

"Meh."




Yup. I had had my own reservations, so I called Julie and told her. Julie had been having second thoughts on her own, so she took the quilt apart, removing the dark blue border around each barn, and then went into her studio and made it better. The result is the second photo in this post.

We learn best not by the things we do RIGHT, but from the things we do WRONG and if we're paying attention... by the things that elicit the "Meh."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

By the way, a few days later I told Julie what my Mother said about the Chicken quilt in progress ("Meh"). I told her my job was to change my Mother's opinion from "Meh" to "Magnificent."

"You're not worried about doing that are you?" Julie asked.

"Too Much Chicken" finished.

"Hell no," I replied.

When I showed my Mother the finished quilt, "Too Much Chicken," she loved it. "I love the way you used the colors."

 

I laughed, "Ma, four months ago you hated the colors."

 

"Yeah I know."

 

Don't let a "Meh" stop you in your tracks. Use it to push from "Meh" to "Magnificent."

Quiltcon Los Angeles 2016

Timing is everything. One of my readers asked if I would be visiting Quiltcon while I was in LA. I didn't even know it was here. Fortunately my son and I were able to visit the show on the last day. 

Disclaimer: Regular readers know I like quilts to have energy, vitality and verve. I like things that grab me emotionally. "Modern" quilts, by and large, do nothing for me. For me a lot of them are "Meh".  I feel they are often "half-baked."  You are welcome to disagree, but I am entitled to my opinion. Don't bother commenting if you want to tell me I am "wrong."  There is no right or wrong. 

There were some that I liked. 

                          

            

                          

   .

       

.

                                   

  . 

But the quilts that really made my heart sing were the ones made by two of my idols, Gwen Marston and the late Molly Upton.

  

                                

    This is one of Gwen's. My son took one look at it and said her design sense was superior and her quilts were less contrived than the so-called Modern ones. He loved all her quilts. I agree. 

         

 Molly Upton's quilts are staggeringly gorgeous and original, even now, forty years later. 

And OMG, look how big they are.  Remember there were no long arm quilting machines back then, and cottons were just calicoes. Upton used everything, cottons, velvet, corduroy, wool. And these were hand quilted. She was a true visionary. 

The Value of "Meh."

I really enjoyed telling the story of lunch with my Mom, both on this blog and to my colleagues at work. What was really interesting though, was the reactions. Most of them were of the "You are so lucky to have a relationship with your Mom where you can tell each other what you really think," variety.

My Mom thought Julie's quilt, "See Rock City," was a knockout, and deserved "Best in Show."

This is true, and thank you all for reminding me how special our relationship really is.

But that isn't what struck me. What really struck me was the concept that many artists simply don't have anybody to give them a good critique. What's a good critique?  A good critique recognizes craftsmanship (or good drawing), design (or structure), execution (or technique.) The rules apply to these no matter what the medium. A good critique will tell you if what you've created is what you think you're looking at. Let me explain. Sometimes you work so hard on something you can't see it. You can't see what's wrong, you're too close. You need to step back, or take a walk and look again with a fresh eye. A good crit comes from somebody else, who brings the fresh eye. Somebody who isn't tainted by being in love with the idea.

The most important thing is the crit is about the WORK, and not the PERSON. My Mom can paint, and draw. She's been making a living as a working artist for over 40 years. She knows what she's doing, and she can tell right away.

We also know the difference between what we like (subjective) and what we're looking at (objective.)  I am not interested in making traditional quilts (subjective), but I can tell a really good one from a mediocre one (objective.)

The subjective is what the "Meh" came from on Saturday. My Mom simply loves color, and a mostly grey chicken quilt just doesn't float her boat. (Meh!)

But "Meh" can also mean, "It's not as good as it could be." or, "It's just so-so."  It could be a good idea and poor execution, or some variation of "good start, lost energy, direction..." whatever.

My Mom thinks this could be an award-winning quilt and deserves to hang in a museum.

 Regular readers know I'm always after the emotional response. I want you to look at my quilts and say "WOW."  The Black Box does that. If you followed along my journey of making that quilt, you know there were times when it just didn't have that punch, and I set it aside for a while to regroup.

"Meh" isn't necessarily a BAD thing. "Meh" can simply mean, "I've seen it a million times before, it's pretty, but it's boring." If you like making pretty and same-old-same-old, that's OK. It's not for me. Which is not to say making lovely quilts is a bad thing. There are a lot of truly beautiful quilts out there. Hell, I make pretty quilts too, in between the "Arty" ones. They are different, and they have different audiences.

When my Mom looks at one of my "pretty" quilts (Sunshine, Exquisite, Rainbow Baby) and says "It's nice," in a rather bored tone, I know what she means, and I'm not offended. (For the record, my Mom loves the Red Sticks quilt, and the Sunburst Rainbow.)


The "Meh" can also be a swift kick in the ass. It's a "Look, it's okay, but you can do better than that." It's a call to action. It's a "What happened, did you lose your nerve?" or a "Is that it? You're stopping there?"

Want proof? When my Mom saw the Barns quilt when Julie first put the blocks together, do you know what she said?

"Meh."





Yup. I had had my own reservations, so I called Julie and told her. Julie had been having second thoughts on her own, so she took the quilt apart, removing the dark blue border around each barn, and then went into her studio and made it better. The result is the photo at the top of this post.

We learn best not by the things we do RIGHT, but from the things we do WRONG and if we're paying attention... by the things that elicit the "Meh."

I love my Mom.