The Motherlode of Fabrics

Keep your heart open to the good

On February 1st, I set up a booth, filled with my quilted clothes and patchwork hats, at a local art space during their monthly Bluegrass Jam. I’d set up in the same space once before, during a busy Christmas market, and not done well. Though people liked the work they simply weren’t buying.

But this time around was different.

Since I was the first vendor to arrive, my booth was front and center, making me the unofficial hostess—a role I immediately challenged myself to accept as a way of easing the social anxiety I’ve developed the past few years.

I was richly rewarded for my effort! As soon as the doors opened, a stream of old friends I’d not seen in years came flowing through in pairs and groups, surprised to see me and delighted for the opportunity to shop my wares.

City Space, Easthampton, Mass.

One couple, whose daughter started preschool with my son a million years ago, stayed extra long at my booth, while a small group accreted around them, chatting and laughing and creating a festive atmosphere.

The wife, M., a gorgeous Irish gal with a head of wild curls, smiling blue eyes, and deep dimples, immediately popped on a bucket hat made from an antique patchwork quilt top and handed me her credit card. “This one’s for me!” she laughed.

M’s hat

Her husband, A., mentioned that his mom was a lifelong quilter, but recently had to give it up.

“She’s 91,” he explained, “and her hands aren’t what they used to be.”

A., a photographer and all-around creative, is a personable fellow, outgoing and conversational, and he began asking me all about my work. I told him the quick version: I’d taught myself to sew in early 2020 and when we closed our restaurant in late 2021, I went full time with my Etsy shop, where I sell my own creations (mostly made from discarded old quilts and vintage fabrics) and a smattering of vintage goods.

We chatted a bit longer, pausing between sales, and then the entire group wandered down the hall into the performance space where the jam was just starting to heat up.

Business quieted down a bit and as I was straightening up the booth, a very pregnant woman pushing a toddler in a stroller came up to me.

“I saw your work on the ads for tonight’s show and wanted to make sure to come meet you,” she said.

She introduced herself and her business partner, then shared that they were the new owners of a long-running arts festival in my area and had come out specifically to see my work and invite me to apply for their fall show.

“When I saw your work,” she added, her fingers running admiringly along the rack of quilt coats, “I thought ‘how is she not selling at the festival?!’ It’s exactly what we’re looking for.”

I kind of stopped breathing right then. I’ve been attending this festival since its inception 30 years ago and never quite imagined I’d earn a spot amongst the hundreds of talented artists and craftspersons whose work is featured there.

She took my business card and vowed to email me soon, urging me to strongly consider applying for the show. After they departed, A. came back to my booth and I excitedly told him all about the invitation I’d just received.

“I guess things really do happen for a reason!” he said, a happy smile on his face. “I was thinking just a few minutes ago that I should have you come to my mom’s house and go through her quilting fabrics. We just moved her into assisted living and I’ve got to get everything out of the house by the end of the month. Maybe you can use Mom’s fabrics to make things for the festival!”

The next day, I received an email from the festival organizer, with a link to apply. I went online and submitted my application, then texted A. about his mom’s fabric stash, striving to keep the momentum going. We agreed to get together in a couple weeks, when he got things more organized.

Last week, A. reached out to see if I could come to the house over the weekend. I went there yesterday and A. gave me a tour of his mom’s work, vintage and antique quilt collection, and studio. It was quite moving, particularly because A. deeply reveres his mother, her artistry, and the archive of work she has amassed. Every room was in some way touched by her quilter’s hand: throw pillows adorned with applique quilt blocks; small quilts hung on the walls; books and books and books of how-to’s, quilt patterns, and historic fabrics. This was an Artist’s home and A. is having a hard time taking it apart. I felt like a fortunate witness indeed.

a pair of Mrs. G’s quilt tops

Though A. had directed me to bring along a few boxes, it quickly became apparent I would be taking his mother’s entire fabric stash, which she kept meticulously organized by color in a variety of bins. We filled the entire back end of my car as we caught up on all the big events of the past fifteen years since we’d last really hung out, and hugged goodbye. Then I drove the few miles home, unloaded everything onto the guest bed, and marveled. Friends, it’s the MOTHERLODE! I mean, it’s like a small fabric shop. I’ll be stitching with these fabrics for years!

Mrs G’s rainbow

box of reds

Mrs G. called these fabrics her “nubbins” (yay for nubby fabrics!)

You never know what’s going to happen when you take chances, when you do something that scares you. In this case, bucking my nerves (and that old devil imposter syndrome) and setting up a booth at the tiniest pop-up earned me time with my entire circle of old friends, several sales in a painfully slow season, a shot at my biggest in-person gig yet, a peek into the life of an extraordinarily prolific and talented fiber artist, and a huge stash of fabric at a moment when my budget is leaner than it’s been in my adult life.

I’ve been giving thanks to my lucky stars for all the unexpected opportunity—the wave of serendipity—that’s been coming my way recently, but today I’m also giving thanks to myself for taking chances, being brave, and having faith in ME.

Keep the faith, Friends. Keep your heart open to the good.

xo,

Trish