ESSAY SUBMITTED BY MONIKA RATNER ART SUBMITTED BY BABS RATNER
I would call my mom a whimsiradical. She grew up in a conservative Irish Catholic family with nine brothers and sisters outside Philadelphia and then one day walked into a Transcendental Meditation center when she was twenty years old to learn how to meditate. I have heard this story more than a handful of times. The first time she realized that constant brain chatter could go quiet. This blew down the doors and opened the windows of her mind. She became a vegetarian, started making her own tofu (which her mom called “toad food”), and moved in with my dad bringing one pair of Frye boots and her needle and thread.
My mom’s whimsiradical nature is possibly best understood through her love of fabric. Kaffe Fassett and the quiltmakers of Gee’s Bend were superstars in our house. We honored their genius in the way other homes spoke about famous athletes or musicians. The plight of the domestic arts gaining equal respect (and pay) to other arts was a soapbox any of us could have preached on for an hour. My childhood is filled with memories of coming home from school and seeing my mom stretched out on the floor across a massive quilt, placing and replacing squares of fabric to find the right combination, or handstitching the top layer while the rest of us watched TV. Each quilt can take up to a thousand hours. A fact my mom would sometimes mention when we perused $30 quilts sold at Target.
I could easily pick my mom’s quilts out of a lineup because they are loud. Bright and ballsy with clashing colors that somehow all work together. Growing up in Iowa where being beige is next to godliness, her explosion of color was (and is to this day), enriching and beautiful. Also, her quilts are never perfect. My untrained eye can’t tell, but she always makes sure to point out places where the triangles do not match up exactly at the corners. In the early 80’s, my mom watched a PBS program on the Living Treasures of Japan and since then when something goes sideways on a quilt she just smiles and says, “wabi-sabi”.