This week I spent several days working on a quilt to be sold at a fundraiser next weekend at Basketball Girl’s high school. I had cut out all the fabric and stitched up dozens of blocks. Now I was ready to lay them out into the final quilt.
Winging it being my main creative strategy (in fact, my main strategy in almost any situation), I had made a bunch of blocks without deciding ahead of time exactly how I would use them. This time I had been more organized than usual: I was proud that I had made exactly the number of blocks I knew I needed. Sometimes I just sew a pile of blocks first, then decide how many I will need.
I took the quilt blocks into the living room to arrange them on the rug. I wanted to make a grid that was eight blocks tall by six blocks wide. I had laid down a few blocks when my husband came in.
He stood watching while I put down a couple more blocks, then frowned. “I don’t think a random arrangement is as good as something more structured.”
I had a block in my hand. I was about to put it down on the floor, but I stopped. “Oh?”
“Think about it. It’s a Catholic school. The people there would like something with more order to it.” He came over and took the block from my hand. “Do you mind?”
“No, no! I love
criticism of my deeply felt creative efforts helpful feedback. Be my guest.”
Before I knew it, he had picked up all the blocks I had laid down, counted how many I had of each one, rearranged all my piles, and laid out the whole quilt. And here it is, exactly as he specified. I think it looks great.