This is what I did this week. She’s a secretary bird.
I have to thank John Muir Laws book Law’s Guide to Drawing Birdsfor its descriptions and information about different kinds of feathers. I’ve been pleased with my pinions, tails and wing feathers for some while, although I wanted them to be less stripey.
I like these pinions. But even with overstitching, they look a bit stripey to me. I’ve been working at overcoming that look by more irregular uneven stitching on the feathers and overstitching.
Body feathers are different. They’re fluffy. They aren’t a part of the flight system. Instead, they are a body cover.
I went back to an old embroidery stitch pattern that gave me exactly what I needed, The long short stitch is made by moving your hands unevenly from side to side with your stitching. I made the scallops I would have made for breast feathers, but ragged and without outline so they blend into each other.
Long-short stitch
Fills in beautifully.
Doesn’t need an outline.
Doesn’t need to completely cover the fabric to be effective.
Is easy and forgiving.
Utilizes a simple zigzag stitch moved from side to side.
Progresses nicely. You can add multiple colors of stitchery to build shadow and form without adding a hard line.
The long short stitch in freemotion embroidery has nothing to do with a machine stitch set on your machine. It’s all in how you move your fabric through the needle.
The piece shades from dark underneath to brighter up the neck. But because there’s no internal outline, it looks like fluffy feathers. It’s a bit tougher because we’re shading to white. It needs to look white without actually being a white hot spotlight.
I’m planning this background and sun. Not sure what happens after that. Heavy grasses, I think.
One of the reasons I like working larger is that I get to play with the details. Smaller images sometimes only need a line of stitching to define things. Larger images allow me to play with color and texture. And the space to make the details count.
There are a couple of defining factors. Are the legs and feet segmented? A solid line of black stitching defines that.
These feet were stitched with progressive colors in garnet stitch, small circles intertwined together.
Does the stitching flow into itself? These have simpler feet and legs with segments.
Does it have patterned stitching? These were stitched in u-shaped scales.
Garnet stitch textures these feet with quieter tones.
Of course, the angle of the legs creates the movement of the bird.
And you can cheat by putting the feet in water.
Different textures, different treatments make the kind of details that define the piece.
I’ve always joked that it didn’t matter that I couldn’t do straight lines because I really didn’t want to. I tend to justify my limits a bit. I do know better.
I left behind piecing when I was a beginning quilter, because I was much more interested in quilting in creatures than following straight lines. I was also rotten at straight lines. We are defined not so much by what we take up as by what we discard.
So after years of beautiful curves and free motion ecstacies, I find myself if situations where I really do want to make a straight line. At least sometimes.
It all started with a ceiling tile. I have a ceiling tile that rubs out like prairie grass. I love it. It gives the movement of grass without a heavy shape. But the lines are basically straight.
I’ve stitched them with just my darning foot, to mixed results. I couldn’t follow the lines as well as I liked. They’re pretty, and I love the grass stems, but I wanted them to be less sloppy.
I was browsing through some videos where I found one of Leah Day using a ruler and a darning foot together. I’m quite a fan of hers. She has done a lot of good innovation with stippling and texture. She showed how to quilt with a darning foot and a ruler.
I know it’s a long-arm quilter thing, but I had never tried it. There was a special foot involved and some very pricey rulers, so I decided to try to do it on the cheap.
Berninas aren’t either really short or long shank machines. They’re a whole other system. But I do have an adapter for feet that works pretty well. I ended up ordering a short shank darning foot and a five inch omnigrid square.
The foot with the adapter was an epic fail. I could put the foot on the adapter, but it wouldn’t make a proper stitch without breaking needles.
I went through my old Bernina feet and found one that came with a really old machine. It was a darning foot with a raised lip. It worked. Clearly there’s a learning curve.
Would it have been easier to buy a new foot? I’m sure. But it was also pricey, Next time the ship comes in, I’ll buy one.
Will I do this more? There are times when a straight line is just what you need. Probably no way out.
So we have a win for old weird Bernina feet and ingenuity. I’m always pleased with new possibilities. It’s like someone slipped a new toy in my tool box. My reeds are everything I could ask for. They’re almost straight.
I wish I were someone who could take a design and execute it. I can try. It’s a case of man proposing, and God laughing. Instead, a series of decisions are to be made at each point. Each decision points to the next.
One of the most useful things I do in a class is to start a piece from scratch. It’s not like there is a direct list of what you do next. But there are some decisions to be made. It helps to have a plan.
Here is the list of things I need to decide for each piece.
Background-The hand dye creates the light and the atmosphere for the piece. It usually is the first choice. Does it have a sunspot? A pool? A field of flowers within it? It dictates almost everything, especially the lighting in a piece.
Major Images-These are the main focus. I draw them in Totally Stable, backwards. They iron on to the back of the piece and remain inside the piece as a pattern.
Atmospherics-Water, light, smoke clouds, and sometimes leaves and flowers are atmospherics. They are usually made of commercial sheers, handpainted lace, and dyed cheesecloth. They make a translucent presence in the piece.
Details/pathway-These are smaller embroideries, or stones, or leaves that can be used to create a visual pathway through the surface.
Texturizing the surface/stippling- after all that embroidery, the rest of the piece needs to be integrated. The stippling over the surface can pulls the piece together.
There are no right or wrong answers. There are simply decisions. Each defines the piece. What I choose not to do also shapes the definition. I’m OK with that. I’ve learned that each decision I reject can be featured in the next piece. Or the one after that. I’m not making one perfect piece of art. I’m creating a body of art that explores the limits and range of my techniques and my skills.
This piece, like most of them, started with a piece of fabric and the idea of herons. I dye a number of pieces of fabric as cenotes, wells of color. Some times the cenotes make a light source, but this piece made a wonderful pond.
The birds started as whistling herons. But at a certain point, they were indistinguishable from the Louisiana Blues. So I did them as blue herons. It’s important to finish the major embroideries first because they shrink. You don’t know how they’ll fit in until they’re embroidered and cut out.
The atmospherics for this piece are water and grass. The grass is an oil paint stick rubbing of a ceiling tile. The water is accentuated with c-shapes of hand painted and commercial lace. Then I put in rocks to anchor the pond and direct the eye.
I decided on damsel flies and grasshoppers, as pathway elements. They did not work the way I had hoped. The damsel flies fit in, but I’m not sure of the grasshoppers. I’ll have to finish them to be sure.
Finally, I wanted seedlings growing up through the water. I made big beautiful bold seedlings the size of God’s underpants. Again, not the best choice. I scaled that down and it was much more effective, although I might want bigger ones at the bottom.
This piece is pinned in position. I’ll be stitching soon. But most of the decisions are made, step by step, before it’s stitched down.
What do you do when your techniques are killing your machines?
This is about component embroidery. Lately, I’ve leaned more and more on component embroidery to create large astonishing embroidered images. I love the work it creates. I am completely reliant on my machines.
I have a love/hate relationship with most of my sewing machines. I really love them when they work. I’m in abject hell when they break down.
Since I’m a Bernina girl from way back, I’m used to tough well-built machines. Yesterday, my ancient 930 had a moment. I thought it was a screwdriver fix; It was not. We’re playing mix and match between the two 930s in the studio. Neither is quite ready for prime time. It has brought to mind how intensive my work is.
That was underlined by the 3 220s I managed to break last year, and my 770 which has spent 7 months out of the last year in need of several kind of repairs. And is once again in the shop.
These are lovely machines. They’re built tough, and I’m still having them break under me like I was shooting horses I’m riding on in a battle. I’m devastated. I know better than to have only one functional machine. Because always, inevitably, something will break.
When I talked with my mechanic she said “You do know you sew more than other people..” Which means I stitch very heavily to make my images. Meaning perhaps I’m asking more out of a machine than it’s built for.
Which leads to the question, do I need a different machine? Do I need a commercial machine?
I went through this several years ago when I bought my 770 Bernina. It’s fast. It’s got that nice long arm and some lovely features. It does not put up with mad-speed sewing. I love it. I’m afraid of it too. It threw its hook at me through the door on the bobbin mechanism. I wish I were kidding. And I don’t know what to do about a machine that’s off more than it’s on.
So here’s my 2025 Challenge.
Do I change my work because my machine won’t do it? Do I find another way? Do I look for other tools? Or do I back away from a stunning technique that lets me do things past my earlier abilities?
Which leads me to humming something like a Sheryl Crow song. “Are you tough enough to be my sewing machine?”
Being an artist is only peripherally about making art. It’s mostly about developing skills, ideas and visions. The art is a byproduct. It is a picture of where your art is at a particular moment. This is why I can always let go of a piece of art if it raises my abilities as an artist. Any artist’s first creation is the skills, techniques, and vision you make art from.
I’m looking. I need a zigzag machine that is commercial grade I can control the speed on. And I need to find some money to look with. I’m always willing to give up a piece of art to further what I can do as an artist.
Those of us who live an artist’s life live with constantly unbalanced finances. Don and I are on social security. I don’t discuss my difficulties hoping for a handout. But I have used my art to fund things I couldn’t buy any other way. I’ve offered work of mine at dead rock bottom prices, when the need arises. I’ve never asked for money itself. I’ve offered the work I have to make what I need happen. I’m doing that now.
These pieces represent work I couldn’t have done ten years ago. They’re made with component quilting elements, separately embroidered and incorporated into the quilt itself. It’s changed what I can do. I need a tough enough machine to do it.
If there’s something you are in love with, this is the time. And I’m open to offers. I am a motivated seller. If you wish to see more information on my body of work, it’s also on my Portfolio Page. The price on the portfolio does not reflect the sale price, but you can click through from the portfolio page to the Etsy shop.
Also, if you have knowledge about industrial or particularly tough zigzag machines, I’d love to talk with you. I need more options, and would appreciate your expertise. And if you have questions about a particular quilt, let me know.
Component quilting lets me streamline my quilting. I have two quilts I’m working on that will need some bugs. Why?
Both of these pieces are going to need some help building a pathway. Bugs are a great way to do that. They flitter across the surface and they create movement. But these need a significant number of bugs. It’s just easier to make a batch. I think ended up making 35 in all.
I did damsel flies, moths, and small white butterflies for the frog/turtle quilt.
For the bluebird quilt, I wanted larger white butterflies.
This batch of bugs was a color lesson for me. Normally I ignore gold and silver thread. When there’s purple and green metallic thread, why would I use gold or silver.
All of the bug bodies are from Madeira FS2/20 thread. The black core thread really looks like beading up close.
I tried the opalescent white as a butterfly wing. I was underwhelmed. I really don’t like the pink quality.
I needed the white that silver brings. I tried going over it with silver afterwards. It was not improved.
Opalescent white under silver does a nice bright white. For those birds, nothing else will do.
I wanted a softer quality for the moths and the swamp. So they were done from polyester threads.
For the damselle flies I needed a solid carapace and see-through wings. The iridescent thread did the wings nicely, even with the pink cast.
Different threads offer really big differences in the result. In this case, it keeps the bugs separate from each other and from the other elements in the quilt.
Size is a limit with component quilting. Things under an inch and a half are hard to keep crisp and have too heavy an outline when they’re applied. But for most elements, it allows me to choose where to put what. Choice is good.
I have been known every so often, to make an art joke. Not a play on artists’ names or a verbal exchange. Every so often, I take a fairly well known piece of art and place its content within the artmostphire where I live.
The new roseated spoonbill quilt is named Pinkie, after the Gainsborough Pinkie
Why? Partially because it amuses me. I see most people as animals, not in a negative way, but in the sense that we live as animals do in a flesh-and-blood world. I embroidered my pinkie as a roseated spoonbill in her wild coastal setting.
Does it change the value of my Pinkie, to know that about her? May be. It’s nice to know where things come from.
But like all good art, it changes how we think. My Pinkie is a lovely creature, looking formidable and wild and yet fragile where she is. The girl, Sarah Moulton (1783–1795), is just as formidable. Her ribbons were thrown to the wind, but I get the feeling she could make her commands known and obeyed. Basically, your standard teenager. For all that, her father deserted her and she ended up in school in England where she died of a cough when she was twelve.
My point is that neither beauty or poise keep us safe in this world. It’s an odd mix of good luck and strongminded will that keeps us going,
I know. It’s not funny. But in the tradition of court jesters everywhere, the point is to make us think differently. I’m short enough. I might as well apply for the job.
i need to start this post with a full disclosure. I am deeply dyslexic. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was teaching myself, but the b’s, p’s and t;’s periodically spin like tops for me. I’m not so hot on left and right either.
So when I wanted to add a reflected image into water on a quilt, it wasn’t an easy thing.
I start most quilts start with a good dyslexic exercise. I draw in pencil and trace a copy with a Sharpie. The drawing is ironed onto the back as a pattern and is backward. My thread colors top and bottom are the same, so I know where I’m going. This is charted water.
But a reflection isn’t exactly the same. I wanted to put a reflection of the birds in royal rails.The reflection in the water needs to be flipped vertically. But not horizontally. Add to the confusion that if you trace the shapes with Steam a Seam 2, the pieces will be cut flipped horizontally. I thought I could accommodate that by flipping it upside down. Nope. That did not work. I ended up with feet that pointed the wrong direction, Here’s the thing. By the time you take the drawing, trace out the pieces for the shadow in organza and put them on to Steam a Seam 2 to glue them, they’re backward again.
I never figured it out for this quilt. When I put in the water there wasn’t enough space for the reflection. It whipped me.
I can see it if I make a model. If I try to hold it in my head, my head explodes.
I finally made a little model. Both images are flipped horizontally. The bottom frog is flipped vertically.
I made several color layers from the drawing tracing out the frog, the turtle and the snail bits in separate color layers of red, dark green, and light green. I laid the turtle layer over the whole drawing, and placed the cut-out bits in. It was tedious, but it worked.
Now what is left is to place in water over and under the shadow image. And add waterlilies.
I feel like I have a new tool for my tool box! All kinds of reflections coming.
I got seduced by this mockingbird in a threat display. The feathers were amazing. But it was way off what I usually do. I work with water most of the time. I don’t think in desert.
So I did my research. Looked up cactuses. Found pictures of owls living in cactus burrows, which really intrigued me.
I made lizards, owls, and cactus. When I got those up, my mockingbird didn’t fit in. It was a whole different energy. I left out of the desert owls and at some point, it drifted to the floor.
These owls made sense. And out of all those lizards, only one was right.
After I’ve finished a pile of quilts, I find all kinds of bits left over. I start a quilt by making a number of pieces I think will fit into the piece. But they change a lot as I work them out in the embroidery. And sometimes a piece just doesn’t fit into what I had in mind.
This is a familiar moment. I have embroideries I keep for years, waiting for the right piece. An embroidery that size is an investment of at least a week of stitching. But if it’s not right, it’s not right. I’ve been known to completely redraw and redo something that just was wrong. Or use leftover roses and butterflies with the same abandon as I would leftover mushrooms. I think the bird landed under the chair. That’s where I found it 6 months later, along with a set of lizards I hadn’t used on the desert quilt
There was this amazing orange piece of hand dye. It fit right in
And if I had those lizards around, I think I would be annoyed as well.
There are several studio rules I try to keep for good mental hygiene.
Put it up where you can see it.
Wait until you know you’re right.
Hold on to work even if you don’t know its purpose.
Trust yourself that your instincts are correct.
Remember that nothing is wasted. Not time, because it’s learning time. Not materials, because it will turn into something someday.
Remember that energy is renewable. If your energy fails, it’s nap time.
Remember that it will all be alright in the end. If it’s not alright, it’s not the end.
It’s ready to back and bind now. I’m so glad I waited for this piece to be right.
