It was probably just as well that no photographs were allowed at the quilt show at the Seibu department store in Ikebukuro. My camera broke, and while I wait for its replacement, I soaked in the beauty of the quilts. It is a 6th annual show, a kind of invitational of top quilters.
Of course my favorite section was the display of antique quilts. There were many great examples of early-to-mid-19th-century quilts that sometimes I cannot believe I get to see up close.
But one quilt spoke to me, almost literally. It was an applique quilt in solid green, red, and orange on a white background. The border had the most interesting motifs that looked like forks (for real). There were vases and flowers, and then, in one of the sashing sections, there was a name, carefully embroidered in flowing cursive chain stitch.
It was large. Sarah A. Gregory, May 1862. Right in the middle of her quilt. Sarah was not shy.
Then, just above one of her folk-art-y applique vases, was a little oval-shaped applique of what looked to be an inked stencil of her name, again, surrounded by a tiny blue border. Sarah A. Gregory. She did not need to sign her name once. She needed to sign it twice. This could be love.
This one quilt, which many people looked at briefly and then walked on by, made me pause and think again about what makes a quilt extraordinary to me. It does not have to necessarily elevate the art of quilting, it does not have to break new ground, although it is always nice to be surprised. And certainly there are more surprises in antique quilts than I will ever be able to see and appreciate in my lifetime.
But my biggest wish, and that one thing that pushes a quilt from good to great? It is the answer to the question, “Would I want to meet this quilter?” Truly, meet the person, talk to her (or him), go for a walk, or find out what she was going to make for dinner in 1862?
To Sarah A. Gregory (who signed her name twice): Yes, and yes.