The art of quilting takes on a variety of roles in our lives. Experienced quilters know there is a deeper undercurrent to this craft than décor, color, or design. As generations of women have discovered, quilting has the power to heal! Sometimes it can be the mortar which holds the bricks of life together during a rough or difficult time.
And so Suilven (sool-ven), Gaelic for grey pillar, came into being. Part of the Inverpolly Natural Nature Reserve in Scotland, it was my dearest friend for many months. And years later, remains the most beloved of all my quilts. Here is its story…
We had one last summer together, Dad and I. He was failing. A trip back to Ardrossan was no longer possible and left him feeling homesick. We spent hours talking, reminiscing; sharing memories of the past, dreams fulfilled, and some undone. Hopes and plans for the future… of Marybeth and me.
Browsing through various books of Scottish photographs, one picture in particular caught our attention. Dad spoke of the joys this evoked; camping, hiking and fishing. I spoke of the symmetry; what a great quilt it could make. Together we drew a rough sketch – just for the fun of it!
Later I would expand on this. Adapting the landscape features to better fit a fabric rendition. Studying the photograph of Suilven, and its surrounding landscape would give a better feel for the quilt. Allowing me to put emotion into the piece, using the technique of fractures to give it a sense depth and motion. Focusing on the two grey stone peaks in the background, and how to balance them with the stream in the foreground. There was a good play of colour; a pleasing variety of shades and hues.
Monday morning, I called in hospice. They said it wouldn’t be long. You were more than ready. Your 61st wedding anniversary was nearing and you were eager to be with mom.
Wednesday night we sat on your bed watching home movies. Laughing and sharing the good times past. The tears in your eyes, matched the lump in my throat. I returned home, Marybeth had come down sick. You remained at the cabin, watching the sun set across the lake each evening. Mom was waiting there, you explained.
Friday was a long hot day. The weather sultry and still… nothing moved in that stultifying heat. I was looking out the window and ‘talking’ to you in my head. A sudden breeze came up, stirring the air and ruffling the petals on the Rose of Sharon by my side. Then the phone rang.
When the call came to say Dad had passed, my heart broke into pieces. Everything I needed to know about life was not learned in kindergarten, but rather at my father’s knee. Yet now, he was gone, and the mortar holding the bricks of life together had cracked. How do you heal from such a blow? When Dad died, the idea of Suilven was born. And so, the journey towards healing began, one single fracture at a time. A fitting and interesting metaphor here.
So many phone calls and arrangements to finalize. The grief set aside, because life demands you take the next step forward, regardless how difficult or great the pain. The family had to be comforted and reassured. I needed to be comforted and reassured! And you were no longer there to do that… to show me the way. That’s when reality sunk in, just how much on my own I truly was. You would no longer pick up the phone and share the day with me. And yet, I wonder… though I can no longer reach out to you, or hear your voice like before… can you hear me? Do you know I still call your name? Sometimes, I try to be very quiet and listen… just in case you answer.
Suilven, or Sula Bheinn, in Scots Gaelic… the name itself seems to shimmer and take form out of the mists of millennia past. Vikings sailing around from the northwest coast of Scotland named it. For the formidable-looking rock structure towers above the surrounding landscape, a veritable Grey Pillar of stone. 2,389 feet high, Suilven floats upon a landscape of bog, moorland and lochans. An island of mountain standing guard; watching over a now peaceful Scottish countryside.
I once asked if you knew Suilven. You answered, yes. It was familiar to you, as many places in Scotland were. And you went on to describe its beauty in great detail. Now… I will walk there with you for a little while.
Usually, I sail right through the piecing and making of a quilt. Soaring in exhilaration, as the colours and shape take form beneath my hands. As the vision in my head becomes a reality which others can actually see. It gives such a rush of delight. And there is no other feeling quite like that.
But now, under the circumstances: each snip of the scissors, each stitch taken… reminded me of the emptiness inside. Death leaves a hole in the fabric of our lives. The ragged edges and ripped threads just hanging there, dangling… mere remnants of a once whole piece of cloth. The realization of loss sank ever deeper into the stunned consciousness of everyday thought. And I didn’t want to go there. For me, the only way to heal was to piece Suilven, and stitch the fractures of my own life back together again.
Two copies of the original sketch were made; one as a template, the second as a master sheet for placement. A fractured landscape quilt resembles nothing so much as a large jigsaw puzzle comprised of fabric. Fracture lines were decided on, and drawn in. Each individual piece was assigned a ‘light value’, whereby all shades of material in that particular section consisted of either, light, medium, or dark fabrics.
Because the eye is naturally drawn to light, a feature you want to emphasize would have all lighter shades of the colors needed. Surrounding fractures might be of medium or darker shades for contrast. The differing landscape features cross right over the fracture lines to make one complete shape. They will then be further emphasized by the top-stitching later in the process.
One fracture at a time was sewn via these templates. The fabric pieces were formed and stitched together with clear monofilament thread. Each completed fracture was then pinned to the master sheet until the entire sketch was covered over. The next step was to stitch these individual sections into one large landscape.
And so, I made Suilven. As a reminder that a part of you continues to remain here with me. That I am perhaps not as alone, or lost as I feel sometimes. And this seemed important. Being a visual person; I needed to see for myself, rather than simply feel or sense. It’s why Suilven came into being… to reassure me, of you. Beginning with the silly, little sketch we made during that last golden summer together.
Five fractures depicted the sky area, each of which had only one solid piece of fabric. This was a good place to start because it was simple, and overall Suilven would be a challenge! Every quilt has its own character and personality. The more I can discover about the mood and temperament of Suilven, the closer to the heart of the piece I get. And the finished quilt will be all the truer, in reflection of the actual scene depicted.
Christmas is now past. We celebrated as usual, because I didn’t know how else to do it… and you would want that for Marybeth’s sake. An attempt to keep some sense of normalcy, in spite of the gaping void that seems to reside inside me these days. Time will eventually fill that hole with healing, I hope. But until then, there remains an undercurrent of emptiness flowing beneath the day-to-day of life.
The sky fractures were comprised of three very close shades of marbled blue fabrics. Once stitched together, they will look seamless (no pun here), flowing and swirling into each other, comprising the entire top section of the quilt. When completed they will ‘crown’ Suilven, like a benediction from above.
It’s Hogmanay… time to say Happy New Year! Hard to believe the year is beginning without you. Yet time calls, and we must respond in kind. Life moves on, and I have to continue following the path it takes.
The next fracture pieced was one of Suilven itself. The higher peak, known as Caisteal Liath or Grey Castle. 36 separate components of rock, stone, and slate, to cut and re-stitch back together in order form a single whole. A variety of grey fabrics ranging from light to dark were used here, with just a touch of green… like moss growing within the shadows of stone.
It seemed a fitting metaphor for how I had felt lately. The road was rocky, and difficult to negotiate at times. And I was slow to see or feel any progress on that climb towards the summit of healing
One foot in front of the other, and before I realize it, yet another day has passed. I wonder how, but am grateful the momentum of life carries me forward. Allowing the belief, even if just for a few minutes, that nothing happened and you are still there, sitting at your computer desk waiting for my nightly phone call. But then the moment passes, and memory returns. Reality sinks in like a punch in the gut. And I have to take a deep breath. Time passes… and I go with it, carried along like a reluctant vessel caught up in the fast-moving rapids of life.
And so, I continued the piecing of Suilven, with Meall Beag, or ‘Round Little Hill’. Like Caisteal Liath, the Grey Castle – Meall Beag is yet another part of the rock structure. This fracture was a bit easier, in that there were only 26 pieces to it. After all it is the ‘little hill’.
But I’ve wearied of all this rock with their stone-grey colors. The brighter shades of meadow and bracken call out to me. And I am eager to piece a softer landscape. To walk a smoother road through this valley of grief.
It’s almost as though, with each shade of fabric cut, shaped, and then arranged into its proper place, a piece of the grey grief which has encased my heart since Dad’s death falls away. Not disappeared as if by magic, but rather re-appearing beneath my hands as part of a rock, stone or hillock; transformed into something healing… Suilven. I felt a little lighter in spirit now. Whether because we were beyond the emotions brought on by the holidays just past, or maybe because the promise of spring was finally on the horizon. There was a sense of change in the air.
Tracing, measuring, cutting, etc… all during this time a song kept going thru my head. My mind seemed busy on two separate levels; one with the technical details of Suilven, and a second, deeper current where I found myself humming along with the work of my hands. It was a Scottish melody… “Come by the hills to the land where legends remain… where stories of old fill the heart, and may yet come again… Where the past has been lost, and the future is still to be won… and the cares of tomorrow can wait til this day is done.”
Looking back now, the words of that song seemed very appropriate for the aura surrounding the landscape which is Suilven. Perhaps that’s why it popped into my head. But it’s the last line of the song that catches my attention… “and the cares of tomorrow can wait til this day is done.”
Such a reassuring sentiment, and I wanted to grab hold of it. Not worry about what had to be faced tomorrow. It was enough to get thru the given day. Looking ahead felt overwhelming during this time. Looking at the sketch of Suilven felt the same way. The grief of loss still surrounded me. And I wondered… can a quilt come from this, or am I tilting at windmills again?
I like to think you are somewhere in the heavens above, watching over me… over us all. But am reluctant to leave you behind. You were always the pilot, steering our boat through rough and choppy waters; guiding the way forward. But now, sometimes it feels like I am rudderless, and without direction. Yet, am slowly learning how to navigate, and while it is still hard… it is also empowering. Taking charge and setting my own course. This tells me with time – maybe – it will all be well again. That the feelings of loss and grief will ebb. Someday.
Healing took place in the colors and patterns which made up Suilven, amidst a wide array of fabrics. Within the odd shapes, the twists and turns, which are part of any given design. Grief faded by degrees; as a vague idea made from a few scratchy lines on paper, came alive amongst simple scraps of material.
The seasons are passing…summer to fall, and now winter into spring…carrying me further and further away from you. Beyond from where we once shared a place in time together. No longer can I reach back and touch your presence. I wonder… will it eventually take me beyond the memory of your love? Will time mist over the remembrance of recall?
I know by concentrating on just one fracture at a time, sooner or later the whole quilt will come together without my feeling overwhelmed. And perhaps life is like that as well. One day at a time, and sooner or later, I will be whole again after the tearing loss of your passing from the tapestry that is my life. “And the cares of tomorrow can wait til this day is done,” like the song says.
It’s been fascinating to watch all these disjointed, lop-sided shapes and pieces come together. Up til now, the focus has been on the individual fractures, each with their own form and color scheme. Now, as the separate fractures are stitched together, I am drawn to the quilt in its entirety. Experiencing the pleasure of watching the original sketch come to life before my eyes. Fracturing the landscape has given the original drawing dimension. The quilt breathes, infused with depth and movement, in addition to the variety of colour.
We are now officially into Spring. It’s been a bit rough. Over the course of just a few days, we have seen my birthday, Marybeth’s birthday, Easter, and the 7th month anniversary of your passing. It has been a lot to deal with. Only 7 months? It seems like ages! That hot August afternoon, a world removed from the present. And yet really, not so long ago. The void in our lives… in my heart… seems to be as fresh as ever. At this stage of life, you’d think I would have attained a certain level of maturity, whereby the presence (or absence) of a parent would be a fairly routine or immaterial thing. Apparently not. So, I live and learn, sometimes the hard way.
Next step was to border the quilt; a frame to help tie it all together. The colour green was chosen because it fit best with the landscape. A Celtic knot design, using multi-coloured bias tape, was then appliqued into place. This was stitched with metallic thread to add a little shine. Further rounding out the design so it blends in well with the overall theme, and compliments it.
The quilt was sandwiched with batting and backing. Next came the top-stitching to help hold the three layers together, using a variety of coloured threads. This allowed for the various landscape features to be further delineated and defined. The outline stitching carries right across the separate fracture pieces. Helping the eye to better discern the entire shape of the landscape, in spite of being ‘fractured’. This part of the process is always both fun and relaxing. Allowing me to go wherever whimsy might call. There is no pattern to follow, so I just let imagination carry me where it will.
The perseverance, forged with such hard-won determination in my heart during the long days and nights of soul-searching since your death, seems to be paying off. I can say with a certainty unknown before, that grief’s winter-like grasp doesn’t last forever. Although there were days on end, when lost in an all-encompassing fog of loss, I didn’t think this feeling of lightness possible. Yet… life has shown otherwise… the hope of peace to come. And I am grateful.
Suilven was at last completed. It just needed a few finishing touches. Some hand-quilting here and there. A few rocks along the stream done in broderie pearse… stuffed with a little poly-fil for a 3-D effect. And then weaving together strands of differing yarns, prior to stitching them onto the stream, around the rocks. Thus, implying the look of running water.
This little addition to detail offers the impression of movement, as the ‘stream’ flows right off the landscape itself, across the border, and out of the quilt entirely! It gave the completed piece quite a different look – one of both dimension and motion.
Today it’s cool and rainy. I love to hear the rushing water pattering on the roof, running down the windows. How many times over the years were we camping, sitting inside the tent waiting out a storm… listening to the stories you told, the lessons you passed on. Those were good times, and now they are a blessing to look back upon. The memory warms my heart, helping to fill the void of loss; re-weaving the broken threads of life back together again.
Over and above the cutting, ironing and sewing all these months, has been the accompanying splash of the raindrops, plus the whispering of falling snow… and the rustling of wind in the tree-tops.
Like a lullaby, these sounds from nature have calmed and soothed my soul; their ‘notes’ reassuring and offering ease.
And my breath whispered these familiar words, as the passing of time seemed to echo its haunting melody…
“Sleep, oh babe, for the red bee hums, The silent twilight falls,
Eeval from the grey rock comes, To wrap the world in thrall,
O leann van o, my child, my joy, My love and heart’s desire,
The cricket sings you a lullaby, Beside the dying fire.
Dusk is drawn and the green man’s thorn, Is wreathed in rings of fog,
Siofra sails his boat til morn, Upon the starry bog.
O leanne van o, the paley moon, has dipped her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad sleep song, I sing, oh love, to you.”
And that, I figure, is the sum of it. The lesson to be learned. Regardless of form or being, the love remains… even though you are no longer physically here beside me. This love, not only continues to live, but is strong enough to overcome and heal the loss of your passing. Love will fill the void in my heart, and reweave the torn strands of the tapestry that was… and is my life to come.
Dad’s spirit watched over every step, as each fracture piece came into being. Sewn with tears of sorrow, loss, and the emptiness which accompanies a death – Suilven met the challenge. It offered hope of a new tomorrow, when joy and peace would once again prevail. Each of the 29 fractures which make up this quilt brought me closer to healing… one small piece at a time. It now hangs on the wall of my living room. A wonderful testament to the memory of a beloved parent.
The thought, energy and effort, which goes into the making of a quilt like this never fades. It lives on, passing from one generation to the next. In time to come, my daughter Marybeth will treasure Suilven, not just as a memory of her dear grandfather, but as an act of love by her mother for family. Warming her heart, as it did mine. What a marvelous and comforting legacy that will be!
**Following are links to the songs referred to, so you may hear them as I did.
Come by the Hills… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-ZJ0oHuPWI
Garten Mother’s Lullaby… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHYOnNy-lS0
6 thoughts on “Suilven… and Healing”
Suilven is your favorite quilt and this is my very favorite of all your wonderful postings. It is perfection! Thank you for sharing this journey, described so marvelously!
Love,
Michelle
We’ve each of us had our own Suilven journey. Father’s are very special people. Smile my friend and be well!
A very touching story of you, Mary Beth and your Farther. Knowing you as I do I know this is from your heart. Love you, Jim
Love back Jim!
I agree with Michelle that Suilven is a very special quilt for you and Marybeth. You also showed what a special father
you had and you honor him with the quilt. You share the journey beautifully.
Love to you and Marybeth,
Anna Jean
Thank you for the kind words Anna Jean. Yes, he was a special father and grandfather. Hope all is well with you. Sending love and blessings!