Authors: Jennifer Chiaverini
That evening, Bonnie packed a small sewing kit and met Midori in the front hall, eager
and more nervous than she thought she ought to be considering she was on her way to
meet other quilters. They walked about ten minutes through downtown Lahaina to the
church meeting room where the Laulima Quilters gathered every two weeks to work on
their own projects and assist friends with tasks that were more easily completed by
many hands working together. Eleven other women, most of them Asian, Hawaiian, or
an apparent mix like Midori, were gathered around several lunch tables covered in
bright fabric, bundles of soft cotton batting, spools of thread, and sewing notions.
Most of the women held quilts in various stages of completion on their laps; some
were sewing complex, radial symmetric appliqués of turquoise, scarlet, or emerald
to white backgrounds, while others held quilt hoops and were stitching top, batting,
and backing fabric together with tiny stitches in fine lines of echo quilting. Nearby,
three women had layered
backing, batting, and a brilliant butter yellow quilt top with a design reminiscent
of a grove of banyan trees over a table and were basting the three layers together
with large, zigzag stitches. Lingering near the doorway as Midori continued inside,
Bonnie watched as one of the women set aside her quilt hoop, took a large piece of
folded butcher paper from a tote bag, and took it to one of the quilters helping to
baste the butter yellow quilt top. Bonnie couldn’t hear what the first woman said,
but the second accepted the folded paper with a cry of delight and embraced the giver.
“Maya gave Danielle a quilt pattern,” Midori explained as she and Bonnie watched the
two women carefully unfold the paper on a table while their friends gathered around
to admire it. “All true Hawaiian quilt patterns are unique, made especially for a
particular person, purpose, or occasion. An original quilt pattern is a precious gift
and a sign of great friendship because of the prayers and good wishes—part of the
very spirit of the designer—that go into its creation.”
Danielle, the woman who had received the gift, had clasped her hands to her heart,
and her eyes shone as Maya gestured to several graceful curves and elegant arcs, explaining
their symbolism, or so Bonnie imagined. “Will the other members of your bee share
the pattern after Danielle makes hers?”
“Not likely, but you shouldn’t interpret that as selfishness,” Midori said. “You mainlanders
share patterns readily, whether you made them up yourself, learned them from your
grandmother, copied them from a friend, or downloaded them from the Internet. That’s
your way and that’s fine for you, but that’s not our way.”
“Well…” Bonnie noticed that a few of the quilters were watching her and Midori with
friendly curiosity. “What’s wrong with sharing?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it, but in our tradition, patterns were a carefully guarded
secret,” Midori repeated. “Whenever a quilter created a design, it was a unique, original
work. If one quilter copied another’s design, it was considered stealing, taking not
only the design but also part of the spirit of the designer. Such theft brought great
shame upon the person who copied another’s design, even if she changed it here or
there to alter it and try to make it her own.”
“But I’ve seen books of published Hawaiian quilt patterns,” said Bonnie, bewildered.
“Kits, too, in Claire’s shop and elsewhere.”
“If a pattern is freely given or sold, of course it isn’t considered theft,” said
Midori. “But most traditionalists will consider a quilter who uses another’s patterns
or a kit to be less of an artist than a quilter who creates her own original design
or uses an original design created especially for her.”
Midori nodded to indicate the lucky woman who had received the gift of the pattern.
Danielle was carefully, lovingly folding the paper, with a faraway look in her eye
that told Bonnie she was imagining herself choosing the perfect fabric, tracing the
pattern, cutting out her appliqué, and taking the first tiny stitches of thousands.
Her quilt, when complete, would become a cherished heirloom, rich with the memories
of the woman who had designed it for her. Though Bonnie had always freely shared patterns
before, she understood how this pattern represented a deep and abiding friendship
and how dismayed both designer and quiltmaker would be if another quilter copied it.
The unique artistry of their quilt would be diminished by the existence of a copy
that carried with it none of the good wishes, prayers, and symbolism of their friendship.
But what of the novice quilter? Bonnie had created original quilts, but only from
traditional blocks created by unknown
quilters of generations long past. Her color palette, fabric choices, border designs,
and arrangement of those traditional blocks were what made her quilts original works.
Despite her experience as a quilter and teacher, she had never considered herself
innovative enough to create her own original blocks, and she marveled at her friends
who could do so. If she lacked confidence in her ability to create a simple block
in a style she was very familiar with, how could she ever hope to create her own unique
Hawaiian-style quilt? After what she had witnessed, she could not bear to be seen
as a lesser artist who copied another’s design. But how else was she to learn?
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” said Midori, beckoning her into the room. Bonnie
concealed her newfound worries behind a friendly smile as Midori made introductions.
Everyone welcomed her kindly, and when she explained that she hoped to learn how to
make a quilt in the Hawaiian style, they responded with cheerful encouragement, as
she would have expected from any gathering of quilters on the mainland. Perhaps Midori
was the strictest traditionalist of them all, and the others would be more patient
and tolerant of her ignorance and her mistakes.
“Before you can make a quilt in the Hawaiian style, you need to know Hawaiian quilts,”
Midori told her after introductions were finished and the quilters returned to their
work. “You’ll see some lovely examples tonight, and I’ll show you more at the inn
tomorrow if you’re willing to help me change the linens.”
“Of course,” Bonnie agreed. “Anything.”
Midori led her to a corner table where they could sit and talk without disturbing
the others. “First, a bit of history. Perhaps you’ve heard that quilting wasn’t practiced
among our native peoples, but was introduced by Europeans.”
Bonnie nodded. “Claire said missionaries taught native Hawaiians to quilt.”
Midori nodded as if she had expected Bonnie’s response. “That’s what most people believe,
but that’s not the whole truth. For centuries before any Europeans so much as glimpsed
the islands, the Hawaiian people had made a cloth called
kapa
from the bark of paper mulberry trees. They made bed coverings called
kappa moe
by sewing together several layers of
kapa
with large running stitches and decorating the top with traditional patterns made
from natural dyes.”
“So native Hawaiians had a wholecloth quilting tradition,” mused Bonnie. “I assume,
then, that the missionaries introduced them to patchwork?”
“That’s right,” said Midori. “But even before the missionaries came, European whalers
and traders had already brought fine needles, scissors, and threads to the islands,
making sewing much easier than with our traditional tools and bone needles.”
“I can imagine,” said Bonnie.
“When the Christian missionaries arrived, they taught young Hawaiian girls how to
do patchwork as a part of their domestic training. But sadly, as our young people
were learning Western skills and Western values, many of the old traditions fell away.
Our people’s religions, languages, and customs were gradually fading, and often what
replaced them had little meaning for us. Patchwork, for example, was meaningful to
the missionary women who taught it, but it had no cultural significance for their
students.”
Bonnie nodded, thinking of all the evocative quilt block names that called to mind
historic events, geographic locations, beloved or notorious people—but only for those
familiar with mainland culture. “But quilting did catch on here,”
Bonnie said, realizing even as she spoke, “but not patchwork. Appliqué is what flourished.”
Midori nodded, and Bonnie hoped it wasn’t her imagination that Midori seemed pleased.
“That’s right, for the most part. You’ll find many examples of nineteenth-century
patchwork quilts in our history, as well as Crazy Quilts and other designs with strong
Western influences. But the two-color, large scale appliqué quilts that Hawaii is
best known for is a style uniquely our own.”
Midori gestured to indicate her friends, smiling and chatting as they worked, their
conversation occasionally punctuated by bursts of laughter. “You see the many variations
in our quilts, as well as the striking similarities. They reflect our values as a
people. When so much of our culture was being lost, our quilts became a way to preserve
those things we held most dear. Our designs reflected our love for the natural beauty
of our island home, our respect for our ancestors, and our longing for what had been
lost. That’s why you’ll find images of native plants and animals in our appliquéd
patterns, as well as traditional artifacts and family crests.” She pushed back her
chair and rose. “Come. I’ll show you.”
Midori led Bonnie to the three women basting together the butter yellow quilt top,
batting, and backing, making large, exaggerated stitches to keep the three layers
from shifting until the fine quilting could be added.
“The three main parts of a Hawaiian quilt top are the center, the branches, and the
lei,
or border,” Midori said. “Tia’s quilt, as you see, has a solid center or
piko
. A
piko
can be solid or open, but it must be balanced so that love and energy can flow freely.”
“Tia’s quilt is all about love,” remarked the oldest of the three women, smiling over
the rims of her glasses at the youngest, who blushed and continued basting.
“A solid center represents family,” said Danielle. “Whole and intact, the strong core
of a person’s life.”
“A solid center can also represent Mother Earth, or the quilter’s own center,” said
Tia.
“That’s true, but not in this case,” declared the eldest. “We know you chose a solid
piko
for David.”
“Her fiancé,” Midori added for Bonnie’s benefit. “This will be their wedding quilt.
I don’t think Tia minds if I divulge that, do you, Tia?”
“Of course not,” said Tia lightly, but her blush deepened with her smile.
Bonnie drew closer to study the pattern. “This reminds me of the banyan tree in Courthouse
Square.”
“I told you so,” the eldest quilter declared to Tia, triumphant. “And you said no
one would recognize it.”
“David proposed to her beneath that banyan tree,” said Danielle, nudging Tia, who
smiled and kept on basting. “Tia, tell the rest.”
Tia set down her needle, pressed a hand to her lower back, and arched her spine as
if she felt stiff from hours bent over the quilt. “Our marriage should be like the
banyan tree,” she said, gesturing to the four thick trunks branching off from the
solid center. “Strong and solid, deeply rooted, able to withstand the winds of change.
These aerial roots—” She indicated narrower branches falling from the trunks, intersecting,
fusing, weaving, and fanning outward. “They’re our friends and family, supporting
us, strengthening us, nourishing us so that we may grow in love together.”
“It’s lovely,” said Bonnie.
Tia thanked her, and Midori touched her lightly on the arm. “Tia rightly chose a solid
piko
for a quilt representing the creation of a new family. An open
piko
represents the gateway
between the physical world and the spiritual. Our people believed they could travel
into the spiritual world to consult with their gods and ancestors and return to the
physical world unharmed and enlightened. If Tia had chosen an open
piko
for her quilt, it would have changed the pattern’s symbolic meaning considerably.”
“Tia isn’t marrying David for his handsome spirit,” Danielle teased, “although I’m
sure she’s hoping he’ll take her to heaven!”
All the women laughed, except for Tia, who grinned, took up her needle, and ordered
everyone back to work. With some good-natured complaining, they complied.
Midori gestured to the appliquéd trunks and aerial roots as the three quilters basted
around them, large stitches that would be removed later after the finer quilting stitches
were added. “Branches from the center of the quilt are another important feature of
the Hawaiian quilt,” she said. “As they reach from the center to the borders, they
represent personal, spiritual, and family growth, and the quilter’s love reaching
out and blessing everyone she knows.”
“Also very appropriate for a wedding quilt,” remarked the eldest, taking two more
basting stitches and tying off the end of her thread.
“Let’s bother some of my other friends for a while,” said Midori, smiling as she led
Bonnie to four women who had arranged their chairs in a circle, quilt hoops in their
laps. “The last part of a Hawaiian quilt is the
lei
, or border.”
“When you say
lei
, do you mean the sort of
lei
you wear around your neck?” asked Bonnie. “Or maybe I misunderstood and it’s not
the same word.”
“No, it’s the same word,” said Midori. “
Leis
are recognized around the world as a symbol of Hawaii and the aloha spirit.
Leis
are made with love and given in love, so it was only natural for quilters to bring
them into their designs. The
lei
of a quilt can symbolize the lands beyond Hawaii, with the center of the quilt representing
Hawaii itself. Since the
leis
are unbroken, they also represent the circle of life, and life continuing into eternity,
even after death.”