When You Can't See the End of a Quilt, Start at the Beginning

A few weeks ago I wrote that I never have trouble starting anything. That my WIP cupboard is testament to the fact that I start things regularly, with abandon. This week, I’m here to tell you that it isn’t always the case. That sometimes I also struggle to start. The quilt, the fabric bundle, the newsletter. Sometimes I feel like I can’t start unless I can see the whole road ahead of me. I don’t feel like breaking through the edge of the forest, all but the first few steps unknown. I want certainty. I want a map. I want to spread it out, study it, and know there’s nothing unexpected waiting to snag me.

I don’t know if it’s the state of the world, or just the state of my own mind, or the nature of the projects in front of me. Sometimes when I imagine a quilt or a piece of writing, the image of it complete lands in my lap, and I know exactly what to do. I know the colours, the shapes, the words, and all I have to do is cut and stitch and write. Other times, like today, like this week, this month, the end eludes me and all I can do is sit, type the next word and the next, and see what comes.

Last week I started this Plenty of Thyme Quilt. It’s an upsized version from the original, with 1” octagons rather than 3/4”. I really want to make it. It’s pretty, it’s simple, it’s got the tiniest bit of EPP and then it’s mostly applique. It seemed like the perfect project to have running easily alongside some big projects I have planned. But I just haven’t been able to cut any more pieces for it. It’s been staring at me like this for a week. I thought it was because I was unsettled on the palette. I want to make it from a fabric bundle I’ll have for sale soon. I wanted to be certain of all the fabric I included before making the flowers. And so, I spent the week cutting. I cut almost 40 bolts of fabric into fat 8ths!

When I got to the end of a bolt, I set the end scrap aside to play with. When I got to the end of all the bolts, I thought, ‘Right! Now I can start cutting!’

But I couldn’t. My favourite way to cut into a fabric bundle is to work out how many shapes I need from each print and dive in, cutting all the shapes and basting them before starting to make the quilt. But I still couldn’t see the end, and it’s so hard to start cutting when you can’t see the end.

My inspiration was Lucy’s quilt above. I loved the way she had multi-coloured backgrounds, rather than all plain. I loved the way the squares were part of the design, rather than the seams melding into one another and all you can see is the flowers. But the colours I’ve chosen for mine were different. Could I pull off the same idea but with richer colours? I just couldn’t see it.

I moved fabrics around, I paired them, I added woven stripes to balance the flowers. I still had no certainty. The finished quilt in my head was muddy and loud.

Suddenly it struck me that I couldn’t make this whole quilt in my head first like I like to do. I couldn’t cut it all out and get stitching. I had to make it by making it. I had to start. I had to take those first few steps into the forest, and see where it took me. I told myself to choose my favourite print, make a flower, and see what happened.

I chose this one below. Isn’t it lovely? I printed out a sheet of octagons on printer paper because my shapes are still on their way. Then, I cut out four squares of fabric, basted them, and stitched them into a flower. It confirmed the hopes I had for this quilt. It was so delightfully simple. Then I laid the flower over every piece of fabric in my bundle, wondering if it would find a background, and then finally came back to my cream Speckled that I’d cut at the beginning.

I put this bundle together as a collection of rich, delightful florals. There’s barely any low volumes or basics. Everything I laid this flower on made it feel crowded, overshadowed, uncomfortable. It was what I had suspected when I imagined the outcome in my head. I needed to let go of some of my design goals, some of the expectations on myself and this fabric. To be honest, the idea of making single print blocks delighted me, but I had written it off as too simple or boring. And Lucy’s quilt was so clever and interesting. Will I change the bundle? Or change the quilt? The only way I can know is to make another block, and then another, through the forest.

I wanted to remind you today, to remind me also, that it’s ok to start uncertain. To start at the beginning rather than at the end. To pull out your favourite fabric and make your first flower, your first star, your first hexagon, and just see where it takes you. Don’t start with your least favourite. I know it’s tempting. You want to be sure before you cut something beautiful. But cutting into something you don’t care about increases the chances of you staying stuck. Cut out something wonderful, baste it, stitch the pieces together, and then ask where it wants to go next. It might be different to other things you’ve seen, different to the rules you set for yourself, but it will be ok. Beautiful, even.

Often when I’m shrouded in uncertainty, I run to a quilt design that’s all set out for me. One where I can see the end from the beginning. One that can be my solace, my escape, my little corner of certainty. I don’t know why I’m not doing that now. I’m making my flowers one at a time, with no clue which fabric I’ll choose next, or how the story will end. Perhaps I needed some kind of tangible evidence of my ability to navigate my uncertain life. I will stitch my flowers and I will write my newsletters and I will run my business step by step by step.