Well I’m pissed. I get to the airport and I find out my flight is delayed for 6 hours. I check my Kindle, being the only electronic device I own, no I don’t have a cell phone or a smartphone – hate the things. So the Kindle seems to have dumped its battery. Cool. So what in God’s name will I do for 6 hours?
One thing I know for sure, I ain’t staying here. I hate airports. They all look the same, all over the world. Unless you’re in Detroit in which city they look ridiculously nasty. You can see basketball stars riding around with their girlfriends on courtesy carts. I’m impressed. (said with sarcasm)
So thankfully I am not in Detroit. I am in Boston trying to get home to Bangor, Maine. I decide to take a cab downtown. I’m going to walk around and see the sights, maybe shop. First stop, The Museum of Fine Arts. I get out, pay the cabby a ridiculous amount of money and start walking.
The museum is beautiful, they know how to do things in Boston.
What do I see but this on my way in the door:
This is my kind of thing. Look at the colors in that quilt. It looks African-American to me, but it could be Amish or Mennonite. Whatever it is, it’s the most striking Double Wedding Ring quilt I’ve ever seen. The energy used to make it comes right out of the cloth.
I walk into the exhibit. I don’t mind paying to see it. I “knew” Pilgrim and Roy back in the day, when I was selling (and buying buying buying) antique quilts.
I see this one and it makes me shudder with desire to make one of my own:
I’m a sucker for pink, red and green with yellow thrown in. I made one of these quilts – not in these colors but still totally beautiful. There are 45 pieces to each star and they’d better be pieced with precision or the quilt won’t lay flat. Here’s mine:
I started my quilt when my mother was dying. It took me from 1996 to 2005 to finish it. I was going to be featured in Patchwork Quilt Tsushin, a Japanese quilting magazine in the December, 2006 issue. I finished the damn quilt, fast.
I walk around some more. I see another quilt that makes me laugh. It’s a Carpenter’s Wheel Quilt, this one attributed to a Mrs. Miller:
Again, red, green and this time chrome orange. All solids and all beautifully executed. My dad was a carpenter. He would love this wheel.
And then I spy something down the way. I know this one is African-American. I collected African-American quilts and would still have them all if I hadn’t had to sell the quilts for cash. I miss so many of them. I still have a couple, though not as many as I’d like.
This is beautiful. You can tell that it’s pieced by eye, although a template might have been used. It’s more free thinking, free form, gorgeous:
Not a doubt in my mind – this is my favorite ………. when I get home, I’m going to try it myself. I must have it.
Time marches. I grab a coffee and run outside the museum to get a cab. I get back to Logan Airport and I have only 15 minutes to wait until we board the plane.
I think I spent my time wisely. The other passengers look numbed by boredom. I’m not. I have quilt memories to take home with me.