Quilt c. 1937

This quilt, made by James H.C. Vail, is a lesson in the power of simple means. The red and green flowers are laid out in a grid pattern, but with a kind of insistent handmade quality, as if the maker was determined to keep it real. It's the texture that gets me. The surface seems to have been built up in layers, not with impasto, but maybe using thin washes, creating a subtle relief. Look closely, and you'll see the way the light catches on the raised areas, giving the quilt a kind of shimmering presence. It's a surface that invites touch, but also repels it, like a memory that's both vivid and elusive. I'm reminded of the obsessive mark-making of Agnes Martin, in the way that she could make a drawing out of almost nothing. For Vail, as for Martin, the act of making seems to be as important as the finished object. The quilt becomes a record of a process, a kind of meditation on color, form, and the quiet beauty of repetition.