Lemonade

A friend once said, “When you are hurting make something beautiful.”

I think that stands out as one of the best pieces of advice I have ever gotten. At that time, this meant learning to quilt.   Being an experienced seamstress this was one of the few areas in life I knew no fear so naturally, I picked the hardest pattern I could find and went for it. Over the year, it took to learn, mess up, scratch my head, start again, and realize the direction I was headed, I saw the quilt top coming together in so many iterations, and I liked each one. It was like a mystery where you have to trust your instincts and lean all the way into your creativity.

I loved the excitement of colors and patterns coming together one way, only to be recut and see them come together in another. Then one day a kaleidoscope of all those new colors, patterns, and shapes reveals itself and tells the story of the life you are living which is separate from the pain you felt in the beginning. And you have to accept any flaws because those imperfections reveal its humanity. At that point I decided to hand quilt the entire thing together, putting it on a hoop and sitting and hand stitching my kaleidoscope top through the batting to the backing all the while thinking of how it would keep me warm on winter nights. I loved the idea of a quilt because I wanted to sleep in the healing.

During American pioneer days, foundation piecing became popular. Paper was cut into shapes and used as a pattern; each individual piece of cut fabric was basted around the paper pattern. Paper was a scarce commodity in the early American West so women would save letters from home, postcards, newspaper clippings, and catalogs to use as patterns. The paper not only served as a pattern but as an insulator. Paper found between these old quilts has become a primary source of information about pioneer life. Quilts made without any insulation or batting were referred to as summer quilts. They were not made for warmth, but to keep the chill off during cooler summer evenings.

Fast forward to a new moment where I needed to make something beautiful again. I needed a sofa for Lemonade, otherwise known as my new apartment, a transitional space I found myself in after saying goodbye to my cottage. In the same way, I wanted to sleep in healing, I wanted Lemonade to have an anchor, a place to host friends, new and old. And that is what a sofa really is, a place that holds our stories.

I came across a woman named Laura at @hilobrooklyn on Instagram and told her that I needed to make something joyful, something vibrant. I did not want ordinary. This house could not tolerate ordinary. Laura sent me photos of lots of decrepit old sofas that we could begin with, following my only guideline: “You have to be able to sit all night and sip wine with friends.”

I picked 3 pieces of a beat up old Milo Baughman pit sofa. I know Lemonade is only a temporary home. I was very intentional. Because the sofa is modular, it can fasten together into several different shapes. Now that we settled on the broken body to rebuild we moved on to the fun of fabric selection. What would be the inspiration? I created mood boards. Yes, sofa mood boards.  Laura is an eccentric with fabric combinations so it was even more exciting. We obsessed over style, patterns, and fabric types to give us wide points of reference. I found myself rushing to the mailbox when I was expecting a new round of swatches. I would tear open the envelopes and lay them all out like a kid with new toys. I knew instantly what I liked and what I did not. It felt good to play with fabric once more. 

I came to regard my swatch pile as a precious thing that offered me an emotional break from life. I would find myself creating concepts for pretend sofas that I might want in another lifetime. I began combining fabrics from different companies and laying them out in different light or against the wallpaper. What would play together? What was exciting? I wasn’t sure yet, but I knew It had to make my heart dance. Every now and then I would think we nailed it only to find out the fabric was delayed or not available. Heartbreak. I went back to the drawing board, which I realized was where I like to be. I discovered joy in the picking, regardless of how long it would take.  I was having too much fun.

I took the finalists with me to get other people's opinions and obsessed nervously. I knew this was an investment and I did not want to regret the choices. Finally, we landed the combination of linen floral for the body and mottled velvet for the cushions. Then we moved on to discussing cushion finishes. To pipe or not to pipe? , What kind of corner?, How high should the back cushion be?  We fought the upholsterer a bit, as even he had an opinion. Finally, with all the decisions made, I only had to wait. 

The sofa arrived right before Christmas, like a big present. At first I wasn’t sure about it. Mostly because the wallpaper is also busy, but after a day or two I leaned in and fell in love. It is so different than any home I have ever lived in and the task of finding peace in pattern was upon me.  How much pattern could you put in a space before it became calm again? The next, and final task…..pillows. I mean you have to have something to sink into right? 

Seeing as I was headed to London to celebrate mutual birthdays with friends, I decided to look there. London had to have something more interesting than the Home Goods type fair I was seeing here. I realized something about myself…and I get this is probably some kind of cardinal sin, but I did not care that much about Abby’s and palaces, what I cared about was - fabric. I wanted to visit the places I had ordered fabric from back in the US but had never been able to see it firsthand. So I gave up on pretending I wanted to see Westminster Abby and started looking for The House of Hackney. I loved the way they used color and pattern. It is both playful and irreverent. I needed a little irreverence in my life, so off I went.

Naturally, it was raining so I decided on a cab instead of walking. I am glad I did because this led me to a much more industrial side of town. When we got to the address, having chatted the whole way, there was no House of Hackney, now completely invested in my quest, the driver got out, asked around and no one seemed to know anything about the shop. Ok let’s reprogram the phone and try again, following a new set of directions we ended up at a gate outside of a church in a small alley…both of us stumped we decided maybe it was time to just call.

As it turns out, we were in the right place, all we had to do was pass the gate and enter the church on the left. (Turns out I was going to a church after all) I tipped the driver well, much to his dismay. I said, “Listen in New York City I would have been kicked out of the car 20 minutes ago and made to cope by myself in the rain. I never would have found it. Because of you, I am here.” And off I went.

Cab drivers in The UK go through a rigorous educational and testing process known as "The Knowledge." This extensive training program requires candidates to master nearly every street and significant landmark within a vast area of central London. The process is so detailed and demanding that it can take aspiring drivers up to four years to complete. During this time, they must learn the quickest possible routes across the city, committing to memory thousands of streets and places of interest. "The Knowledge" is more than just a test; it's a hallmark of dedication to the profession, elevating the role of a cab driver to that of a respected career, symbolizing a remarkable commitment to providing passengers with knowledgeable and efficient service.

The House of Hackney transcends mere furniture offerings, presenting an enchanting array of lamp bases shaped like Dodo birds and tulip shades with just the right amount of fringe to throw it over an edge. It all seem to leap out of an Alice in Wonderland tableau. In addition, its vibrant and eclectic patterns breathe life into everything from wallpaper to curtains, to tiles for the wall, all of it offering a nod to whimsical adventures. It’s all there. 

I was greeted by a woman who said  I could roam around and they would be by to help if I needed them. The church was rich and warm and so romantic on this rainy day. I am embarrassed to admit how often I've struggled to cry during significant moments in life. But here, amidst all this creativity, my heart soared, and tears filled my eyes. I drank it in and breathed deeply as if I could inhale the art and take it with me. 

I met with a saleswoman and showed her the sofa we had designed, mentioning I was in search of pillows to complete its look. Immediately, she said, "Well, Zeus would be perfect. Look at him!" Truthfully, I had already been drawn to that fabric, so seeing it crafted into a pillow made this a no-brainer. Besides, I thought Lemonade could use a touch of Zeus. Then, I chose another pillow, made of a fabric named Love Letters. If you look closely at the velvet the “Pansy People” are actually exchanging love letters! Yes, this would do. After completing my purchases, I ventured out into the rain for some tea.

Honestly, I could not wait to get home and put the pillows on the sofa. It made leaving London slightly easier. Now that it's complete, Lemonade has transformed into a wonderful space. I'm creating new memories and finding ways to mend the voids left by a past life. It's not just about the sofa—it's about the process. Through this one, I rediscovered new facets of myself, growing through the act of creating when I was hurting.  I have long since lost touch with my friend Nancy who gave me that precious piece of advice, but I will always be grateful. I remember the days quilting all those years ago as clearly as I remember walking into the House of Hackney. Ignited again I set off into the world on a new journey, having set a motto to create beauty wherever I go. And the hurt? It’s gone, just a footnote to the adventure of getting here.