Slower, Softer

I’m beyond honored that my quilt, Slower, Softer, was juried into The 6th International Textile and Fibre Art Biennial “Scythia” in Ivano-Frankivs’k, Ukraine.

Sending it off to a country that has been struggling in the throes of war for the past four years feels especially meaningful for me, as this quilt tells the very personal story of the way war affected my own family.

My father was only 13 when he had to leave home and fend for himself, working for room and board on a farm, after having lost both his parents and his homeland during WWII. Decades later and an ocean away, he worked as a clinical psychologist and volunteered as a teacher of centering prayer, helping people strengthen their inner lives. Anyone who met him as an adult would call him incredibly kind, compassionate, and even holy. His mane of white, wavy hair (which he was very proud of) brought its own glow to his very peaceful aura.

Another thing that totally characterized my father is that he was a man of absolute, unshakable routine. He could easily eat the same thing every day for months on end. And every day, rain, shine, or snowstorm, he would go for a walk. The very same walk actually- from 6 mile road to 5 mile and back again.

My father passed away in November 2024, and he rests now in a cemetery which just happens to be at exactly the turnaround point of his daily walk. This past summer, when I visited my childhood home in Wisconsin, I recreated his walk every day I could, leaving pebbles on his grave each time.

While I was walking, I marveled at how a child could lose everything, endure such trauma, and turn out to be such a model of peace and acceptance as an adult.

As his daughter, I also saw the parts that others did not. I know that he was human, and conflicted, and even unhinged at times. I see now that his attachment to routine, to daily walks, to his morning meditation, to keeping on a strict schedule, helped bring order and calm to an inner world that didn’t always feel that way.

This quilt maps the walks, the pebbles, and the reflections on my father’s life and demeanor. It was the first time my love of text crept into a new method of text-as-quilting, as I felt the need to tell this story and pay respect to my father’s resilience and ability to grow slower and softer with time.

I hope that Ukrainian children will also find a way forward that allows them some sense of inner calm.

May there be peace.

May there be peace.

May there be peace.