The inspiration for my quilt square was drawn from Gaza-grown strawberries, a Palestinian tourism poster from 1936, and a stumbled-upon Soviet postage stamp from 1983 declaring solidarity with the Palestinian people. Using both applique and piecing techniques to combine the fabrics that you see, I reference paper collage, a non-textile art form I favoured as a young child and associate deeply with evenings spent crafting with my cousin during returns to visit kin in Russia. The text reads “Палестина” (“Palestina”). With this piece, I visualize a wish: may we all live to see a free Palestine bloom and grow, its decadent strawberries enjoyed by Palestinian children for generations to come. 

When designing my square I kept coming back to the idea of borders, and what it would look like to break those borders. In early explorations I sketched out very literal representations of borders; fences, walls, chains, etc. but the tone always felt too cold and too hopeless. Where I landed instead was to use the patchwork squares as larger and larger borders and to have an appliqué poppy overtop, breaking out of the bounds of each square. I hope that the final square shows the power and resiliency of the Palestinian people.

Quilts have always felt very tied to ideas of home and comfort to me—a beautiful, comforting object to have in your home or to make for the homes of people you love. With the immense destruction and displacement that has happened in Gaza, this log cabin block was inspired by the fight for the people of Palestine to be able to return and rebuild in their homeland. In a log cabin block, a red square at the centre symbolizes the hearth, but for this block, it felt appropriate to swap the square for a poppy, a symbol of Palestinian resistance and connection to the land. 

The lines created through the seams of the pieced fabric recall the architecture of homes and cities, as well as the roads travelled to return to these meaningful locations. I made two blocks for this community quilt project, both utilizing the colour green to symbolize life, growth, resistance, and hope. 

As a child mental health worker, over the past months, I have reflected often on the weight of how experiences of conflict impact children’s lives. To connect to this, my block is made entirely out of scrap fabric from quilts that I have made for my sister and for new babies in my family. It reminds me to squeeze them close and sends a message of hope for displaced families in Palestine, that they, too, will soon find comfort and love when returning to their homes. It also felt important that the quilt block felt like me, so I’ve used a traditional block—the Ohio star—in the centre and surrounded it with a checkerboard border. The sunset colours make me think of a new day on the horizon, and the watermelon check reminds me of the watermelon pin that others and I have worn as a symbol of solidarity.

For my quilt block I chose to highlight the "Palestinian Key," a symbol that emerged after the Nakba of 1948. It represents the right of return, and in this moment it feels especially poignant as a ceasefire has been called and many Palestinians in Gaza are trying to return to what remains of their homes.

I appliquéd the key onto a fabric featuring images of buildings, symbolizing the homes that have been destroyed or damaged in Gaza. I placed the key at the centre of the block, drawing attention to it with high-contrast pieced fabric in red, pink, and green. These colours help emphasize the key's significance and its connection to the ongoing struggle.

With this quilt block, I set the intention of reflecting on the connections between Palestinians and their land—their inherent Indigeneity. I think of Gazans planting seeds during an ongoing genocide, amidst bombs and rubble, and the tangible hope these seeds embody. I think of Vivien Sansour’s vision for the Palestine Heirloom Seed Library. Seeds are carriers of ancestral knowledge, passed down by the hands that have tended to them, from one generation to the next. Seeds carry stories of what has been lost and instructions for how to return. Planting seeds is an act of resistance against forces that fear the steadfastness of the Palestinian people and Indigenous communities globally. The seeds in this quilt block fly around a poppy. Poppies grow abundantly in Palestine, symbolizing the sacrifice of martyrs held in the land and the resilience of Palestinians. The poppy and seeds are surrounded by rays of light—movement towards collective liberation. It is our shared responsibility to channel our rage and grief into movement. In solidarity, Palestine will be free. 

The lines created through the seams of the pieced fabric recall the architecture of homes and cities, as well as the roads travelled to return to these meaningful locations. I made two blocks for this community quilt project, both utilizing the colour green to symbolize life, growth, resistance, and hope. 

I drew my inspiration from the Palestine Wildlife Society and chose to depict a Persian Fallow Deer, which the society lists as having been present in Northern Palestine for thousands of years and is currently endangered. The viewer is meant to be looking through an unobstructed window at this peaceful nighttime scene, gazing towards the rolling green hills. The waning crescent moon shines in the late evening sky just before sunrise. The upcoming lunar phase is the new moon, implying a new dawn of safety, peace, joy and rebirth.

Kites fly free, and these kites are made of upcycled clothing and linens to recognize the Palestinian lives that have been oppressed by occupation and disrupted by an on-going genocide. The flowered backing fabric, in the colors of the Palestine flag, is from an adult shirt, honouring those who have dug through rubble with bare hands for survivors and for bodies. Two kites are made of children's clothing, honoring the children who were murdered and those who will forever live with trauma. A third kite was created using a pillowcase, honoring those who will never return to safe beds in safe homes. The Palestinian flag kite is a mix of fabrics and inspired by a photo of Bisan Owda, flying a kite and smiling widely. As of this writing on April 22, 2025, she is “still alive in Gaza”.

Olive trees can live to be many hundreds of years old; each one planted intentionally is imbued with layers of hope by the people that planted them. I imagine those trees still standing as lightning rods to return that hope to the survivors of this genocide, in the spirit of reciprocity that nature always provides. 

On the bottom panel is black, for the recent past; obfuscated histories and violence. The middle panel is comprised of striped bars for the present moment of tension, uncompromising absolutism, and imprisonment. The top red panel is confident and full of life. The olive branch grows through all of it, and is illuminated by triumphant yellow thread. 

This block was machine pieced and appliquéd. 

The intention with this block was to build around a central square of poppy fabric, to literally and figuratively center the voices and experiences of Palestinians. The four corners were inspired by the repetition of the Irish chain, and symbolize the interconnectedness of the Palestinian struggle for self-determination and liberation with all other struggles for life, dignity, and land back worldwide. Placing them in the corners of the block, with their green olive branches rooting down and reaching upwards, gave me the impression of reaching both inwards towards the poppy motif, as well as expanding outwards—rippling solidarity across the globe, connecting and uniting us all. When pressing the seams after completing the block, I noticed the scattered leaves and flowers caught in the seam allowances and began to think of them as martyrs: not visible in the completed image, but still an integral part of the fabric and structure of resistance.

My block is about Palestinian resilience and the ability to keep moving forward, despite decades of oppression. 

My quilt square pays tribute to the Palestinian writer Hiba Abu Nada, and is inspired specifically by her poem I Grant You Refuge, written just ten days before her death. When I first heard this poem, I was struck by the line: “I grant the father refuge, / the little ones’ father who holds the house upright / when it tilts after the bombs.” Using repurposed fabric in shades of pink and dark red, I tried to represent this imagery in the depiction of a jagged and slanted house, still standing upright. I hope my square evokes the feeling of home, whether that is a building, a place, or a person.

At Pride this year, I was given a badge with a watermelon and “silence = death” printed on it, a riff on the ACT-UP pink triangle. I talked about queer and Palestinian solidarity with the person who gave me the badge and wanted to capture that moment of cross-movement allyship. This block speaks to the links between Palestinian liberation and queer liberation and how none of us are free until all of us are free. 

My daughter and I embarked on this project together, as a way to deepen our solidarity with the Palestinian people and foster a physical connection to a community that dreams about a better, more just world. Our process included working through the poem’s meaning line by line, conversations with friends, guided sketching, researching political textile art and collecting up-cycled fabrics. Being first-time quilters, we found appliqué with embellished top stitching to be the most accessible technique. The designs we settled on speak to concepts central to us: hope and a connection between generations. The second composition depicts seeds of liberation being planted in the fertile soil. The severed hands allude to the idea that the sower may not see their dream come to fruition in their lifetime, but nevertheless hope blooms like the Palestinian poppy.

This quilt block, imagined and assembled by Erin, Nat and Sheila at The Public, is inspired by the poem “if i must die”, specifically, the lines: “sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above and thinks for a moment an angel is there.”

Two birds appear in this piece—one, memorialized on a kite soaring in the sky, the other, a living bird in flight, both reaching toward one another. One bird is memory, martyr, and ancestor; the other, movement, resistance, and future. Together, they embody a connection that transcends the violence of borders and time.

The birds cross lines—between past and present, life and afterlife, land and exile. In their meeting, we are reminded that Palestine lives on in every act of resistance, every gesture of care, every vision of liberation. This block carries not only grief, but also hope and possibility. 

The olive trees are the witnesses, they are a threat to some and liberation to others.

I wanted to make a square that shows the Palestinian people's connection to their land, that their roots run deep and remain in place even after forced eviction. I was inspired by stories of farmers caring for their orchards, their olive trees often targeted by soldiers because they represent cultural traditions, economic freedom, and the strength of the Palestinians’ ancestry. The farmers planted again and nurtured the young olive trees with the love you would afford a family member.

I placed fabric keys as if the tree had fruited them. The soil knows who has been its caretaker and is ready to welcome them home. 

In creating this block, I worked with fabric scraps left over from other projects and an existing pieced unit, creating an almost symmetrical design. I chose to work with scraps as a way of working within constraints, limiting my own artistic freedom and reflecting on the constraints under which Palestinians in Gaza live, play, and create. As I was playing with design ideas, I was thinking of kites as symbols of Palestinian freedom, play, and joy. The final design reminds me of a fragmented box kite. It’s playful and colourful. It’s also not quite solid, representing the upheaval and fracturing of the lives of Palestinians across the diaspora. It was important for me to create an imperfect block as a way of capturing both joy and pain, acknowledging both realities simultaneously.

The idea for this quilt came to me when I found a traditional quilt pattern called a Rose of Sharon, which led me to learn about the Plains of Sharon in Palestine. While trying to find more information on the region, I noticed that old archive images were captioned as Palestine, while search tags and search results were captioned as Israel. This led me to reflect on the re-writing of history and cultural erasure as tools of genocide. I decided on the Rose of Sharon design with the message that memory is a form of resistance, that a culture and heritage cannot be erased as long as it perseveres in our living memory. The original design was modified for this project to reflect the native flowers of the region: an anemone at the center, and in each quadrant a tulip representing the four regions of Palestine. 

The central motif uses colour blocking to represent the bloom of a poppy, with four appliqué olive leaves surrounding the flower. This quilt square was initially inspired by the designs on a Palestinian keffiyeh, while working within the constraints of patchwork—a traditional sewing method in quilting.

My favourite quilt blocks feature shapes and layouts that showcase a central motif with an echoing frame bordering it. I like the invitation it offers to get closer, to peer into the portal. The cathedral window is a favourite not only for its style but for its place within Black quilting history, calling in the collectivity of those histories into this act of stitching and prayer. I wanted to incorporate one of the symbols that has come to signify the Palestinian fight for sovereignty and the olive tree resonated. It is stitched in light thread on a dark background, growing and illuminating the shadows that surround it.

For this quilt block, I used watermelon fabric to honour its significance within Palestinian resistance and identity. Anchored in a sea of watermelon, I constructed a house to represent home in all its forms: as a physical structure, as territory, and as a sense of belonging. Palestinians have faced the destruction of their homes, the theft of their land, and the erasure of entire communities and histories. The house in the block may appear isolated or vulnerable, but resting on the watermelon grants it spiritual strength to resist annihilation. This piece speaks to unimaginable losses and the fundamental right to shelter; it is also filled with steadfast hope—a house, a home, protected by all of us who demand 100% human rights for our Palestinian brothers and sisters. The right to return remains an unyielding demand for justice, dignity, and recognition.

‎روح الروح , soul of my soul.

This piece was adapted from a Tatreez (Palestinian embroidery) pattern by Hiba of @Hibstitches on Instagram. It reads 

‎روح الروح , or “soul of my soul” in Arabic. Like many others, the first time I heard this expression was in a video of a grandfather, Khaled Nabhan, mourning his granddaughter, Reem, who was murdered in an Israeli air strike in November 2023. In a media landscape obsessed with metrics and numbers, one adept at downplaying, justifying and erasing the loss of Palestinian lives, this expression reminds us that every single life is someone’s whole universe: the soul of their soul. Palestinian lives matter. Khaled was later killed in an Israeli airstrike on Nuseirat refugee camp in Gaza on December 16, 2024. 

My daughter and I embarked on this project together, as a way to deepen our solidarity with the Palestinian people and foster a physical connection to a community that dreams about a better, more just world. Our process included working through the poem’s meaning line by line, conversations with friends, guided sketching, researching political textile art and collecting up-cycled fabrics. Being first-time quilters, we found appliqué with embellished top stitching to be the most accessible technique. The designs we settled on speak to concepts central to us: hope and a connection between generations. One composition shows a smaller and larger figure coming together in an embrace. Their bodies root down deep into the land.

This block was inspired by the poem "Making Arabic Coffee" by Marian Haddad, which I first read as a teenager in a book called Poets for Palestine. I was struck by the imagery of coffee foaming, steaming, rising up. Coffee is rooted in Palestinian identity and culture, shared in community and togetherness through generations of Israeli settler colonialism. In this quilt block, I placed a coffee seedling at the centre to represent the resilience of the Palestinian people, of hope and strength rising up in the face of violence and oppression. As a queer person, it is clear to me that my own community's liberation is intrinsically connected to the liberation of the Palestinian people. In the words of Audre Lorde, "there is no single-issue struggle." I sought to represent solidarity between communities in my quilt block through a patchwork design. The variations of green lay alongside one another, different but connected, supporting the plant's survival. 

To intertwine and rest upon each other. To wrap each other in safety and warmth. To hold each other up when there is struggle—the poppies on this quilt block are doing that and I hope we’re doing this for each other and the people of Palestine.

One of my favourite traditional quilt blocks is the log cabin because of how home centred it is. Traditionally you see a red square or sometimes a yellow square signifying the hearth of the home or light coming into the home. I used a black centre here because so many people have lost their homes and are displaced. I surrounded it with red and yellow because no matter how many homes were lost, Palestine is still a home. I hope it reads that while there is much grief, there is hope and community that surround it. 

My quilt block references designs developed along the Underground Railroad, where quilts were used to signal help or direction on the pathway to liberation for enslaved people.

The Flying Geese blocks, white doves over a green landscape, circle the North Star, heading towards home. I hope and believe that every displaced family may return to their homeland, and that one day soon the sun will rise on a liberated, restored Palestine.

The West has taken its immense wealth, built upon stolen land and labour, and funnelled it into arms that continue to oppress and harm both its own people and others around the world. While we live under the shadow of the empire, we must fight against it taking root in our hearts and minds. We must fight for each other. Every Palestinian is my neighbour. Our struggle and our liberation are bound together. 

I've always been fascinated by aerial photos of places around the world. Humans have a tendency to create forms and patterns that I think translate well in quilt. What has been particularly sticking with me over the past year are the bird's eye view photos coming out of Gaza, depicting the large-scale destruction and displacement happening. 

I used a combination of improv and appliqué quilting inspired by shapes seen in these photos. A few buildings stay intact in the centre of the block—a symbol for lasting hope and rebuilding. 

For this square I was inspired by the fabrics themselves, combining bits of my mother's and my own fabric stash. For me, the vibrant red peeks out like an angry sun, the black strokes flow like water, and the gold floral pattern on a rich olive green makes me think of the importance of land and home. I wanted to connect these pieces in a way that was asymmetric, uneven, and imperfect, but that made sense any way the square is oriented.

The keffiyeh is a piece of cloth that holds the history, beauty, and power of the Palestinian liberation movement. It's also a point of relation—prompting conversations with strangers on the bus, neighbours on the street, and a source of refuge in a crowd. For my patch, I recreated a poppy, the national flower of Palestine, whose blooming colours mirror the Palestinian flag, drawing on the three key patterns of the keffiyeh. The petals are made with the fishnet or barbed wire pattern, representing collectivism, occupation, and connection to the sea. The stem is made with bold lines, representing historic trade routes and the walls surrounding the occupied territories. The olive leaves represent a source of people’s livelihoods and deep connection to the land. This piece is in solidarity with the steadfast movement for a free Palestine and in honour of the martyrs who have seeded future generations of resistance.

This project made me reflect on my own family's history, and reminded me of their decision to leave Northern Ireland for Canada, because of the violence and discrimination they faced for their faith. To symbolize the incredible solidarity, bravery and unending support shown by Ireland for Palestine throughout history, I reimagined a traditional Double Irish Chain block, which consists of two blocks side by side. Instead of a plain coloured block in the middle of the first block, I recreated the Palestinian flag, and used the flag's colours. Saoirse Don Phalaistín (Freedom for Palestine, in Gaelic). There is no free Derry without a free Palestine, we are not free until we all are. 

This project made me reflect on my own family's history, and reminded me of their decision to leave Northern Ireland for Canada, because of the violence and discrimination they faced for their faith. To symbolize the incredible solidarity, bravery and unending support shown by Ireland for Palestine throughout history, I reimagined a traditional Double Irish Chain block, which consists of two blocks side by side. Instead of a plain coloured block in the middle of the first block, I recreated the Palestinian flag, and used the flag's colours. Saoirse Don Phalaistín (Freedom for Palestine, in Gaelic). There is no free Derry without a free Palestine, we are not free until we all are. 

Clockwise from top left reads: family, freedom, safety and joy. The words stitched on this block are a prayer for the people of Palestine as they begin the continuation of a generations-long fight for freedom from occupation and genocide. There has been, is, and will always be beauty within the borders and barriers and that beauty is on the road to liberation.

My quilt block is meant to represent identity, hope, and resilience through a simple flower that is shared across cultures. The poppy, which has been hand-sewn to a patchwork square, is a symbol of remembrance and sacrifice in Canada, and also a national symbol of Palestine representing a strong connection to the land, perseverance, and beauty. 

I also wanted to incorporate an element of hand stitching as an ode to tatreez—the traditional embroidery of Palestine—done by hand and used to carry messages and memories through art and tradition. 

This work invites reflection on how simple, familiar symbols—like a single flower—can carry immense weight. It asks us to consider remembrance not just as a passive act, but as something alive, growing, and deeply rooted in both personal and collective histories.

For over a year, we have witnessed the testimonies of Palestinians enduring the violence and terror of a genocide waged by Israel. While it’s crucial to understand the devastation inflicted in the fight for a free Palestine, it’s equally important to remember that Palestinians are more than their heartache, trauma, and struggle. They are the meals they share, the clothes they wear proudly, the plants they tend to, the songs they sing, and so much more. As Nabil Echchaibi writes, “Palestine is life first and life last.”

For this reason, I wanted this piece to focus on Palestinian joy. I chose an image of two children playing because the visual of a ball game insists on happiness and pleasure. The children in this quilt block are bursting with life, just as their communities are; they exist in the past, present, and future. Soft, warm colours symbolize innocence, dreams, and enduring hope.

This clamshell square was inspired by the pattern itself. I wanted to challenge myself with a quilting technique I hadn't tried before and wanted to do a square that was entirely handstitched, using the stitching process as a meditative practice. For me, the muted greens and greys in the bottom right represent rocky hills and green gardens, with a yellow sun dawning in the top right corner—freedom come morning.

I made my quilt block by hand stitching an appliqué and hand embroidery. It felt important to use my hands for this work because the imperfect nature of the stitches and the tactile feel of the different textiles represent the basic human connection between ourselves and the folks we are trying to help with this project. In the end we are all just people hoping for love, connection and safety. It feels like the stitches are little markers from my heart and how much it hurts for the people of Palestine.

Taking inspiration from the flag of Palestine, this quilt uses soft colours associated with the country. The pastel hues on a white background depict the warmth and comfort associated with the Arab world, whereas the curves and jagged edges showcase the calamities that have befallen this nation over time. 

The first thing that came to mind when I started working on my square was the watermelon as a pro-Palestinian symbol. I knew it was a signal to those who understood its covert importance but wanted to learn more about the origins. After reading about Palestinian symbology I came across the Palestinian poppy, or Anemone coronaria. This sparked the visual of watermelon seeds freely spilling onto the ground, sinking into the soil, and being nourished until a bright, red flower pushed through. It rises up like a flag of hope, a beautiful flower of resistance and new beginnings.

For this quilt block, I interpreted the symbol of the Palestinian poppy through a simple, classic quilt block. When creating the idea for this block, I wanted to represent the vibrancy and life of Palestinian people, the heart of identity that always remains despite the violence done to them, and my dream for a peaceful and flourishing Palestine. The yellow represents hope and sunshine, the red represents the petals of the poppy, the black represents both the centre of the poppy and a safe home to come back to, and the white represents dreams of peace. All the fabrics for this block come from my home, mostly scraps used to make clothes. To me, this represents the warmth, safety, and comfort I wish I could offer from across the world.