Sweet Strings is complete! The un-embroidery and re-embroidery is complete. I decided instead of wandering out, in the bright and blistering cold, to stick with the picture I took last week, when there was no snow, even if it is a bit brighter than does the colors justice. I can not imagine I could do any better with the way the sun was reflecting today.
Because the colors of this quilt reminded me so much of candy colors, Smarties in particular and because it is a string quilt, I chose to name it Sweet Strings. It is the second, no make that third, (no picture of Hugo’s), string quilt I’ve made. My base blocks use a piece of printer paper cut square, so 8 1/2″. Once they have been quilted, then washed and crinkled, my blocks are 7 1/2″.
38″ x 46″
Machine pieced, Machine quilted.
Created for A Mother’s Hope.
I’d like to try a larger block, string quilt, next time. I bought yards of a white cotton that turned out to be too thin for quilts, not quite the bargain it seemed…. but I think it will be perfect for the foundation piecing of a string quilt. Plus I won’t have to peel it all away, like you do with paper, I’ll just leave it for a thin extra layer.
And as for my book finish this week….
Townie by Andre Dubus III won’t get out of my head. I really enjoyed it. I always think it is interesting to see where people come from and how they got to where they are going and the circumstances, along the way, that caused them to take the path they did. This one I picked up while browsing the library. I had no idea who this guy was, and why he wrote his memoir, but I liked the book description.
After their parents divorced in the 1970s, Andre Dubus III and his three siblings grew up with their exhausted working mother in a depressed Massachusetts mill town saturated with drugs and crime. To protect himself and those he loved from street violence, Andre learned to use his fists so well that he was even scared of himself. He was on a fast track to getting killed – or killing someone else. He signed on as a boxer.
Nearby, his father, an eminent author, taught on a college campus and took the kids out on Sundays. The clash of worlds couldn’t have been more stark – or more difficult for a son to communicate to a father. Only by becoming a writer himself could Andre begin to bridge the abyss and save himself. His memoir is a riveting, visceral, profound meditation on physical violence and the failures and triumphs of love.