I've judged artwork, woodwork, chili, essays, splash dives, beauty queens, spaghetti-eating contests and more. So how tough could it be to judge a bunch of quilts? After all, I've made potholders on those little plastic looms. And, a year or two ago, I tried my hand at knitting and nearly completed an entire row.
So it was with an air of confidence that I entered the DeltaPlex on Friday to sort out the cream of the crop at "Quilts on the Grand ," sponsored by the West Michigan Quilters' Guild, a group celebrating 30 years. And, in the background, my host, Patricia Chapman, was informing me that professional quilting judges are apt to employ magnifying glasses and flashlights to inspect the work.
Just in case. In a word, I was stunned. Every one of the quilts in this cavernous space invited touch, which of course, you aren't permitted to do, unless you're wearing special white gloves. Even to an untrained eye, the handiwork is mind-numbing. So many little pieces of cloth.
So many stitches. How could anyone sit that long? Right as rain. My job, said Chapman, bringing me back into the present tense and reminding me of my responsibility, was to serve as a VIP judge and pick out the quilt I liked best.
Never mind, she said, if it doesn't already have a ribbon attached to it. In fact, she said with a bit of a wink, it's just as well if you pick one that's not yet adorned with an award, so the guild can spread out the kudos. I was informed I was but one of several VIP judges. The latter is a judge duh , which I thought unfair. As for Dragos, she has to practice patience virtually every night, as the meteorologists spend 28 of every minute broadcast telling us it might rain the next day.
