The 100 Quilt Project has changed how I approach unfinished projects. I've been thinking about why I prefer to finish one project completely before starting another, and how that approach has evolved as the project has grown.

My first attempt at Floating Squares was far from “just right.” After a few false starts with color and proportion, the Goldilocks version finally came together in a quilt that is light, airy, and perfectly balanced.

After a wonderfully productive summer, the time available for the 100 Quilt Project has changed. I’ve been thinking about what it looks like to keep the project moving when studio time comes in smaller pieces.

Inspired by a piece of soundproofing foam and stitched through a fair bit of grumbling on both sides, this quilt came together through trial, error, and a moody palette of stormy blues and purples. The seams had opinions. The colors argued. But somewhere between burnt fingertips and rotating block layouts, the texture finally clicked.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what I expect of myself as a quilt designer, and why I keep coming back to the same handful of simple shapes.

This quiet, dimensional quilt that came together when I needed fewer decisions, less noise, and just enough structure to keep going.

A quilt made from strings and crumbs. A resource center that's slowly growing smaller. This month's post looks back at how my relationship with fabric has changed over the course of the 100 Quilt Project, and why an emptier shelf has become an unexpected source of creative breathing room.

I started with a failed design, a pile of red-ish scraps, and a loose plan. Starflower came together one adjustment at a time—in the layout stage, and somehow, it worked.

The 100 Quilt Project has taught me many things, but one of the biggest is what consistency actually looks like in practice. Not motivation or productivity hacks, but hundreds of small decisions that gradually add up over time.

To turn a 150-year-old optical illusion into a quilt, I had to abandon blocks, rethink how I use space and structure, and sew the same fabric back together just to get seams. Divergence was a challenge — but in the best way.

After an intense stretch at the day job, the studio was quiet. No next project. No sketch. No plan. This post is about the uncomfortable stillness between quilts and the relief of realizing the ideas hadn’t disappeared after all.

This quilt came together using what I had—and what I had included Wasabi, a bright yellow that, like Kiwi Marmite, people tend to love or hate. One block, bold lines, and a design that hides its own seams.

A shift in pace and a change in approach. Process, momentum, and adjusting how the work moves.

Frosty lilacs, quiet navy, and the reminder that it’s not over until the binding’s on and the threads are buried. Quilt 25 of the 100 Quilt Project didn’t really sing until it was done done—and suddenly, I loved it.

XOXO was one of the early quilts in the 100 Quilt Project, but the design never quite worked the way I intended. Revisiting the design later revealed what it needed.

Winterfade started with a quilt shop visit and a heavy feeling. That old tug of imposter syndrome — the sense that everyone else knows exactly what they’re doing — crept in, and I brought it home with me. I know it’s irrational, but I’m just weird with people sometimes.

A winter studio check-in: the unseen work behind the quilts, finishing one project at a time, and starting XOXO again.

I didn’t set out to make a heart quilt—I set out to use up some sweet pink scraps and fill a Valentine’s gap in the portfolio. The shapes are simple, the layout’s a trick of the brain, and technically… it’s not a heart quilt. Until you see it. Then it definitely is.

A quieter remake of the Groovy Checkerboard quilt, shaped by scraps, value, and simple construction.

January isn’t about reinvention—it’s about moving forward, thoughtfully and intentionally. Which Way? invites you to begin, one step at a time.