 Inheritance is a project I've worked on for nearly 3 years. It began in 2015 when a woman in New York state sent me a box of mystery filled with linens and vintage garments, and based on the response I received from sharing that story online, I officially crowdsourced more household, handmade/hand-embroidered cloth, along with associated stories. I offered to become the final inheritor of it all, even though most of the origins and makers were Unknown.  "Inheritance: makers. memory. myth." installed at the Anchorage Museum. Also unknown, was what a body of work made from cast off, abandoned, sometimes-unwanted, or even still-loved-but-burdensome objects would look like. Even when I submitted the proposal to the Anchorage Museum in 2016, I had little to show, but must have been convincing in my direction. I gave up so much control over my materials during the course of this project that it's changed the way I work. After 12 years in the clothing industry, I already endure a rocky relationship with clothing and fabric, but after this exercise in mindfulness, strange abundance and deep emotional dives, I have more ways to side-eye run-of-the-mill cloth. Yesterday, I walked into the fabric store to by 1.3 meters of fabric to back a piece I'm finishing, found exactly what I was looking for, pulled out the bolt, walked 5 steps and stopped. My daughter, age 9, who was with me when I opened that first box of mystery and there for the dozens that followed, said, "I think I understand, mom," and then, "I don't want be in here anymore. Let's go." So I returned the perfect bolt of cloth to the shelf and we walked out the door. We aren't snobs, we aren't garbage pickers (well, sometimes), but going through this process has put me somewhere in the middle -- somewhere between what can be and what was, between old and new, between shouting and silence, between the beautiful and terrible, between confidence and uncertainty, between hiding everything and baring all. And always, always existing in the Not Knowing.   Artist Statement, "Inheritance: makers. memory. myth." Anchorage Museum, Alaska. 2018. Here's something I feel strongly about: theme kills. Entering into a project -- whether writing or visual arts -- with a theme in mind is a mistake. Themes emerge from the Not Knowing and from probing the Living Questions.  "Hysteria," Approx. 105 W x 90 H Vintage potholders, doilies, domestic/household linens, abandoned quilt, 2018. My work explores the work of women--literal, physical, emotional. Theme emerges from stomping around on this landscape, turning over rocks, lifting dead things to find new growth, or investigating why that thing shriveled and died in the first place.  "Descent," (Suspended component: 9W x 20H x 9D, flat assemblage: 35 W x 53 L) Vintage doilies, silk organza, rubber, wire, epoxy clay, 2017. These materials could have been debilitating, or narrow. They were. But roaming and poking at every single corner inside those confines is the ultimate freedom.  13W x 43H Vintage Persian lamb coat, vintage “yo-yo“quilt components, satin and men’s ties, rope, wire, epoxy clay, 2018. I pushed against the confines of form and these surface-bound artifacts -- base items made for the bed, the body, the table, the wall -- elevating and lightening them, while at the same time infusing them with weight.  "Panoply," (8”H x 8” W x 36” L -- installation dimensions vary) Vintage crocheted potholders, adhesive, acrylic, vintage wool embroidery thread, needles, 2017. I wanted to look at things we generally don't.  "River" (36 ½” W x 20’ 10” L) Vintage domestic/household linens and doilies, abandoned embroideries, silk organza, cotton, linen, wool, 2018. And open up the process to as many other hands as I could.  "Needle & Myth," Community Art Project. (approx 120" x 150") Vintage handkerchiefs, silk organza, found objects.    I met incredible generous people throughout this multi-year process, many of whom I now call friends. Some are traveling to Alaska this summer to see this work installed at the Anchorage Museum. Eventually I'll share more about each of these pieces -- where the components came from, process images and further thoughts. But the next posts will be about the installation process and museum programming. There are so many things I've learned that will continue shaping how I approach future projects.  I'm so happy with this work, even when I thought it wasn't enough, or too much, or that I shouldn't have started down such a path in the first place. I'm still wandering around on it, somewhere between lost and found.  Many thanks to Brian Adams for taking these gorgeous photos, to the Anchorage Museum for all of their unfailing support and guidance, to the Rasmuson Foundation and the Sustainable Arts Foundation for funding assistance to do this work. 1 year ago on this blog:A history of intention. (The piece in this blog, "Fatigue Threshold," is part of this body of work, but is currently touring with Quilt National until October 2019). 2 years ago on this blog: 3 years ago on this blog:
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 Handmade clay buttons. Circa: 1977. I "officially" stopped collecting boxes of mystery for the Inheritance Project a long time ago. Like, September-30th-2016-long-time ago. But in the way I always accepted old cloth before the Project became a thing, I still accept it now. At the end of this post is a sneak peek at one of the pieces from the Inheritance Project body of work, and when I send out the next newsletter, I'll give another peek there. I just finished a large piece yesterday and I'm on the home stretch for a May exhibition at the Anchorage Museum. Meanwhile, a deep and belated thank you to the next two Vintage Linen Contributors to the Inheritance Project. These items were delivered this fall. Life Essence.Many Contributors to this project are artists, and Anchorage-based Carol Lambert is no exception. I met Carol two years ago, when we were both curated into a small group show at Alaska Pacific University called Fragments of Time. She is a fine artist -- draws, paints, and is someone whose eye seeks the details that flesh out the darker undercurrents of life: a severed bird wing, a bit of bone. Around Christmas, she opened her studio and offered years-worth of still life props to other artists and makers who could find them useful. Alas, I didn't make it to her open studio prop give away, but I'd already visited with her in my own studio this fall when she delivered culled fabrics and accoutrements. Of course, these items blended easily into my life, despite how long it's taken me to share them here. So long, in fact, that I've already used several yards of it (although the Canadian in me really still likes to think in meters). Thank you, Carol, for contributing to the Inheritance Project and for attending one of the Needle & Myth workshops at the Anchorage Museum this fall. It's been a delight to follow your work all this time. You, too, can see Carol's paintings and drawings here, and/or follow Carol on Instagram: @carollambertarts.  Various linens and shantungs, some old, some a little newer.  Several yards of fluid wedding gown satin found in Carol's mother's mother's drawer, circa: pre-1969, unused (age-worn and gorgeous). An Irish linen sheet with a "B. Altman, New York" label. Various other linens and chunks of newer upholstery with crewel embroidery designs.  Orange silk, originally a skirt and may become one again. So gorgeous.  All the various trims and hem lace/tape we all collect, but rarely have use for in contemporary dressmaking projects. The bottom row (left features a length of sturdy handmade bobbin lace trim and a lace dickie (false blouse front), which I've since dyed charcoal grey.  Handmade clay buttons: Maker: a family member in her 20's; Circa, 1977; Origin, unknown. They came in that groovy star-covered box at the beginning of this post, featuring that US Bicentennial vibe. So good.  Teeny tiny petit point on a linen napkin/handkerchief. Not to be confused with a really big dime.  Matching embroidered linen tea towels. Circa, Origin, Maker: Unknown. Arizona Hardscrabble.Thank you to Dennis Anderson, one of two men who have contributed to the Inheritance Project. Dennis and I were put in contact through the International Quilt Study Center & Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska last fall. The quilt he contributed was made by his Great Grandmother, Hettie, on a Singer treadle sewing machine. I love this photo of her and have it on the wall in my studio. It's a source of great joy and defiant power. Do not mess with this lady. Do not.  Hettie Colliie Nickell Harrison. Born 1873 at Str Lime Works, Lyon County KY. Now underwater as part of the creation of Lakes National Park. "Please use the photograph to the fullest. I love that picture. My mother said that Hettie always dressed that way. The ranch house had a wind mill with a 100 gallon tank about 50 feet from the home. When I spent a week end there about 1949 they had running water in the kitchen. I don't know about a bathroom. They had an outhouse about 100 feet from the house. It was a one seater with the quarter moon cut out in the door. And HONEST To GOSH a Sears and Roebuck catalog toilet paper." Hettie collected Bull Durham tobacco pouches from her husband and the cowboys at neighboring ranches, using the cloth to make this quilt. It is sun faded and water stained, but I've already incorporated a baby quilt and another piece -- an unfinished embroidery from Olga Norris in England, with its own story of strength and defiance -- to complete "War Room," for exhibition this May. Below is a sneak peek. For those of you who follow me on Instagram, here's where those 2,000 tapestry needles landed.   "In that quilt is the love of the Anderson family. Hope you can find a place for it in your artwork." Dennis Anderson, Contributor.  "War Room," (46" x 62") Baby quilt, quilt, abandoned embroidery, domestic linens, foam, tapestry needles, 2017. One year ago on this site:Two years ago on this site:Three years ago on this site:
How well do we know anyone, even people we see everyday? And how can we possibly know people who've left us, especially if they never allowed us know them in the first place? And then, the impossible task of knowing someone who remains unknown because history has failed to attribute her time, her marks. We can gather our scraps. We can pick through memory. We can re-consider. We can collaborate. We can create a new mythology.  Last spring I received a Rasmuson Foundation project grant in support of the Inheritance Project. A portion of the grant allowed me to complete a special workshop series this fall at the Anchorage Museum; "Needle & Myth" was designed as five, 2-hour sessions for small work groups of artists, makers, museum members and the public, with a 6th session added at the end. The work generated in these work sessions will become a large community piece installed in May with the exhibition Inheritance: makers. memory. myth. My gratitude to the Rasmuson Foundation for the gift of time, to the Anchorage Museum for the gift of support and space. I originally prepared 45 or 50 panels, we completed 80. Over 70 people participated. My deepest gratitude goes to them.
  I asked registrants to consider the following prompt before arriving: "She was ____." or "She is ____." This single word or short phrase was then embroidered onto a prepared panel, a linen handkerchief mounted on sheer silk organza. (I received around 85 hankies during the crowdsourcing portion of the Inheritance Project. One Contributor sent me her entire collection of 33). I also asked participants to bring a small, lightweight object, which we then mounted or embedded between the cloth layers. The sheer panels are numbered, and when hung together begin to form a more complete picture of a complex woman, of ourselves. "...harlot, always making things beautiful, an artist mother, brave, powerful, powerless, rooted, tough as nails, sew much love, too attached, happiness, iguapaeterei, je brule, the matriarch, my only comfort, worth the time, unknown, clever, a weather pattern..." When was the last time you spent a full two hours considering a handful of words? Hand stitching forces you to slow and consider a needle's placement to achieve a certain curve or line, but this is a small technical thing. What I hoped this project would do was create a 2-hour space to honor memory -- some of it pleasant, some of it painful.
Five men attended. And two children. Six languages are represented.
 When one woman told the story of her beautiful mother's two abusive marriages, the entire room fell silent. When another woman shared her mother-in-law's journey from China to Peru to the US with 10 children in tow, the same thing happened. And again, when a woman explained how she'd created the panel for herself, her mother-in-law and the four babies they'd lost. When another woman furtively shared that her mother sometimes stole things, "maybe just a little," we laughed, but then retreated inwards to consider this. Not to judge, but consider. Because aren't we all guilty? And aren't we -- aren't women -- all worthy of awe? The safety of a space like this is generated when a task is on the table. No one has to make eye contact with storytellers, no one has to respond directly. There is a reason why the tradition of gathering for handwork has remained so strong for generations.
After the workshops, one of the participants sent a link to this TED Talk. It put a lot of things into perspective and gave a broader language for what I was, and am, trying to do. Perhaps it explains why so many people came, sometimes more than once, to such quiet gatherings.
I'm now in the process of finishing: taking up the stitches left undone, considering the panel order, planning their mount. I've been asked many times if this will be a quilt. It will not. I can tell you it will suspend and hope viewers will be able to journey around each piece, because the messy b-sides are just as valid as all those pretty facades. Maybe more so.
One year ago on this blog:Two years ago on this blog:Three years ago on this blog: This Inheritance Project gratitude post is overdue; three of these “boxes of mystery” came over the summer and now we’re hurtling towards the equinox. But. Each contributor already received a thank you card and a handmade gift…I think I’m up to 70 of those teeny tiny doilies…so this post is the bigger thank you I share with the world.  Some of last year's teeny tiny doilies. First, here’s a little update: I stopped officially accepting items for the Inheritance Project a year ago, after 13 months of receiving crowd-sourced domestic linens from people all over the world (except this didn’t mean shipments stopped coming). I’ve been working steadily all this time and so many incredible opportunities have arisen from this project’s raw material:
For those of us who work with cloth, and older cloth in particular, the pull is powerful. It's no surprise we somehow find each other. Tante Sophie et Cie. Thank you Ina Braun from Tante Sophie et Cie in Denville, New Jersey, for the lovely box of mystery. Like many of us, Ina has been hanging onto these items for a long time – some she made, some she found, some belonged to various women in her life. “They are all old…unknown makers…found…treasured…released for your making.”  Makers: Unknown, Origin: Unknown, Circa: Unknown
 Makers: Unknown, Origin: Germany, Circa: early 1900's.
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The evening jacket (it's not actually a stripper jacket...although, how would I know this?) is a frothy concoction of fragile mesh, embroidery and soutache braid. The center back is damaged and the bottom edge indicates it was separated from something at some point. I entertained the idea of wearing it to the Quilt National opening, but I settled for wearing it out on my deck instead. It doesn't really fit.
Carol's piece, "No Means No," part of her "Defining Moments" series, was selected for the 20th Quilt National Biennial. She delivered an eloquent, poised statement about the personal history embedded in this piece, with a bravery that comes from a life lived and decades of separation from a single moment, despite a smoldering anger. Those embers flared while she built this piece and followed Brock Turner's 2016 lenient rape sentence. She drove that narrative into this provocative work.
I was so happy to spend time with this lady.
About 110 years old...could be...
Ann McNeely is a family friend and part of "The Lunch Bunch," a group of women my mom has met with monthly for years. I've only attended a Lunch Bunch once, several years ago, and it was a scream. Presents arrive in tissue stuffed bags for whomever has a birthday that month, my mom always bakes for everyone during the holidays, they exchange jam or chocolate. These women were incredibly generous when I had my first baby, and continue to share their hearts with one another.
This unfinished quilt top, made by Ann's grandmother, is a continuation of this generosity.
This unfinished quilt top, made by Ann's grandmother, is a continuation of this generosity.
"My Grandmother Ruth Akers Dory started (the quilt) years ago, when she was a pioneer at the Lake Ranch, outside of Austin NV. She worked on it through the years, but kept putting it aside. Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Ray ended up in Austin with the Dory's General Store. Everyone used this store for miles around, they had everything but groceries. Fabric salesmen would come in and give her sample books, a lot of the fabrics in this quilt top came from that book."
Maker: Ruth Akers Dory, Origin: Austin Nevada, Circa: early to mid 20th c.
I love that this quilt is made from fabric samples, and yes, it's possible there are portions that are over 100 years old, but there are also fabrics that have a 50's or 60's vibe. Which tells me Grandma Ruth picked this up and put it down for decades. Decades. And it's enormous, well on its way to fitting a queen-sized bed. Each of those hexagons is sewn together by hand.
I'm honored and blown away to receive such a labor of love. Thank you.
One year ago on this blog:
Two years ago on this blog:
Amy Meissner
Artist in Anchorage, Alaska, sometimes blogging about the collision of history, family & art, with the understanding that none exists without the other.
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