I made this wall hanging, approximately 16L X 14W, using fabrics from my stash of nearly all thrifted, gifted, or old table cloths or clothing, which were also thrifted or gifted. In the case of this wall hanging, named to honor of my mother, I've also used some of her clothing.
Mom died May 21 2024 but I made this a couple years earlier. She was in a care facility, withering like a flower as winter nears. Some of her clothing was sent home with me during one of my bi-monthly visits back to Iowa to see my mother. You see, I grew up and in Iowa with six siblings. My mother lived in the state all her life, growing up on the western side and marrying and living the rest of her life on the eastern side. Since I was so far away, physically, making this piece brought me close to her in spirit and helped me work through the grief using my head and my hands.
I've titled this work, Mom's Garden, even though she didn't like gardening. She was married to a farmer and we had a huge vegetable garden for as long as I can remember growing up there. There were long, hot hours there pulling weeds, picking vegetables. We even had a couple long rows of zinnias. I've been contemplating planting some around my house in the city.
My memories of the garden are mixed. I fondly remember picking and eating fresh strawberries. It was always a delight to see when they were ripening. That bright surprise of color, the smell when you get down and lean in. Anticipating that first taste of fresh sweetness. Who wouldn't like that? And when we did sample things standing in that garden, we just stood in the garden and brushed off the dirt. In those days we didn't use tons of chemicals. That and also we didn't know what we know now about the chemicals. Other wonders in our garden included biting into a fresh tomato picked right off the vine. And I actually loved the physicality of digging up a clump of potatoes and trying not to cut ruin any with the shovel edge. A challenge calling for experience, estimations. Those simple actions and rewards, the hidden treasure.
I don't have any particular memories of lovely or weird things happening while attending the garden with alongside my mother. I do have a vague recollection of whining and pouting a lot and Mom's determination, maybe a grim determination at times, I don't know. But I do know she wasn't dancing through the rows singling praises to Mother Nature.
Mom put up with more grief from us kids than Dad did. She had a politeness whereas Dad sometimes had a frightening anger. I have a particular memory of gardening with my dad. It was a hot, sunny day, and I was in my bikini and maybe was early to mid teens. We were working quietly in different rows with just a bit of breeze blowing across the fields and hogs snorting and rummaging in a nearby field. It was a beautiful clear day and not crazy hot and humid. On our farm there were no homes within sight, just our farm buildings and open fields, maybe a glimpse of a rooftop on the horizon. Or maybe the farm seemed bigger than it was. But this was a quiet day with no one around. I don't think anyone else was home. Breaking the peace, a car sped down the road churning up dirty white angry clouds that rolled in on themselves before slowly dispersing across the ditches left and right and disappearing into the fields. Rather that continuing on, it slowed and turned into the drive hear the house, facing us. A suit got out. I could see that out of the corner of my eye. I did't look directly.
I waited to see what would happen but was a bit embarrassed because I was in a bikini. I just wanted a tan as long as I had to help in the garden. This was a day and age and a place where teenagers didn't strut their stuff, at least not us girls and certainly not in front of their dad's much less a stranger. The garden was on the far side of the house from the gravel road but the approach on the road would have briefly revealed our presence in the garden. Dad didn't stop his work to approach the car after a glance up. He didn't even acknowledge the presence of the stranger but I know that guy knew he was aware of his presence. My embarrassment was increasing the bit of rudeness but also I thought it was interesting and a bit funny. Wait for it...
That gentleman bypassed the entrance to the house and came walking across the side yard towards us. He called out. I don't recall for sure but I think he was selling something, products or religion maybe, I don't recall which. Without really even looking at him Dad told him to get the hell off our property and to not come back. I wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or to laugh out loud. I was young enough and better behaved (occasionally) than to laugh out loud so I continued on with my weeding. But I think I smiled quietly to myself while also feeling a tad embarrassed. Dad and I continued on with our weeding as if nothing had happened.
As I discreetly watched the quickly retreating gentleman, I was thinking about how Mom had told me once that my paternal grandmother had done that same thing to a salesman in Mom's presence during the Mom's early marital days on the farm. Mom had been surprised at the time. That grandmother, in fact, both of my grandmothers, had died before I was born so I never had the pleasure of their company. Life was hard for folks in those days, and women's work on a farm wasn't just childcare, cooking and cleaning. My mother lived to be 91 years old.
So this piece, my improv expressionism of Mom's Garden, has beads strung on wire and woven in and out of the circular and twisted strips of Mom's polo shirts and knit blouses that represent the trapunto center disc florets or ovule. Other beads on the surrounding petals grace the tips and sides. Cutout butterflies and smaller intact flowers from varied fabrics are also included and some have beads added to them as well. Here and there are sections where I hand-stitched and added an outline of French knots. I've glued or zigzagged fabric.
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