Quilted by Design: Denyse Schmidt

 

You’ve spoken about being inspired by the improvised and utilitarian quilts made by
everyday people. What is it about those quilts that continues to inspire your work today?

Yes, I have always gravitated to the beauty of functional household items made for a purpose, whether it’s textiles or furniture, brooms, lamps… you name it. Part of what I love is the inventiveness that comes from necessity. Sometimes when we are creating for the sake of creating, we can get bogged down in options and choices. We may impart too much importance and time to a search for just the “right” color or material, instead of getting on with the project. When we are making for a utilitarian purpose, we more often use what is readily available, and make decisions based on expediency and functionality. It’s a less self-conscious process more connected to the making itself, which I think yields beautiful and sometimes surprising results. When I teach workshops on improvisational patchwork, I often mention a book, “The Paradox of Choice” by psychologist Barry Schwartz, which examines how having too many options can raise our expectations, which consequently undermines our enjoyment of a thing we might purchase or make.

Growing up surrounded by parents who valued making and repairing things, what
lessons from your childhood still guide your creative process?

My parents were children of the Depression, so the resourcefulness of that era was deeply
instilled in them. Even when they became more financially secure, they still made things when they could, and repairing clothes, tools, furniture—anything and everything in our home— was just how things were done. When I talk about my work, I like to show a photo of my Mary Poppins lunch box; my dad made a replacement handle using a white-painted dowel.

What I didn’t realize until I was older was just how skilled they were as makers. Growing up, I took it for granted that dads made beautiful furniture and mothers made better-than-store-bought clothing for four kids and herself.

I’m grateful to have inherited their resourcefulness and skills. The confidence to figure out my own way of doing things was essential when I began quilting, and certainly informed my style and approach. Sadly, I have found in our faster-paced lives today—where you can order a thing and have it the next day—replacing an item tends to override the more thoughtful and time- consuming practice of use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. At 65, I’m working on finding ways to slow down and simplify my work and life—a challenge in our economy! —in hopes of reconnecting with that ethos I grew up with.

Many quilters know your fabrics and patterns, but fewer know about your journey
through theater, dance, costume work, and graphic design. Looking back, how did those
experiences help shape the designer you became?

I feel like I have lived so many different lives! Yet they all connect somehow, like a lovely patchwork itself. All the jobs and experiences I’ve had were useful when I started my business of making finished quilts. Theatre training gave me poise and an ability to stand in front of strangers at a trade show to talk about my work, and years and years of dance (and a love of movement that continues) is—I think—easy to see in my designs. And the few years of professional sewing jobs honed my skills and knowledge of fabrics and construction.

Pre-internet, I became obsessed with old-time Appalachian string band music and the contra and square dancing that went hand in hand with it. In my mind it was all jumbled together with old black and white Works Progress Administration images of country life in the 30’s, with women wearing feed sack dresses, and quilts hanging with the washing on the line. There was something about that era—the time of the Great Depression when folks made do and entertained themselves, helped each other out (quilting bees, barn raisings!) that resonated, as I had moved to a new state and felt isolated. The dances and music were structured on themes with variations—and were so like quilts to me, in that way. It’s a longer discussion, but that is when it all kind of gelled for me: what I wanted to create and how I wanted it to feel; all my experiences brought me there.

Quilting has deep roots in tradition, yet you've helped introduce quilting to a new
generation of makers. How do you honor quilting's history while continuing to push the
craft forward?

When I started making quilts, I was intent on crafting them traditionally, but bringing my own sensibility and aesthetic to the form. It’s actually a continuation of the tradition; every generation brings the influences of their current culture to the practice.

I’ve always loved the juxtaposition of old and new; it defines my style in decorating my home and almost everything I do. I don’t think much about “doing” it, but by practicing the craft, and being present in my own life and time, that crossover happens naturally.

Your quilts often evoke a sense of nostalgia and personal connection. Is there a
particular quilt, fabric collection, or project you've created that holds special meaning for you, and why?

Oh, so many! I put my heart and soul into most everything I do—it may not drive sales, but I think it makes for work that stands the test of time. Many of my fabric collections have special meaning for me—Winter’s Walk and Stonington (FreeSpirit), as well as Darling and Five + Ten (Windham Fabrics). I only wish they stayed in print longer (but I’m rectifying that with my self-produced Patchwork Panels!). I’m also very fond of groups of quilts I’ve made for exhibitions—a deadline and accountability often being the only way to accomplish work outside the day-to-day requirements. The Denver Series is one which I’ve written about on my website, as well as the Mt. Lebanon Series.

I think these resonate for exactly the reasons mentioned in your question—the personal
connection and the nostalgia they embody. The Denver Series quilts are a great example. I was invited to exhibit at a design gallery in Denver and had time to make the work. Sometimes (as all makers know), the muse doesn’t always show up when you need her, and I started to get a little panicky about what I would make. I knew I wanted to use fabrics I had gotten from an old- school fabric store in Bridgeport that was closing, and I had some curtain panels from the flea market with horses on them. After a struggle with all the usual creative demons I decided that the “back story” for me was how little I know about the American West. My view of that area at the time was mostly informed by watching Clint Eastwood and other old western movies, and in embracing that truth, I was able to find a way in to creating quilts that drew very abstractly on the tropes of those westerns films—for instance one quilt in the series was called Painted Lady, another Outlaws. It’s a reminder that I don’t have to go outside who I am to make good work.