In Stitches (Not Really)

When Monday saw me hiding behind a colleague’s large coif to avoid Shelby’s finest reporters instead of peacefully devouring a day-old sandwich while flipping through a well-worn Robin Maxwell novel in the darkened recess that is my office, I knew I had an hour coming to me.

I knew few better ways to spend it than at the Cleveland County Arts Council, viewing the Foothills Quilters Guild quilt show, “In Stitches,” Friday afternoon.



The hour was made even more perfect by spending it side-by-side with my dear friend, quilting guru, and this year’s ribbon stealer, Leah Day.


Leah is both brilliant and certifiably insane. She recently challenged herself to design a new quilting filler stitch every day for a year. A year. The blog she uses to chronicle her journey is attracting a lot of attention.

And as offers pour in for all-expenses-paid trips to teach workshops in Bermuda—in November!—I am reminded how jealous I am of Leah’s creative genius. And her cleaning lady. Yet, she is forgiving of my comparable idiocy, never bats an eye when I call her to troubleshoot a sewing machine ‘malfunction’ that is always user error, and generously flatters by giving me advanced copies of her myriad of quilting products.

She is a pioneer in her field not just because she is transforming the way quilters use their stitches but because she is young. So young in fact that at the North Carolina Symposium, where her stunning quilt, “The Duchess”, earned a first-place ribbon for machine quilting, she was told by an ignorant fellow quilter, “You must just be getting into quilting.”

Yes, Leah’s just getting into quilting like Ford is just getting into mass assembly.


Her show-stopping quilt (literally--it created quite a crowd at the entry), "Release Your Light," was inspired by a dream and speaks to the release of creativity.

As she is exceptionally humble and at times self-depricating, Leah will only casually reference the 300+ hours to handpaint this wholecloth masterpiece.

300. Hand paint. See, I told you. Leah is certifiably insane.

And there were times during the quilt's creation that Leah thought she was losing it as well. But, she still has both ears attached. Or at least she appears to. She is a remarkable handpiecer as well. Hmm.

The quilting, as always, is impeccable. The quilt a showcase of a myriad of intricate filler stitches. The back of the quilt just as breathtaking as the front.

Yet, Leah is just one of many exceptionally talented members of the Foothills Quilters Guild. And they all outdid themselves this year.

Later, I'll post some of my favorites from the show. But don't wait for me! The show continues this weekend and only happens every two years. Admission is only $3.00 at the door and a beautiful raffle quilt still awaits awarding.

Plus, I have it on good authority that Leah just might make another appearance today. Just look for the quiet, unassuming young woman who most pass by without knowing that a rising quilting star is in their midst...

Pretty Things

Mr. Starlet and I have a punk(in). She's tiny. She's beautiful. She drools. She often stinks. And she's infinitely curious.

When we had occasion to visit Uptown Shelby yesterday, I promised Punk an afternoon of art and local culture. Nevermind that to her a stationary ceiling fan is a piece of art worthy of lengthy admiration.

With Punk strapped securely in her stroller and along with her 50+ pounds of baby-caring "essentials", we made our way to the Cleveland County Arts Council.

And that's where our afternoon of admiring "pretty things" nearly came to a halt.

Despite the lack of signage, I found what I could only assume was the handicap ramp, yet it was littered with an uncollected newspaper, an old broom, and some planters that made it appear unnavigable (and it nearly was). I apologized to Punk and resigned to window shopping around the Courthouse Square.

Moments later, we found ourselves in front of Buffalo Creek Gallery. Inside, we made the acquaintance of one very talented local potter, Tricia Woodland.

Buffalo Creek Gallery is a cooperative art gallery, run by the same artists who display in it. It was merely good fortune that brought Punk and I into the gallery while it was under Tricia's care.

Normally when in art galleries, I try to appear unassuming. Achieve a level of invisibility. Avoid engaging in any conversations whatsoever. After all, I am still rueing the day when in another local gallery I confidently inquired about the price of a painting I admired and was told a figure that was easily three times my then checking account balance.

However, when you're loudly wrangling an overburdend stroller over the threshhold of a very quiet art gallery, you're bound to be noticed. And notice us Tricia did.

To my surprise, however, Tricia proved to be equally unassuming herself. It was only toward the end of our visit that she informed me that she was a potter. It was only when I asked about her work that she pointed out her display.

Brilliant blue vases and plates. Whimsical wide-mouthed frogs. A brown and white glazed dish with a ruffled edge. The best of nature captured in each piece.

We talked about her inspirations. She described a haven of a studio in Cherryville. When I asked if she envisions what each piece she makes might be used for, she said she doesn't--beauty and function is the eye of the beholder. If you want to hang a piece, she'll happily tell you what type of equipment you need to do so. If you plan to use a piece as a serving dish for shrimp, she'll grin in appreciation.

Just don't immediately declare of her wide-mouthed frogs, "That's what you put a sponge in!" This elicits from her a sigh and a grimace. Like me, Tricia has a personal vendetta against germs, especially bacteria-ridden sponges. No, her frogs are trained for much greater things. Perhaps as a candy dish. Or even better, a planter for a Venus Flytrap. (How appropriate!)

Tricia is an artist worth watching. Her art worth adorning any home.

Plus, she saved Punk's and my afternoon outing by calling over to the Arts Council to ensure that someone would be able to assist us if we tried accessing the building again. We did. There was.

And in that moment, I learned to not only appreciate art, but the artist behind it.