In process photo showing the piece partially quilted. Safety pins remain in the unquilted areas.

Once the quilt top is pieced, the next step is to create another same-size layer of fabric for the backing, either from a single piece of fabric (ideal, in my mind) or stitched together from multiple pieces if needed (as in this case). Then batting is chosen to go in between these two. I like to use wool batting because it’s very easy to handle and has the right amount of loft (puffiness) for the texture effects I want. I bought a 25-yard roll of Hobbs Heirloom wool batting a couple of years ago, which was great because it lasted quite a while, but it’s getting down near the end after this particular project.

The three layers must then be basted together. The traditional method is to use needle & thread, creating a network of very long stitches, while more modern methods involve special tacking guns or adhesive sprays. The goal is just to hold the layers together temporarily so they don’t shift during the stitching. My preferred method is to use safety pins, an admittedly low-tech solution, but I find it quick and easy, and I don’t have to wonder about any chemical side effects. I used to do my basting on the floor, but now I do it on my 4×8-foot studio table – it’s a lot easier on the back. If the piece is larger than the table, I just start at one end, baste that area, then shift the whole thing over and continue. For this 90×90 piece, squaring up the layers was a bit of an issue, so I started with the middle section first so I could have an equal amount hanging over both edges of the table and I could see that the layers were lined up properly.

After basting, I can get down to the business of one of my favorite parts of the process: the quilting. This large beast was by far the biggest challenge I’ve had as far as quilting. I had originally thought about creating it in sections, but I decided I didn’t want any interruptions in the continuation of the quilting lines, so I had to just struggle with it at full size. Because of my machine & table setup, I was able to do it by rolling & re-rolling periodically to get to all the areas as needed, but it was a strain on the shoulders to wrestle with it so much.

My quilting process is called free-motion stitching. This just means that the fabric is guided entirely by one’s hands, and not by the normal forward motion of the machine. There is disagreement on whether feed dogs need to be disengaged or otherwise rendered inoperable – on my Bernina, I keep them up, and on the Juki, they’ve just been removed entirely – so I can say from experience that either works. The key is to have a darning foot which doesn’t press down on the fabric the way a standard sewing foot does. There are also some gadgets you can buy to help with guiding the quilt as you stitch, like gloves with grippy dots or foam-backed “steering wheels” or blocks, but I’ve found just using my hands alone to be the easiest.

If you’re looking for beauty in the quilting, you definitely won’t find it in my work. I’m using stitching to add texture to a piece, and I’m aiming for a more rough aesthetic. While I’m working, I’m thinking always about the transformative effects of time and weather and how to express that in my art.

Immediately after stitching, the piece is quite misshapen – a mass of hills and valleys, stretched out of shape in many places.

To remedy this problem, the quilt must be “blocked.” My blocking method involves first getting the piece wet – a rinse and a good spin in the washing machine. Then, while still damp, I pin it to my design wall (described in the last post). I stick in a few pins near the top just to hold it up, then I start in the middle and flatten it out by smoothing and stretching, adding pins as I go, trying to maintain the straightness of the sections as much as I can. When fully stretched and pinned, I cover it with a wash of very thinned white paint and let that dry.

Once dry, I take it off the wall and trim off the ragged edges to square it off and make it the size of the finished piece plus a small amount extra that will be turned back when I add my binding. For anything larger than my studio table, I do this in my dining room downstairs. First, the floor is scrupulously cleaned. Then I bring down the cutting mat which normally lives on the studio table, and I square up one edge of it to one of the very convenient planks of my wood floor, which help me to keep things straight without extra measuring.

I have a 6-foot metal ruler (from the hardware store) that I line up on top of the quilt and use as a cutting edge for this process.

The next step is to put on the binding. I do “faced” bindings, which means I turn the entire binding around to the back, rather than leave some of it showing from the front, as some quilters do. I use a 1.5-inch strip of fabric, folded in half lengthwise, and stitched to the front of the quilt, 1/4-inch from the edge, with the raw edges together. I use the Bernina machine with a walking foot for this step. The thin wash of paint added during the blocking gives a bit of body and stability to the fabric and helps to keep it from stretching out of shape again while the binding is stitched on.

Then I turn the entire binding to the back at the seam line, and stitch the folded edge to the back of the quilt by hand. There are probably easier ways to do it, but this is how I’ve done it for years now, and I don’t think I could be talked into changing it at this point. It’s secure, and it looks good from front and back, and that’s what I care about.

Next: I finally get to start painting!

After choosing fabric, the next step is to sew the individual pieces together into a single large piece called the “quilt top” (for any non-quilters who might be reading this). This process is greatly facilitated by having what is known as a “design wall” in one’s studio. In my case, I have one entire wall of my studio which is given over to said design wall. The studio wall was first covered in 8×4-foot sheets of Celotex, an insulation material which is light yet sturdy, and is easy to stick pins into. The insulation boards were then covered with gray felt. I had originally wanted white, but the fabric store didn’t have a sufficiently large amount of white. Not wanting to wait, I bought gray instead, and it ended up being a great choice – it’s less harsh and has a calming, soothing effect in the room. (In fact, I liked it so much, I’ve since painted several walls in my house a  nice cool gray). The felt was adhered to the boards with premixed wallpaper paste, a surprisingly easy process.

My design wall is 8 feet high, which was the outside limit of the size of piece I could make without radically altering my life. Practically, though, I needed some maneuvering room at top and bottom, so it ended up with 7.5 feet as the target size. I started with the smaller pieces, positioning them roughly about two thirds of the way up from the bottom, the area where I wanted the greatest amount of visual interest. The surface texture of the felt grabs on to cotton fabrics and lets you keep smaller sized pieces in place without using pins. (After putting lots of pieces together, though, it will eventually become too heavy to stick by itself and will require pins.) My main goal at this point was to fit the pieces together in the most efficient manner with a minimal amount of trim waste – rather like putting together a puzzle.

I use an industrial Juki to do all my quilting, but because of modifications made to my machine, it doesn’t work for the piecing process. For one thing, it only does a straight stitch, and I use a narrow zigzag to stitch my top fabrics together. Second, the Juki’s feed dogs have been removed. So I’ve kept my Bernina for piecing and some other purposes.

Working on a large piece like this was challenging, but on the upside, I got a lot more exercise than usual because it required a lot of up-and-down on a stepping stool to get to the upper reaches.

The piecing process was completed over the course of a couple of days. Here’s a little stop-action movie I made of this process.