Sold five quilts to an interior designer who never once complimented my stitching
An interior designer from Atlanta bought five of my quilts this spring to stage a house they were flipping. Paid full price, no haggling, wired the money same day. Not one word about the piecing, the history, the work itself. Just wanted the colors to match a rug.
And you know, at first it stung a little. Here I spent fifty years learning to make cloth talk and she wanted a throw pillow. But then I thought about it, because she asked me to cut them loose and let her hang them on a wall instead of a bed, that designer's clients are going to see my work and their grandmothers are going to ask who made it. That's the seed. Same with that gallery show I had in January. The lady who bought the biggest piece told me she'd never owned anything by a Black woman artist and honestly I didn't know whether to feel honored or put on a shelf.
I told my granddaughter about it and she said "Mae, they're not buying the quilt, they're buying the wall." And maybe that's the truth of it. The work carries more than I get credit for while I'm standing there. All these years I'd get a little quiet when somebody talked about my quilts being "art" instead of what they are. But the money talks, honey, and the money walked right into my checking account.
I guess what I'm saying is don't turn your nose up at the sale that feels a little off. That one may carry the next three.
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Fifty years of cloth talking and she wanted a throw pillow. I know that sting exactly. Same thing happens to me all the time, people buy a mosaic because it matches the sofa. You want to grab them by the shoulders.
But you landed on the right part. The work goes out into the world and does its own thing, whether or not the person who paid for it understands what went into it. She'll never know what she's got, but her clients' grandmothers will, and there's a certain justice in that. The work keeps its own company.
And honestly, the woman hung them on walls. She respected them more than she knew how to say.
Mosaic, huh? That's a kindred trade, baby, I know exactly what you mean. Sitting a hundred hours over tile and somebody says "ooh, that'll go perfect with my throw pillows." You just want to snatch it right back and keep it for yourself.
But you said it better than I could have. The work keeps its own company. That's a truth I've come to lean on more and more. These pieces go out and they take on a life of their own, and it don't need me or nobody else to vouch for them. They speak for themselves.
And you're right about the walls. I grumbled some at first, but the more I think on it, the more I believe she did me a kindness. Put them where folks will stand and look at them, not just throw a napkin down on top of them at supper. Maybe that's all the compliment I needed, even if she never said a word. 🙏