This grandmother’s flower garden quilt was actually influenced by three of Prince’s songs. Although each song was featured on different CDs during his career, all of the songs carried the theme of spirituality that can be found within his music. The first song was “The Digital Garden” on the Rainbow Children CD. I listened to that CD a lot while making the quilt. It is both an artistic and spiritual song about the blossoming of creativity and the burgeoning of spirituality within lyrical metaphors of a blossoming flower garden. I was inspired to create a pattern of purple roses that blossomed from the inside out with the light, medium and dark colored fabric framing one another. The second song was “When Doves Cry” from the Purple Rain soundtrack. Doves represent spiritual awakening. The border fabric has a purple background featuring white doves with the word “peace.” The third song was “Seven” from The Love Symbol CD. The song was about the symbolism of the number seven within the Bible. Prince was very emotionally connected to his faith, so I used seven rows of grandmother’s flower garden blocks appliquéd to the dove border fabric.
I worked through the entire holidays, so seeing Funkadesi at City Winery right after the New Year was a reward! Surprisingly, there were people in the audience who had never heard of them. After watching them perform, even they had to admit that they didn’t know they were in for a real treat.
I learned about them when I was a graduate student. I saw them at a local street festival in Evanston. I had no idea that they were Barack and Michelle’s favorite band. I learned that bit of information later. I also learned later that they have won the Chicago Music Awards 6 times. All I knew was they were great performers. There are a number of healthcare workers in the band. They have been together for nearly 20 years. They all come from different ethnic backgrounds: Latin American, Jamaican, African American, and South Asian. The music is a cross section of rap, Latin, Indian music, blues, reggae, and of course, funk.
As a result of this combination of musical and cultural influences, when they perform, you can’t help but move your behind, even if you don’t think you can.
They even cleared the areas near the wall for people to dance, which they did. Their ending song was “Woman No Cry” by Bob Marley, which made the audience feel real good about coming out and dancing in the middle of a cold winter night.
17.I attended “It’s Your Move,” a fundraiser for my local rape and domestic violence shelter in May 2016. They had a big band with a contrabass player. I sat there transfixed on that contrabass while they performed, remembering what I had lost.
18.After speaking to some people in PAQA (Professional Art Quilters Alliance), they told me to try to find a community ensemble and try to play contrabass again instead of longing.
19.There is a woman in my textile arts group who plays both piano and violin. Anytime I saw her, I remembered when I played piano and contrabass. And my heart longed for my contrabass. I told her about my abandoned contrabass dream. She told me to not beat myself up because actually things had gone better than I had ever thought. She has acted as a music therapist for me, patiently listening as I detailed my previous experience. She helped me to trouble shoot what went wrong, what went right and what I could do the next time to assure success in playing contrabass again.
20.I lived down the street from an Annie Lee store for years. I remember seeing pictures and statues of “On Q.” I bought a statue of “On Q” at the African Festival in Washington Park when I first started graduate school, as if to reassure my heart to keep hope alive. I kept thinking, “One day, all of what is “required” of me (get an undergraduate degree, get a graduate degree, etc.) will come to an end and I would play my contrabass again.
21.When I was taking writing classes, I cannot tell you how many times I heard about “getting in touch with your true voice.” I thought, “I write, make textiles and play contrabass. That should be easy with me being me.” I HAD to go back to contrabass again. My writing depended on it.
22.Shortly after Prince died, one of my evening shifts ended at work. As I was walking to my car, out of nowhere, I had this agonizing thought: “DO YOU REMEMBER PLAYING CONTRABASS AND LISTENING TO ‘STARFISH AND COFFEE?!?!!?’ I MISS ROSIN!!! I MISS MY BOW!!! I MISS THAT MONSTROCITY OF AN INSTRUMENT!!! I WANT MY CONTRABSS!!! I WANT MY CONTRABSS RIGHT NOW!!!”
23.I saw contrabassist Mimi Jones live at the Currency Exchange Café in Chicago during the summer of 2016. I loved these intimate settings for live performances. I took a list of questions to ask about playing a contrabass and she graciously answered each one. As I have been listening to her sound recordings, I have thought, “I want to play my contrabass again.”
- I saw someone at the music store in Chicago called A 440 who talked to me about the best rosins for contrabass. I was so excited that I bought all three: Nyman, Pops and Samuel Kolstein. No one told me this when I first started playing contrabass in high school. I placed one on my bookshelf in the house, one in my purse and one in my cup holder in my car, as if to communicate to the Universe and anyone who was listening that I wanted to play my contrabass again. I was confident I could do this again.
- I came across an online community known as Contrabass Conversations. I could have used this in high school. I have been soaking up every word like a sponge since I discovered them and thinking, “I want to play my contrabass again.”
- I went to the Music Institute in Evanston to watch the jazz jams all summer. I didn’t ever realize that three hours had passed. I wanted my contrabass. I met a contrabass teacher named Stuart Miller. I told him about my previous contrabass experience. “You walked around with a naked bass?” he asked. “That says you’re determined. This is good. You’re going to need that.” He told me to take the time to look around for a contrabass for myself, get a proper padded carrying case.
27.During the summer of 2016, I went to the music stores recommended by the Music Institute in Evanston and my textile arts group. I saw a laminated contrabass right before the Fourth of July holiday and thought, “It’s beautiful!” This time, I obtained padded case to go with it. I cleared a corner in my bedroom for my contrabass and my music stand. I have been getting up before the start of each shift to play, even before my 16 hour double shifts. I have loved every minute of it. I was asked by a friend if I would give my contrabass a name. I said I am going to name it, “Baby, Baby Baby” after the verse in the song “The Beautiful Ones” by Prince. I tried to not talk to too many people anyone outside of them because I learned over the years, as Julia Cameron has said in The Artist Way to “practice containment.” I didn’t want to be talked out of it. I have been working as a nurse for 15 years. Part of the reason why I took this job, aside from my volunteer work in high school with medically compromised children, was to pay for my artistic pursuits. I increased my work load not only to pay bills, but also to pay for a contrabass and lessons (which is why I haven’t posted as much as I used to).
28.The Universe began giving me the right people to talk to. I was told by two musical families to check out Guitar Center for contrabass lessons, which I did. I started them at the end of August. I have been delighted ever since!
The death of Prince has had a MAJOR effect on me. I will admit that I had no idea of how much I loved him until he passed away. I have heard other people express the same thing. I also had no idea of how much of a musical influence he had on me when I first started playing music instruments in high school.
My first experience playing contrabass in high school left something to be desired. In the interest of “practicality” and taking “college preparatory courses,” I gave it up, but not without considerable heartbreak on my behalf.
I TRIED to be like everyone else and just pick and choose one interest or better yet, nothing at all. Just go to work, interest myself with Netflix and the next strip mall opening. But the truth of the matter is that I am an interdisciplinary artist: writing, textiles, and music. It has been this way for me all my life. And the past four months, this has become obvious for me. I’ve played other instruments before, but the contrabass has always captured my heart.
The past few months made me remember my never forgotten dream to play my contrabass again, just like I did in high school orchestra band. I am grateful for my textile arts group. Next to books by Julia Cameron and Elizabeth Gilbert, they have been more valuable than words could ever say for helping me to recover my creativity. I wrote out for people who may not know the times I noted in my mind where I wanted to play my contrabass again and what I did as a direct result of this desire. This series is numerous, but this is Part 1.
- In elementary school, I made my own makeshift contrabass with rubber bands and card board boxes. Even though I didn’t know any bass players, I told people, “I’m going to play a bass when I grow up.”
- My father had an impressive jazz LP collection when I was growing up. He had everything in his LP collection, but the jazz was phenomenal. There were jazz clubs all over the South Side of Chicago and my father attended them frequently to listen to live music. Anytime I heard the jazz artists in his LP collection when I was growing up, I thought, “That sounds like fun. I want to do that.”
- Anytime I heard anything by Prince, especially the string arrangement of “Purple Rain,” I thought, “That is so heartbreakingly beautiful. I MUST learn how to play it.”
- One day I was walking around Downtown Chicago and I saw some vendors in front of Daily Plaza. One of them sold a pair of silver earrings in the shape of a contrabass with an amber stone in the middle. I still have those earrings. Each time I wore them, I said, “One day, I will play my bass again.”
- Anytime I heard the string arrangement of the reprise version of “Human Beings” by Seal, I thought, “That is heartbreakingly beautiful and I want to learn how to play it.”
- I saw the Uptown String Quartet live at the University of Illinois at Urbana/Champaign. Watching their amazing performance, I thought, “One day, I am going to play my contrabass again.”
- When Transitions Bookstore was still in business in Chicago, I came across a book called, Music for the Joy of It by Stephanie Judy. Next to The Artist Way by Julia Cameron, this book has saved my life. I knew I would go back to my contrabass some day.
- When I started working as a nurse, I met someone who quit a high stress corporate America job to take another job that allowed him to practice with his band after work. I thought, “This person has the right idea.” And I remembered how I wanted to play my contrabass again.
- When I worked as a nurse in a long term care facility, I had a patient whose great grandchildren had formed a string quartet. Their performed Beethoven for their great grandmother as a Christmas present. They sounded so beautiful I literally wept for my contrabass in the medication room.
- I work as a pediatrics nurse. Needless to say, Finding Nemo is an all around favorite cartoon. Anytime I heard the string arrangement to the songs or even the jazz song “Beyond the Sea,” I thought, “That is beautiful I want to learn how to play that.”
- For years, I have literally had nocturnal dreams of myself where I saw myself with my contrabass again. These were some of the best dreams I have ever had.
- Anytime I saw Rhonda Smith, a female bassist, perform with Prince, I thought, “I remember when I used to play a contrabass.”
- One of my aunt’s friends got us tickets to a jazz concert at Millennium Parkway in Chicago. The group was from New York. I stared at the contrabass player, thinking, “I want to play my contrabass again.”
- When I met Zhena Muzyka, an editor for Simon and Schuster in Ojai, California, I went home the day after the Grammys were televised. I happened to walk around LAX and see people carrying cases for their French horns, guitars, and of course, a contrabass. Again, my heart swelled, ached and longed for my contrabass.
- I never dated in high school. I didn’t even get asked out to the prom, but I did play my contrabass, write for the yearbook, sit under my family as they made textiles and volunteered helping medically compromised children, a precursor to my future self. The person who taught me how to play didn’t remember how to play a contrabass and kept switching around my notes, which became confusing. I couldn’t afford decent contrabass class instruction. I used violin rosin on my bow. I wasn’t given a choice with my contrabass. I was just handed a contrabass that was too tall and too wide for me. Still, I hung on. I was not provided with a case for my contrabass. Instead, I walked around with a naked bass, but I guarded it with my life and it never needed to be serviced. People disturbed me when I practiced my bass at school. “Maybe this experience isn’t ideal,” I thought, “But I am getting exposure musically and when the time is right, I will work as a nurse and use my money to finance my own creative pursuits.”
- When Prince died, I remembered when my high school orchestra band went to perform at the University of Illinois at Urbana/Champaign for a weekend. Needless to say, we performed classical. Still, every teenager on that bus had Sign O’ the Times by Prince on their Walkman. With so many diverse people, it was interesting to note our collective love for Prince. Our favorite song was not the more profane ones or even the more popular ones played on the radio during that time. It was “Starfish and Coffee,” a jazz number. We paid special attention to the chord progressions, trying to figure out how to play it. I ate vegetarian Gyros and French fries that weekend at a local Greek restaurant all weekend. I bought the 12 inch dance version of “Desire” by U2 at a local record shop. I stared into the windows of the local bookstores, begging God to please bless me one day by becoming a published author. I played until the tips of my fingers had blisters that popped and bled. Afterwards, the skin became smooth, but tough. Later when I worked as a nurse, I found out that construction workers get these same blisters. I didn’t care. I kept playing anyway. Later our orchestra band teacher played the sound recording of our performance back to us. We sounded awful. It didn’t matter. It had nothing to do with money, fame or being on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine one day. I was still happier in that weekend than I could say I was with the things that I was told would make me happy, but didn’t: romantic relationships, careers, etc. And I listened to “Starfish and Coffee” by Prince all weekend on my Walkman, confident that one day, I would learn how to play it and play it right.