Punk ass quiltmaking...
Quilted For Your Pleasure
Punk ass quiltmaking...
EXHIBITS
DEBUT - Exhibit
Point de Repère
167 rue Saint Paul Ouest - Montreal
August 15th to September 15th, 2026
M-F 11am-6pm
S-S 12pm-6pm
ARTIST TALK - Conversation with Jordan
Point de Repère
167 rue Saint Paul Ouest - Montreal
August 27th, 2026
7pm-9pm
My Story - Based On A True Story About A Modern Queer Quilt Maker And Textile Artist: A Fictional Retelling Of A True Story That Is Absolutely False; Based In Reality
I live in a quiet Montreal apartment, where I'm known for my intricate quilts. My name is Jordan, and as a queer quilt maker, my creations are vibrant and tell stories of love and resilience. Solitude is my sanctuary, and I lose myself in the art of quilting.
One frosty December night, a mysterious package arrived. Inside was a roll of dark, velvety fabric I’d never seen before. There was no return address, only a note written in elegant script: “For your finest work yet.”
Intrigued, I began crafting a quilt from the fabric. It was a deep, unsettling shade of midnight blue. As I stitched, I noticed something strange—the fabric seemed to whisper and shift under my needle, almost as if it had a mind of its own. The quilt took on a bizarre, surreal quality, with patterns that seemed to change before my eyes.
Soon, my dreams turned nightmarish. Faces appeared in the fabric, twisted and mournful, reaching out with ghostly fingers. I awoke each morning feeling an unsettling presence in my apartment.
One night, as I worked on the final piece, a sudden gust of wind slammed the window shut. I turned to see the fabric writhing and shifting on its own. To my horror, a ghostly figure began to emerge from the quilt—an eerie, spectral version of myself, with hollow eyes full of despair. It floated towards me, its hand outstretched.
I was paralyzed with fear as the apparition whispered in a voice like rustling leaves, “Now, you are part of the quilt.”
Before I could react, the fabric wrapped around me, its grip tightening like a shroud. My screams were swallowed by the quilt, which seemed to come alive, pulling me into its depths. The next morning, my apartment was silent, and the quilt hung on the wall, now completed and more beautiful than ever.
I was nowhere to be found. My friends spoke of the haunting masterpiece—a quilt with shifting patterns that seemed to contain a hidden sadness. And in the stillness of my apartment, if you looked closely under the moonlight, my face could be seen stitched into the fabric, forever trapped in the tapestry I had unwittingly created.