Do we look at the "supplies" - paints that an artist has and say that there are too many? Do we make assumptions based on the number of model cars or trains a collector has and decide that the collector shouldn't collect because relatives will have to disburse it all after he passes? While I think this article is food for thought to some extent, for me it is rather like going to church and forgetting to invite God. There HAS to be room for the Spirit to move.
Quilting has moved in so many ways from functional form to art form. Art is not usually a regimented process, rather a changing, undulating stream of bubbling ideas that sometimes erupt in a riot of colors, that in the Quilter's case happens to be fabric, threads, rulers, tools, books, scribbled ideas, folded patterns, and what to the non-quilter must assuredly look like a pile of nonsense, but to the quilter holds a world of creative promise.
Perhaps, or rather, hopefully, my family will sort through my "palette" of fabrics after I pass and say, "look at all the wonderful plans Mama had! I would love to see what she was going to do with this piece of fabric." Maybe my son will look at a machine and say, "Dad got this for Mama just because she mentioned that Someday she might like to own one." Or..."Dad built all these shelves so Mama could organize, but if you look, you can tell every time she went on a color quest based on the upheaval." Hopefully they will find smiles in the images of me puttering around in my special room, surrounded by all of my creative mess.
My quilts will never hold the value of a Van Gogh, will not be put on display in any museum, and certainly won't fetch a great, commanding price. But to me, the peace that I find in disappearing into my messy, overflowing studio to escape the world, to put stitches into fabric, the ideas that bounce around in my head about the next or five projects, the excitement that I feel when a project comes together or an idea gels - this keeps me sane in a stressful, overly busy, demanding, judge mental world. How boring and bored I would be without this wonderful, riotous, creative outlet. Maybe my stash will inspire someone to step into quilting after I am gone. In the meantime, I hold in my heart the joy my tiny granddaughter displays every time she sneaks out of my studio holding a pieced block or wraps herself in a top that hasn't been quilted yet, her little face beaming, pointing at the colors, and singing, "Mine, mine. Mine, Nonnie."