CLUTTERBUCK GANJ

Or: QUILTING DURING COVID

I told my grandsons a couple weeks ago who were making their very first quilts: “You learn something from every quilt you make!”

Well, what I learned with my current quilt is how important light and dark values are. And also how important “the eye” is in accessing and processing a complicated pattern. I started this one because I had recently made another miniature quilt, one of Kathleen Tracy’s patterns from her book, The Schoolgirl Sampler. Even though her preferred colors are blue and red (like me!) she had used browns and golds and greens in her miniature and since I had those in my stash I decided to use similar colors.

I found the end result deeply rich and surprisingly satisfying. So when I was done with it, I decided to make a bed-size version with the same colors and using the same design elements.

This pandemic year has gotten me digging deep into my stash and being surprised with forgotten bits and pieces of patchwork that I’ve put away. I found a lot of Star blocks, several of which I put into another quilt I’ll blog about next.

Also, because I’ve recently become fascinated with Medallion quilts where the quilter starts with one central block — it might be as small and innocent as a simple Nine-Patch, or something as elaborate as a beautifully designed and constructed appliqué piece — I started mine with a Sawtooth Star and then used the blocks in Kathleen Tracy’s mini: Pinwheels and Hourglasses. Round and round the quilter goes until the quilt is the size needed. Or she runs out of fabric. Or she runs out of ideas! (See my previous post where I started with a Tree as the center.)

When I had gotten the quilt to about 40 inches square and spread out on my “design wall” (AKA the tile floor in my sewing room) I noticed that Kevin, who usually comments encouragingly about my WIPs (works in progress), had been uncharacteristically silent this time. When I plucked up courage to ask him what he thought, he replied, “Well, I didn’t want to say anything. But, since you asked: it looks chaotic.” Then added like a true artist, “There’s no place for the eye to rest.”

I had to agree. “I thought the same thing. It looks like Clutterbuck Ganj!”

Growing up in India where we did a lot of train travel, there was one particular station en route to somewhere in north India, I’ve forgotten where exactly, that my younger brother and I would always get a giggle out of. It was a tiny middle-of-nowhere station called Clutterbuck Ganj. (Ganj meaning village.) No doubt named after some Britisher from the Raj era. And always after that he and I would use the name of the whistle-stop station to privately signify something was hilariously crazy, chaotic or confusing.

So here was my quilt spread out on the floor, waiting for me to add the next round — a bunch of 10 inch Sawtooth stars. I had almost all 24 of them made. And now we agreed the quilt was giving us both anxiety! What to do?! Abandon the whole effort? Use the stars in another quilt? Stuff everything into a bin so that I wouldn’t have to look at or think about it for a few years? Ugh!

After much hand-writing and some sleepless nights, I came up with a solution: use a separation round of dark blue with intermittent blocks. I chose a Nine-Patch but then realized I’d have to figure out the math for a 5 inch Nine-Patch. Argh. Sometimes I make things harder for myself. But my idea worked — at least in my mind — to stop the action a bit; to give a pause. Just like the little station of Clutterbuck Ganj: a rest to the harried traveler and a weary eye.

At least it worked well enough for me to carry on with the quilt. I am putting on the last round now of dark Four Patch blocks which act like a final frame.

(Excuse my toes.) I do adore this quilt. Not just because it helped me use up almost all of the browns in my stash. Yea. This pandemic year I’ve been drawn to these dark complex colors and I think it must be because they have helped me feel grounded. Secure. Tied to the life-giving earth in a year that has seen way too much suffering, anxiety and death. And I’m so grateful for the distraction, the therapy and the bodily labor. Sometimes quilt-making even feels like prayer. And it feels good to go to bed at night with that sort of exhaustion.

So, two more sides to go with the Four Patches, trim the threads, and then it’s off to the quilter! I can’t wait to snuggle under it once it’s done. I think the embraces of this particular quilt will feel especially rich and profound.

I’m just so happy I didn’t abandon it to languish for years in the darkness of a drawer.