Carol Piersol's multiple sclerosis has robbed her of her job and things she loves to do. But she can still make fabric art. "When you really want to do things, you find a way," she says.
Many of Piersol's pieces are smaller in size, like this earthy batik.
More than 20 pieces of Piersol's art are displayed together for the first time, at Franklin & Marshall College.
Carol Piersol pieces together tiny fragments of fabric, but she can't keep the rest of her world from falling apart.
Piersol's hands often grow numb while she works, making it difficult to draw templates and slide pins into place.
She has found ways to compensate, like wrapping tape around her ruler, so it's easier to grip.
"It's amazing how you come up with strategies," she says. "When you really want to do things, you find a way."
Finding a way has grown increasingly difficult as Piersol's multiple sclerosis progresses, robbing her of her job, her avid biking hobby and her ability to drive.
But for now, she can still make art.
More than 20 pieces of Piersol's fabric art are displayed together for the first time — unless you count the decades they spent stuffed in a steamer trunk.
"Dreaming Through My Hands" runs through Sunday at the Phillips Museum of Art, Franklin & Marshall College.
One of Piersol's pieces, "Circular Motion," then will take up permanent residence in the museum's Rothman Gallery.
Piersol's eclectic work ranges from earthy batiks to undulating optical illusions, many incorporating fabric scraps from costumes used in F&M shows.
As her MS worsens, Piersol, 54, feels a greater urgency to complete her pieces, no matter what accommodations that requires.
"Nothing is impossible to her," museum program coordinator and registrar Maureen Lane says.
"She loves the challenge of making the most difficult pattern she could possibly make.
"She finds a way to make it."
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Piersol learned to sew as a child, making clothes first for her Barbie dolls and then for herself.
She briefly worked as a radiology technician — too depressing, not creative enough — before attending dress-design school in her native Pittsburgh.
School officials soon asked Piersol to abandon her studies to teach sewing and pattern-making.
At age 20, she married Brian Piersol, whom she'd met in a park. In 1981, the couple built a log cabin outside Manheim, near his family.
Taking pointers from a neighbor, Piersol made her first quilt, a red, white and blue sampler, in 1985.
A few quilts later, she got bored with patterns. Her experimentation began.
Piersol's first quilt covered her mother's bed; others hung on relatives' walls. But most were rolled up in an old trunk in the Piersols' living room.
In 1993, when the youngest of her three daughters started second grade, Piersol went back to school.
She studied art at F&M, where her husband works as a telephone technician.
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Around that time, Piersol experienced nagging weakness. She was diagnosed with MS, a progressive neurological disorder.
"It's a downhill progression," she says. "It hasn't been pleasant. I wouldn't wish this on any person."
Back pain plagues Piersol, who now uses a scooter to get around. She voluntarily surrendered her driver's license when her reaction time slowed.
But two of an artist's greatest tools — her mind and her eyes — are so far unaffected.
Piersol graduated from F&M in 2001. She worked in the college costume shop for many years, coming on full-time to manage it and the box office in 2002.
Piersol helped outfit casts for shows from "Alice in Wonderland" to "King Lear." She also mentored students refining their sewing skills.
"I got a chance to teach people how to sew, and work with nice fabric," she says. "It was the greatest job for me."
F&M resident costume designer Ginny West says Piersol's unintimidating style made students feel comfortable enough to ask questions.
"We used to call Carol our quality control," West says.
But earlier this year, Piersol's worsening symptoms forced her to leave her job. Her oldest daughter, Kelly, now manages the college box office.
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Piersol finds inspiration everywhere, from a church's stained-glass windows to an elevator door she saw on an Alaskan cruise.
Her freeform fabric art features everything from geometric shapes to wedges of embellished satin and silk.
"Right now I really like optical illusions," she says.
Piersol also likes fitting together small pieces, puzzle-style, a feat made even more challenging by her MS.
Red-and-white-checked "Circular Motion" is made of 52 fabric wedges, each consisting of 25 pieces.
The approach is natural for Piersol, a Van Gogh admirer who used to craft educational children's puzzles.
Everything might have stayed in the trunk, if Lane hadn't come over one evening for a peek at Piersol's collection.
Lane admired the detail and distinctive nature of Piersol's art and encouraged her to share it with others.
"I was completely blown away," Lane says. " ... The craftsmanship was exceptional."
Piersol has enjoyed having her work displayed in the gallery. Any kind of art, she says, is made for other people to look at and enjoy.
Piersol, who is now teaching her 7-year-old grandson to sew, realizes it's likely only a matter of time before her MS progresses to the point where she can no longer create art.
"It makes me want to hurry up and make things I'm thinking about," she says.
"I have a fear of not being able to get things finished."