“Zeitgeist of the Dream” – My Journey into the Avant-Garde

When I first heard the theme for the 2025 International Quilt Contest at the European Patchwork Meeting - “Avant-garde", I wasn’t exactly thrilled. The idea was to imagine the quilts of tomorrow, and I immediately felt out of my depth. Sci-fi has never been my genre, and the word avant-garde brought to mind the Russian Avant-garde movement of the 1920s - beautiful, innovative, and surprisingly modern even today, but not quite the direction I wanted to take.

I knew from the beginning that this would be a difficult theme to work with. But challenges are part of the creative path, right? So, with a mix of doubt, curiosity, and determination, I set out on an eight-month journey: four months spent chasing the idea, and four more bringing it to life through daily work.

In this post, I’d like to take you behind the scenes of “Zeitgeist of the Dream” - a project born in question, shaped by exploration, and completed with a strange sense of quiet wonder.

Coming up with the idea was the hardest part. Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. I became completely obsessed with the theme - browsing through countless books on avant-garde, surrealism, and contemporary art. I kept thinking about the future of patchwork: what techniques we might use, what materials would emerge, and how the themes could shift. I imagined a future where patchwork is no longer defined solely by its utility or seen as a craft of old women, but recognized for its artistic merit. In desperation, I even started writing my thoughts in a journal - something totally new for me. Still, nothing seemed to spark the idea I was looking for.

At one point, I considered picturing a human eye and a brain - symbols of perception, creativity, and the ability to recognize beauty. I also toyed with the idea of a triangular quilt shape to symbolize transformation. But of course, I didn’t want anyone to associate it with the Illuminati.

My first real step forward was practical: I wrote to the contest organizers to ask if an unusual quilt shape could still be accepted—as long as it fit within the required measurements. The rules specified a rectangle. To my relief, the contest organizers replied that unusual quilt shapes were indeed allowed - as long as the piece met the required dimensions. "Otherwise," they said, "creativity would be scarce." That simple answer felt like a green light, and I suddenly felt a bit freer to explore unconventional ideas.

Around the same time, I stumbled upon the work of Gary Andrew Clarke, a British graphic designer whose minimalist and abstract forms completely captivated me. I remember showing some of his designs to my son, and he said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing where this inspiration takes you.” His words stayed with me.

Then, almost out of nowhere, I had a dream. All those days of flipping through art albums hadn’t been in vain. Somewhere deep in my subconscious, the imagery had taken root. In the dream, I saw a vast landscape reminiscent of a Salvador Dalí painting: a wide, surreal world with a glowing orange sun, a glass prism, and land and ocean stretching beneath it. In the morning I made a sketch.

One of my sketches with an added cityscape

The drawing looked flat, but the dream had been vividly three-dimensional. I decided to rework the composition using perspective to give it depth, knowing full well that it would distort the rectangular quilt shape. From the front, it would appear as a kind of side view. An optical illusion.

One of my sketches in perspective

And just like that, the idea had finally arrived.

The idea was great, but how on earth was I going to translate it into fabric?

I’m not particularly tech-savvy, so this part felt intimidating. I decided to teach myself how to use Inkscape, a vector graphics program, to create the design digitally. It sounded simple enough in theory... but in practice? Let’s just say it involved a lot of frustration, trial and error, and some near hair-pulling moments. But the learning curve was worth it. Slowly, piece by piece, I figured it out, and eventually, I had a digital version of my quilt design that captured the depth and illusion I had envisioned. It was one of those small victories that feels huge when you're creating something from scratch.

Digital design of the quilt

If you look at my computer design, you’ll notice a city beneath the sun. Truth be told, I didn’t really like that part of the composition. But I was so eager to start sewing that I told myself I’d rework it later.

Sewing the sun was surprisingly smooth - I created English Paper Piecing templates and hand-stitched the pieces - slow, meditative, and satisfying.

In progress: the sun design using EPP.

But then came the prism. That part had me completely puzzled. I just couldn’t get the sharp precise points by hand sewing alone.

So I turned to technology again. This time, I discovered another free tool: Quilt Assistant. With it, I was able to draft Foundation Paper Piecing templates for the prism.

The prism sewn with Foundation Paper Piecing

Suddenly, everything clicked into place, literally. All the pieces in the sun fit together magically, and for the first time, the quilt began to feel real, not just imagined.

All the pieces in the sky were sewn and appliquéd by hand onto a gorgeous background fabric (“Sky” by Jennifer Sampou) which gave the upper part of the quilt a luminous, atmospheric quality I loved.

Then came the city. I had what I thought was another brilliant idea: what if I imagined a city of the future where all cultures coexist peacefully? I envisioned a skyline composed of iconic architecture from around the world: the Shanghai World Trade Center, the Eiffel Tower, Petronas Towers, and more. A symbol of globalization, unity, and shared human heritage.

Below you can see a photo of my initial plan, I even made paper templates and started sewing some of the structures. But soon, reality hit. Not only was the city section technically challenging, but the composition started to feel too crowded and visually unbalanced. The delicate illusion and open space of the upper quilt were getting lost under too much detail. It was a tough decision, but I knew I had to let the city go.

But then came the big question: what to add instead? Letting go of the concrete - the buildings, the recognizable forms - was the most difficult part. I had invested so much time into the concept of a global city, and now I was back at square one, with a deadline looming closer every day. The composition felt empty, and I wasn’t sure how to move forward.

Weeks passed. I kept sketching, thinking, doubting. Then, one day, I was on the phone with my sister. She asked me gently, “So… have you found a solution yet?” In a moment of total frustration, I half-joked: “Ugh, I don’t know… maybe the cubes should just fall out of the prism!” And there it was. In that instant, everything clicked. I could see it so clearly—cubes breaking free from the prism, tumbling into the space below. The image felt alive: abstract, dynamic, full of motion and possibility.

The quilt was no longer about a futuristic skyline. It had transformed into something more open, more poetic - a visual metaphor for ideas taking shape, or maybe even dreams escaping structure. It was symbolic, unexpected, and suddenly felt perfectly in tune with the spirit of the avant-garde.

And then, almost like it was meant to be, I found the perfect fabrics for the cubes in my stash - some beautiful prints by Tula Pink: butterflies with eyes on their wings, rainbows, tiny dots and stars. Surreal, playful, and slightly mysterious - they fit the dreamlike quality of the design perfectly. I paired them with solids to bring contrast and clarity, then stitched and appliquéd each cube by hand.

As a final touch, I added a balloon—a quiet, whimsical element floating gently in the scene. It was a small detail, but for me, it symbolized lightness, elevation, and the freedom of imagination.

Quilting the piece on my domestic sewing machine took quite a while, but the quilt seemed to guide me through the process. I kept it simple - outlining the piecing and shapes to enhance their form and appliquéing tiny black circles onto the sun to add depth and a subtle 3D effect. I also quilted the background densely, which gave the whole piece texture and movement.

To finish, I used a facing instead of a traditional binding, that felt just right for this quilt.

The quilt was finished, but I wasn’t truly at ease until the photos were taken. I worried that the optical illusion I had poured so much effort into might not come across as I’d hoped.

But then, seeing the quilt from a distance in the photographs, I realized: the illusion does work. The depth, the perspective—it’s all there. The effort shows.

I’m incredibly proud of this piece - not just for the design itself, but for pushing myself to design digitally, a huge technical leap that opened new doors for my creativity.

As a final touch, I asked an AI to write a poem inspired by my quilt. Here’s what it came up with:

The sun splits into silence,

The prism weeps forms that fall like thoughts.

A balloon drifts - a breath, a wish,

Over the ocean that I remember.

Perspective tilts,

and the dream, unspoken,

begins to speak.

I even considered using this AI-generated poem as my artist statement, but in the end, I wrote my own:

Surreal. Bizarre. Punchy. A mirage or reality? A scent of the unknown faded once waking up. Maybe even Avant-garde. What do you think?

 After all, it’s you, my audience, who will decide what “Zeitgeist of the Dream” truly is.