Monday, May 24, 2010

the wonder

Attending a Quilt Show is a heady, sensory overload. Such rich color and pattern and texture. And like finding oneself on the street of childhood's home, block names are murmured by the subconscious, Irish Chain, Road to Oklahoma, Flying Geese, remembered names of old friends. Colors never clash, like a paint box, each is needed. Sometimes it's the pattern of a quilt, or the complexity, or the quilting that draw me in. Sometimes it's the story pinned beside it that draws a sigh. On the Mother's Day weekend, the Langley Quilt Guild had their biannual show. At our guild meeting the month before, a woman had shyly asked if I would have a quilt in the show. She smiled as she spoke of her own work that would be on display. I had planned to remember her name and search out her quilts. No searching was needed. A hum rose from the back of the arena like a hundred bumble bees in a lilac tree. An amazing applique masterpiece was drawing people in and transfixing them. Maria's quilt. Such detail, such stitching. Even now, tiny birds and berries richly colored fill my mind's eye.
Working my way back up through the middle of the exhibit I stood with a pounding heart in front of another of Maria's quilts. My eyes were burning and I found I couldn't speak. Beauty and innocence gazed out of the eyes of a peasant girl in the center of the quilt. The journey through one life's youth were depicted in ovals surrounding her. Art has such a power, not just to amaze, but to touch, to inspire and to comfort. That in itself is a wonder, but the greater wonder is seeing a reflection of the great Creator in each other.

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