Sinsinawa
Spectrum
A Congregation News Magazine
Quilts Tell Their Stories
by Elizabeth Fiorite, OP
Sr. Elizabeth Fiority, OP
How many hands have contributed color and texture to the quilt that is your life? A current exhibit at a local museum features quilts made by the descendents of slaves who worked on a plantation in Gee’s Bend, AL. These quilts were made from scraps of clothing and found materials. They were necessary accoutrements used to ward off the winter chill in the drafty log cabins. The women living in this isolated, rural community created their own original patterns. Some of the patches include the actual threadbare and holey pieces in what may have been the knee or elbow part of the clothing.
What is evident in these quilts is not only the artistry employed in making such utilitarian objects but also the community effort that this entailed. The making of quilts was a way for the women to bond in a time when socialization was not regularly part of their daily schedule. The lives of these women speak to us through their handiwork. Since they had little time to gather after their work in the fields, we can imagine that they came together in rare moments of relative inactivity. We would like to think that they were able to talk “women talk” as their fingers plied the needles and fit the pieces together.
Only the visually impaired women who were touring the exhibit were allowed to carefully touch the quilts. As I fingered the worn fabric, I envisioned the women cutting and fitting the pieces together. I could see the child who had outgrown the flour sack shirt or dress, the young man with patched overalls, or the woman whose shawl also served as the baby blanket. What stories these quilts could tell us!
As I toured this exhibit, I reflected on how our lives, too, are like quilts. As many hands contribute to the making of the finished product, so many hands have helped to patch our unfinished quilts. The rough corduroy, repeated in each square, could be the difficult times, the losses, hurts, and disappointments. This dark, woolen swatch reminds me of my parents’ deaths, each in wintertime. This piece of serge could be from my brother’s suit. The worn, but durable, denim patches: Are they the times I was strong in spite of discouragement or failure? The soft cotton squares remind me of the new life that nieces and nephews brought. This muslin cloth is reminiscent of the white religious habit I wore long ago. Feel the silky pieces. These must be from brightly-colored dresses, for they speak to me of joyful times and celebrations with friends and family. The wise Sisters who mentored and nurtured me; the children I taught; the diligent instructors at Independent Living for Adult Blind; the scores of people who have guided and helped me in my disability; my Sister companions, past and present. Look! They are all here.
As I feel along the repeated patterns of my quilt, I know that much of it is completed, but not quite. I am filled with gratitude and love for all the hands that have fashioned such a beautiful quilt for me. The quilters of Gee’s Bend and I are separated by only a moment in time. My passion and grief and joy are one with theirs, and my quilt, beautiful but invisible, hangs proudly alongside theirs.
This article was reprinted with permission from the Independent Living for Adult Blind Summer 2009 newsletter, ILABGab.