One of my traditions at the end of every year is to make a photo collage of what I've sewn and quilted over the past twelve months. This collage was 2019, probably my most productive year to date as a textile artist. I do make a lot of bags and other, non-traditional quilted items (like my own set of oven gloves) and I'm slowly gravitating toward making more small art pieces these days. But it's fun to look back and see what I accomplished in the past, too.
This is a story that starts out very sadly, so if you're depressed by the holidays you might want to skip the first part. As far back as I can remember I've dreaded the holidays. Being poor, having constant family troubles and belonging to a strict religion made that time of year always pretty unhappy. I just hunkered down and hoped to get through without being yelled at or punished because I didn't do something I was expected to do, like sit in church for hours without moving or making a sound while a priest spoke mass in Latin. Gifts were uniformly disappointing, too. My mother usually gave me dolls or socks or underwear for Christmas. I understand now as an adult that she was doing the best she could, and trying to save money at the same time, but as a kid I'd been told good children got what they wanted for Christmas. I was a pretty good kid, but while my friends received new bikes and cool toys and lots of treats from Santa, I didn't. I thought San
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