By Theresa St. John
“It seems I may be standing alone, like St.John in the wilderness, exhorting the cause of the individual African-American quilter’s creativity, a recognition of the diversity of African-American quilting, and most of all, an abandonment of the en-masse ‘cookie-cutter approach’ to the investigations and research of African-American quilt history.” Cuesta Benberry – Piecework, January/February 1995.
I can hear the soothing cadence of voices from a nearby room as I wander through the Old State House Museum in Little Rock while traveling through Arkansas last Fall.
I don’t realize it’s a video drawing me towards a comfy chair where I sit with others, listening to stories told by groups of women. They speak at length about quilts they’ve made, colorful lives they’ve led, the art of quilting passed down from one generation to the next.
The museum, a historic landmark in Arkansas, boasts a permanent collection of more than two hundred stunning quilts, created by the rural black communities of Arkansas, dating back to the late 1800s.
From what I gather, they’ve been displayed three different times over the years – one time arranged on slant boards, another time covering beds arranged throughout rooms in the museum. This time they hang on walls, fine-art with spot-lights aimed just-so, bringing visitor’s attention to the intricate details of each one.
There’s a young woman seated at the front desk. She spends a few minutes with me when I first walk in, explaining how the museum’s beautiful quilts were designed by generations of women – sometimes by friends and family, often by mothers and daughters, other times a three-generation project created by mothers-daughters-granddaughters.
This particular exhibit includes traditional patterns – the Lazy Gal Strip, Turkey Tracks, Job’s Tears, the Log Cabin, Wedding Plate, and Broken Dishes are just a few.
More than 100 quilts belonging to the collection are from the border of Arkansas – near Louisiana. All of them have a story, sometimes of slavery, other times of freedom, always of family.
My great-grandmother had a quilt. I remember seeing it every time she lifted the lid to her cedar-lined hope chest. Even though the beautiful bed covering was more than 80 years old, it was like new. We never once used it.
Quilts line the walls in rooms I wander through this hot autumn day, each with obvious signs of wear – their edges are frayed, some are stained or discolored. I hear another woman explaining how they’re made from different fabrics – including wool, cotton, polyester, satin, burlap, muslin, even ribbons from a funeral.
I can tell these weren’t just something pretty that the hard-working women of Arkansas felt like making – these quilts were made out of necessity. They’re not perfect either. It’s easy to picture men and women sitting around the rough-hewn tables of yesteryear, creating these amazing works of art. In my mind’s eye, I see them handed down from great-great-grandmother to great-grandmother, grandmother to daughter, daughter to grand-daughter or niece.
I wonder how many hands worked on the quilt – how many hours of cutting, sewing, stitching, and story-telling brought them to the examples hanging here in the museum.
What was used between the front and back of the quilt for padding? When I ask the question, a woman talks about recycled worn blankets, pieces of older quilts no longer usable, sometimes even scraps of cotton.
Mothers taught their daughters how to make quilts. Even sons were coached through lessons of design, stitching, or tying off the quilts. People took pride in the work that went into each one.
In 1998 Cuesta Benberry – a pioneer in the study of quilting – spoke with the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. “I think we get so emotional about quilts because they’re such an integral part of many people’s lives. They’re on the bed. They’re there at birth. They’re there at death. They’re part of the marriage bed. They’re part of our lives, giving us so many memories….You’d call a quilt like you would a child.”
Benberry’s mother-in-law would lift the trunk lid and say, ‘Come see my Sugar Bowl.’ She’d never say ‘Come see my blue-and-white quilt.’
I’m enthralled by the colors, patterns, stitching methods, and creativity in the designs of the exhibit. I can hear the tape playing over and over again in the background, the women’s joyful voices looping throughout each room, sharing their backgrounds, living conditions, even access – or lack thereof – to materials needed for such an endeavor.
What shines through – the message I embrace is this: quiltmakers have personality, they stitch their life and soul into a quilt that takes hundreds of hours to make. Every single hand that touches the project leaves an undeniable mark – one that will be remembered forever.
I draw my hand through the air near my favorite ones, feet away from touching them. I close my eyes, sensing many emotions nearby. Mostly love and joy, hope and strength, a better tomorrow.
All Photos By Theresa St. John
