
When people ask me what I do, I tell them I teach machine embroidery for quilters. What I mean is that I teach them to draw upside down with a sewing machine.
The classes I teach have a syllabus, but there is always another curriculum beneath that. While I’m teaching people to drop their feed dogs, draw with their sewing machine, and clean out the dust bunnies inside, something else is happening.
After years of teaching, my students tell me the same thing over and over. First they tell me they’re not an artist. I tell them they are. Art is not a special gift for one person or another. It’s a part of our humanity. The whole range of human ability sits within our genetics. It’s not a matter of whether we are artists. It’s a matter of whether we choose at this moment to focus on art. Sometimes our lives focus on art, and sometimes our art becomes living our lives. But the raw material is always there.
Once I’ve got them through that spot, they spend a day working on things that I suspect sometimes frighten them. But at the end of class they often say, “I don’t do what you do, but I feel free/fearless/able to do what I need to do for my own work”. That feels right. What am I teaching? Fabric skills are easy. Most people get what I do with a sewing machine within a day or two of class. But the heart of art is harder to examine. I’m teaching machine embroidery, but I’m also teaching courage and confidence.
Courage is not a feeling. It’s not about how we feel about our world, our actions, our art, and ourselves. Instead, it’s how we act towards those things. Feelings are basically fluid. They come and go in waves. How we respond to, with, and in spite of those feelings is courage. It’s a series of responses that we can learn.
Confidence is also learned but in a different way. Again, it’s not a feeling. It is a history of successes we hold up as a shield against new dragons and quests we take up. Again, we learn confidence. Sometimes we unlearn doubt and relearn confidence. We restructure our world in such a way that we know.
So, what scares you? Which piece have you put off doing because you think you can’t?

Many years ago, I saw a fountain with a cat head in it. I was delighted. I imagined all kinds of birds fluttering around it, as their personal bird bath.
I tried this fountain quilt 15 years ago. I’m not good with buildings. They have straight lines. It’s quite hard for me.
But I’d seen a cat head fountain. I tried it with owls. Epic fail. It’s still in a bundle in the back of the studio.
I had two stumbling blocks: the fountain itself, and the streams of water.

Time brings us skills. The oil paint stick rubbing I’ve been working on makes pretty good stone.

I’ve also been working on waterfalls. The same shape works with fountain spray.
Is it done? No. I have one more hurdle. I already know it’s not going to lie perfectly flat. It’s sat in the corner unfinished for a year.
The need for things to be perfect is a lack of both courage and confidence. Nothing is perfect. Perhaps it’s more interesting that way. And it’s not like everyone doesn’t know that perfect happens somewhere else. Other people don’t get to demand perfection. Excellence, yes. Perfection? Not so much.
So I need to find my big girl panties. They may be in the same pile as the quilt.
What I really need is the courage and confidence for the next step.







































































