Christmas In October!

As a sequel to last week’s post about thread, I got an early Christmas present: a thread cabinet to put it all in! I’ve outgrown my plastic shoe box method of storage, and was looking for a bona fide spool cabinet. I saw an antique J.P. Coats one online for over a thousand dollars and figured “that ain’t gonna happen.” My favorite antique store to the rescue! Those ladies must love to see the QL Mobile pull up, because I always walk out of there with something.


Here’s my something: an Art Deco dresser from the 1930s with original Bakelite drawer pull inserts, made with real wood and dovetail joints. It’s so beautiful. I know it’s not a thread cabinet, but it will do the job. Plus, there’s extra room for fabric!

Art Deco was a popular international art design movement from 1925 until the 1940s. It was an opulent style, and its lavishness is attributed to reaction to the forced austerity imposed by World War I. The structure of Art Deco is based on mathematical geometric shapes, and was widely considered to be an eclectic form of elegant and stylish modernism. Eventually though, the style was cut short by the austerities of World War II. The dresser has “Denmark Manufacturing Company” stamped on the back, but I couldn’t find any information about the company. If anyone knows anything about this particular dresser and/or the Denmark Manufacturing Company, I would love to know more.

Time to move the thread into their new home!

1907 Redwork Signature Quilt, Part II

I had an opportunity to turn a 101 year old redwork signature coverlet into a quilt. It was time to quit hyperventilating and get to work. The coverlet had been in storage for many years, which explained its excellent condition, but after a century of service, everything needs a little work. The main problem was that the red herringbone stitches that decoratively tied the squares together were coming undone.



But first a little history (no, no, don’t skip, it’s not long or boring). Each contributor embroidered a muslin square with a picture (usually domestically oriented), the date, her name, and the town where she resided. This is why it’s called a signature coverlet. The thread color most often used was called Turkey Red, which is where the term “redwork” draws its name. Redwork was very popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. See? Was that so bad?


Each square was sewn together, then a red herringbone stitch was sewn over the seams to tie it all together. Later, a ruffle was added to turn the coverlet into a bedspread. This coverlet’s third incarnation would be as a quilted wall hanging. My mantra was “don’t screw up, don’t screw up...”

The first order of business was to repair the seams. After further inspection, it wasn’t so much that the thread had come out of the needle holes, but that the fabric was pulling apart from the thread. There just wasn’t any fabric left at some of the seams to sew them back together. Yikes! Fusible webbing to the rescue! I sewed where I could sew, zig-zagged stitched where I had to (all by hand), then applied fusible webbing to the back of all the seams to make the whole quilt top stronger for quilting and hanging. Next I had to fix some herringbone stitches and completely redo others. It was so cool to find the needle holes in order to duplicate the stitches. It was like following a trail of bread crumbs left by another woman a century ago. Cooler still to know that I was the first person in a hundred years to sew on that fabric. I was really being a big spaz now, but only the dog was around to see.

Here are some of my favorite squares: (1) This is my favorite, because the sentiment is so punny: “I wish you joy from the bottom of my soul” AR AR

(2) This is my second fave. The temperance movement of the 19th and early 20th centuries was an organized effort to encourage moderation in the consumption of liquor or press for complete abstinence. A temperance drink was one that did not have alcohol. A political statement to be sure, but it seems Mrs. Hull thought very little of temperance drinks, comparing them to a donkey drinking from a water trough.



(3) This is a bow wrapped around the violin before the embroidery was repaired. The blue pattern line is still visible after 101 years.


(4) This was a popular redwork pattern at the end of the 19th century. In various pattern catalogs, it was mistakenly labeled a moose. The needlewoman, Mrs. E. Bessey, correctly named the animal on her square (you can tell it's a reindeer because of the antlers). The repair in the upper left corner was done hastily, and consumes all of the herringbone stitch.
 
(5) Here's Mr. Reindeer after the bad repair was removed.
 
(6) Here he is after the seam was resewn, and a new herringbone stitch was applied. It was so cool to figure out how the decorative stitches were sewn in order to duplicate them. Even more amazing to know that I was the first person in a hundred years to sew on that fabric.



(7) After all the squares were repaired, it was time to quilt and bind. Piece o’ cake after all the other drama. Here’s what it looked like (a close up anyway) after I was finished.


(8 & 9) The finished product, ready for another 101 years.  The last picture is of the back with the hanging sleeve attached.  The client was extremely happy with her new quilt/wall hanging, which was good, because I think I would have busted down bawling if she hadn’t liked it.
 
If you would like to see all the squares, and the history behind them, please go to my Flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/quilted_lovelies/.

1907 Redwork Signature Quilt, Part I

One of the things I’m ga-ga for is antique textiles. I love old quilts, hankies, napkins, fabric, you name it. I wish they could talk to me and tell me their story. Last year my wish was granted (sorry, no talking fabric). I received a call from a nice lady asking me to turn her bedspread into a wall hanging. “It’s been in the family for years, and I want it out where everyone can see it.” Sure, says I, and since she was local, I went to her house to see the bedspread. I was thunderstruck when she brought out a perfect example of early 20th century redwork. I was awestruck by how well preserved it was, and it was a signature quilt to boot! My mouth fell open and I couldn’t speak. I heard angels singing. Then I heard my little voice tell me, “Shut your mouth and straighten up! Be a professional for crying out loud!”

The bedspread, without the ruffle, measures 62” x 80”, and has 10 rows of 8 blocks each. The client told me it was a wedding gift to a great-great aunt, and had started life as a coverlet. The ruffle was added some time later, but she didn't know when. I had been commissioned to repair split seams and embroidery, and turn it into a quilted wall hanging so it could be displayed. What a career highlight! Then after my head quit buzzing, I realized everything had to go off without a hitch. ACK! ACK! Where’s my paper bag to breathe into? Why did I say yes?!