by Donna Emert

Most quilting advice hones in on aesthetics and engineering, offering solid direction that can be summarized thus: design with abandon and execute with precision. But comes a time when you’ve done that and your quilt is finally in hand. It’s a beautiful thing, and a long awaited moment, not unlike a birth. (But yeah, not too much like one either.)

You have made a piece of art-- complex, modern, sophisticated, simple, utilitarian, folksy, or some hybrid of those fine qualities. Your creation has symbolic as well as functional value:  It is meant to warm your chin and your feet simultaneously; to cover a threadbare sofa; to radiate love; to indulge your cat; to one-up your sister who is the freaking McGiver of the crafting world; to placate your mother in law. Or it is meant to remind your child—its recipient--- that you are present in his life, perhaps even a presence in his room;  in grown children, we hope this quilt also has a guilt-fueled,  frivolous--lover–repellent  function. 

Regardless of its destiny, your quilt needs a name.

Some quilters are language lovers who have been haplessly sucked into the vortex of fabric-as-a -medium of expression. Superior quilters often are more skilled at expressing themselves in fabric than in  words.  But we can all embrace the same handy guidelines for naming a quilt:

Choose a name that aptly reflects its origins. Some people may genuinely experience “Fall Rhapsody” when they build a quilt of chocolate browns and burnt umber. You, however, may recall only that pins slit you wrist-to-elbow as you quilted, or that you got nothing but skunk eye from your family for dinners you burned or blew off while lovingly constructing this heirloom. So a different title may be more apt: “Fall from Rhapsody,”  “Passive Suicide,”  or “Macaroni Flambé.” These are names that invite translation.

Remember that names can shape destiny or be shaped by it.  We named our middle kid Austin Shane. Then we called him Shane, a decision which I am pretty certain eliminates his chances of sitting on the U.S. Supreme Court while increasing, exponentially, his likelihood of punching cattle in Wyoming. But the name fit.  If you have a huge quilt, and it is one of the most visually powerful forces in your domestic universe, why not call it “Zeus”? You can Go Big, Go Big and Weird, or even Go Big and Weird with Obscure Literary /Mythological References. It’s your quilt.

Find delightfully descriptive alternatives to convention. Try “Wine Patch,”  “Shew Slug,” (as a Northwest variation of Shew Fly) or “Bedding Ring” (for those who just cohabitate).  I also like the sound of “Monkey Wench.”  “Quail’s Trail” might serve as a variation of “Snail’s Trail.” As the neurotics of the avian world, quail can’t even decide how to cross the road.  Hence, their “trail” might be pretty amusing to quilt.

Steal something. Go ahead and call that dark, old, wool, four-patch, “Beowulf,” because it’s so swarthy and male it almost has stubble and you don’t feel like apologizing for sleeping with it.  If it’s a big, gorgeous, ratty old monster maybe “Grendel.” 

As an alternative to dipping into the deep well of pagan mythology, you can always jack a Bible verse: who wouldn’t be compelled to wrap up in a chunky, plaid, “Yay Though I Walk Through the Valley of Death,” on a cold winter’s night?

Perpetuate and build your personal mythology. Use bits and pieces of conversation overheard on the bus, song lyrics or even  poem fragments. Haven’t we all made quilts aptly summarized by the words of the poet Robert Burns, who pointed out that the best laid plans of mice and men “Gang Aft Aglee.”  Translation: “we screw up.”

Let’s try it out:  “This one is ‘Monkey Wench,’ from my ‘Gang Aft Aglee’ period.”

Toss inharmonious adjectives and nouns together like salad. “Pertinent Affiliation,”  “Seamless Aftermath,”  “Unholy Kitchen Fire.”   Alternatively, you can use these as band names.

Keep trying. You can call it, “The Nine Patch,” or you can bravely offer a glimpse of your personal journey  by naming it, “Escape Through the Briar Patch.” Keep on naming till you find one that suits you. The good ones stick.

Donna Emert is a quilter and writer in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.