Sometimes I forget to be happy.
From a young age, I loved handmade quilts. I wanted to learn to sew and quilt. I took classes in my twenties and quilted for over 30 years, making and giving away many quilts. Along the way, I dabbled in applique and machine quilting and even tried my hand at a few art quilts. But my happy place was always the sweet spot where form and function meet up. The quilts I loved to make were simple and functional with an emphasis on quality every step of the way. I stopped quilting when it became too hard on my body. Too much sitting. Eye and neck strain. I don’t miss it at all. But I still live with those handmade quilts, as soft as butter, warm yet light, textured by stitches 10 to an inch.
I see parallels between my quilting and my photography. I’m still physically able to carry the camera and move about to take pictures (though I require a lot of maintenance!) When I began taking pictures, I aspired to reach the stage where I could see the beauty in my every day, ordinary life. I never wanted to create something original, only to appreciate what I already had. I didn’t need to learn any fancy techniques or buy the latest gear. I only had to dig in and do the work. And here I am again, at the sweet spot where form and function meet. The arrangement of things in the frame, making order out of chaos, pleasing to me.
It washes over me . . . that happy feeling . . . of being exactly right.