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A little break

I am feeling a little rusty the last few days, needing an outdoor break I think, a long hike in the woods. I have been inside too much perhaps, and glued to my computer or sorting and labeling and pricing and well…too rusty for words. Guess I need a Sunday to unhinge and let my brain rest on idle for one day.

I would like to glide in the wind as these birds are doing or….

rest easy in one of these serene and lovely places. I will be here in my mind until Monday reading a good book by the fire and taking a little break from the technical world. I hope you all are having an easy and comfortable weekend.

Sorting and Integrating

On my early morning walks, I have become accustom to listening to audio books. I was finding that I was not working through and reading the list of books I perpetually use as a guide, so I decided to borrow some audio books from the library. This morning, I finished listening to Azar Nafisi’s book Things I Have Been Silent About. It has been a fascinating experience especially after getting to know her a little after listening to Reading Lolita in Tehran. Toward the end of the audio this morning, she describes her mother’s habit of collecting and hoarding, and as she ages, it becomes worse. Nafisi talks about collecting, in general, and why people are drawn to certain things. She does not criticize the habit, but she points out that when collecting becomes hoarding, and you no longer know what you have or never integrate it into your life, then it becomes a rather negative, burdensome practice. I have been thinking about this a lot all morning. My mother often never used special things like dishes or table linen or perfume or body lotion because she was going to save it for just the right time. Often that time never arrived.

So after sorting through more boxes with patterns and some stray textiles yesterday, I discovered this piece, long forgotten. I set it aside thinking it was quite special and I needed to do something with it. I bought it from a dealer awhile back and had forgotten it. Then after listening to the book this morning, I wondered, was I becoming like Azar Nafisi’s mother? Could I not remember what I had anymore? Was I a hoarder and no longer a collector?

My initial goal yesterday was to look for a pattern for a wrap skirt that I could use for my vintage jacquard wool. A brief search turned into an all afternoon dedication of organizing and categorizing all my patterns. I do integrate these into my life and use them. I never save them for a perfect time or day. Then I found these patterns that belonged to my mother and suddenly I was reliving the past, her love of sewing and fashion, and her desire to always be frugal. When I was growing up in the 50’s, my mother dressed like all women did when they went out. They always wore hats and gloves. My mother made so many of her hats, and I remember these patterns as well as the hats she made from them.

Next, I found her wedding gown pattern. I find it amusing that she wrote across the front in red ink that we should remember this was the pattern she had used, and if we were curious, the wedding gown was in the cedar chest.

She could not afford silk satin or charmeuse, so she chose a synthetic with a close resemblance.

It had a modest train in the back, and when my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, my mother walked down the staircase into the hall holding up the train with the loop and creating a dramatic entrance for all to see. She was so proud that she could still wear her wedding gown after all these years.

I always loved the tiny loops and covered buttons in the back. A strange occurrence took place at my daughter’s wedding with this dress, only known to me. At the last minute, I had grabbed the dress and literally thrown it in my suitcase in my rush to get to the airport. I intended to iron it and hang it in the room where my daughter and her bridesmaids were to get ready. I don’t know why, but I guess because I am always sentimental over these family events that seem like milestones in our lives. The morning of the wedding was hectic. We were all so busy setting up the room for the reception and thinking of so many things. I had left my mother’s gown in the hotel room thinking I would iron it later and bring it over when everyone was getting dressed. I never managed to get it there. In retrospect, I feel a little badly about this, but now as time moves forward, I am inclined to think, I wanted my mother at the wedding. I wanted her to see her last grandchild wed. Honestly, I think she was there in spirit in so many ways, and I find this very comforting.

But now I must be alert to my habits of hoarding versus collecting, another reason to be vigilant in my quest for refining my stuff!

Tea and Textiles

The last week I have spent refining my space, myself, and my goals. In the process, I decided I wanted to keep only the most cherished textiles, trims, buttons, books and magazines in my workspace. It fits with my new model, a transformation that is slowly growing within and without and is promising to be more self defined. Therefore, the last three days I have been going through all of my new and old textiles, books, magazines, vintage clothing, and vintage textiles. I am clearing a path so I can better see where I am headed in the weeks and months ahead. It feels completely cleansing as if my body has been on a fast but instead it is my creative room and storage that have been purged…..in a good way. So I am having a sale the third Saturday of February. I am going to serve tea and cookies and cake and offer my things for sale at a fair and enticing price.

All this sorting has consumed the better part of my days. How could I have accumulated so much STUFF?? But I have been sewing for nearly 43 years and never thrown anything away. Now it is time to save only what speaks to me.

Some vintage textiles piled in a chair….

More vintage pieces piled on stacks of magazines…..

Decorator pieces….

And a box of solid-colored cottons I have had since I first began quilt making many years ago.

When the last of the tea has been served and the cake and cookie crumbs cleared from the plates, I intend to sit down in front of the fire and celebrate.

This book is a history book, a biography of cotton, and could possibly be read as an epic novel. I discovered it through an online quilt history list. Members of the list were praising the book for many reasons, one for the wealth of information, another for its fascinating read. I decided to purchase it for my textile history collection. As I opened the book and started reading, I found it difficult to put aside. I was underlining and writing notes in the narrow margins. How could one single crop have such an impact on so many civilizations and continue its influence in the future? These are questions this book addresses as well as many others.

Cotton seems almost whimsical in its shape, size, and fanciful puff, but aside from this allure, it is one of the most pesticide-laden crops ever grown. I was not aware of this until I started reading many of the blogs that I keep up with, and this fact encouraged me to not only read the book, but to become a better consumer of textile goods.

The reason for the use of these insecticides began with the boll weevil, imported by Columbus. The author Stephen Yafa describes this beetle: “A single female beetle could give rise to six generations all within one year. If only 10 percent of those generations survived, the sixth generation would produce 729 million weevils”. It was clear that this was an enemy of the crop that had to be controlled in order for cotton to survive.

“But what of the chemical weapons we used against it? They at first represented the contribution of our best and brightest. Yet as time wore on and we learned more details about the unintended effects of these toxins on the health of humans, wildlife, and vegetation, a more subtle and elusive adversary began to emerge: our own methods of destruction.” [I am reminded here of Rachel Carson's illuminating and profound book, Silent Spring]. “Like Agent Orange in Vietnam, the arsenal itself became a self-inflicted wound. By the time we acknowledged that we were killing scores of birds and fish, contaminating our air and groundwater, and spreading cancer across the Cotton Belt, we’d developed three generations of potent pesticides that we had been applying to cotton and numerous other crops in torrential quantities for close to fifty years.”

As I became more informed, I could not go into clothing stores and see the racks and racks of cotton clothing without a certain amount of disgust and anger. Then I realized, with even more impact on personal habits, that new fabric purchases implied the same alarm. What right did I or we have as a country to be so mindless and greedy in our unconscious spending habits?

The Industrial Revolution played a vast role, if not a primary one in the proportions that we seem to be accepting as practical and necessary. If one is not influenced by the poison of cotton, then its history and the labor abuse might convince one that its beginnings were not so innocent.

Many years ago, I had a chance to go through the textile mill in Lowell, Massachusetts that has been a museum for some time now. It was a real eye-opener for me. When you enter the room where all the power looms were working at once, the noise was so deafening, that you had to cover both your ears to even tolerate the experience for a few minutes. Many young girls had permanent hearing loss from the racket and noise of being in this room for many hours.

The hours were long, 12 hours a day in conditions where the air was stifling and unhealthy. When the mills first opened “Children as young as eight years old worked from six in the morning until seven at night with a half hour off for breakfast and forty minutes for dinner,” writes Yafa on his account of the mills in England. The horrible conditions were pervasive wherever mills were built and children were employed. And so these were some of the beginnings of one of our favorite and most popular fibers.

And so in thinking about all of this, I was looking around for better ways of existing in my own community. How were we trying to improve and begin a new paradigm, a better way of existing in our city, our county , and our world? Every few mornings, I would walk by this house that was being built in one of our neighborhoods. What initially informed my thinking was how this new construction did not really fit into the neighborhood with the rest of the older homes, and why would someone construct a home that was so out of character with the surrounding early 20th century homes. Then last week, I noticed a wooden sign on the house and went over to read about it. I was very impressed and suddenly my reasoning for its being there completely changed to one of support and affirmation. This is the new paradigm that is being created. It must happen or we are going to self-destruct as we move forward.

What also needs to change is our thinking about our wardrobes and what we wear and what we purchase to put in our homes. We have too much stuff and we have too much that we purchase that exacerbates the conditions that create pollution and unhealthy conditions in our environments.

“The human race is challenged more than ever before to demonstrate our mastery – not over nature but of ourselves.”

Rachel Carson

Integrity and Focus

Symphony in White No. 2: The Little White Girl
1864 Whistler

It has been nearly a year ago that I began this blog under this name. Jude at Spiritcloth noted me in a post, and then it seemed to be a process of growth, the blog and my own. Previously I had a blog for a year under another name at Typepad, but it was not really going anywhere, and I was a bit frustrated. Now, after a year, I think I have finally found my voice. It is this I would like to address in this post. First, I will wear my heart on my sleeve as I recount some steps this year. Second, it will be the only time I will be willing to be so honest and candid with my personal life. So please bear with me as I reveal a little of this painful path.

We Are Not Alone
Allison Friend

A few months into my new blog, it had been noted that there was a sadness coming through my writing. I had not been aware of this, and was a bit jolted by it. This was not the image or the message that I wanted to convey. I decided to do my best to extinguish it, but what I discovered was that it was a feeling too prevalent in my life to erase with the help of a computer keyboard. Every time I wrote a post, I felt as if I was essentially hiding behind the photos and the words. I began to feel like a fraud, and I wanted to be forthright above all.

Illustration by Edward Robert Hughes

I decided to seek some counseling to find out why this sadness was so pervasive, and quite honestly, it had become a part of my daily life. When I went to see the counselor the first day, I was apprehensive and suspicious that this was even the right decision. Yet, I felt unable to figure this out on my own. When I entered his office I felt as if I had entered someone’s art studio. I felt immediate comfort and safety. The room had a sense of soul as well as a magical touch. I could not seem to absorb enough of the visual richness that I found and felt. When I caught sight of a framed picture, the exact one above, I decided there was much to discover here in this space, and that I would allow myself the time and energy to reside here for awhile. The uncanny thing is that I had framed this picture in a room that I had created many years back in San Diego at a time when my creative drive was at a peak.

After a few meetings and much inner exploration during this time, I decided my sadness most likely began during this time of my childhood, when I was barely six and in the first grade. It had been an awful introduction and beginning of school. I could not focus or concentrate. It was assumed I must need glasses, but my struggles continued and so did my inner turmoil, lack of confidence, and increasing shyness and introversion. It was during this year that I remember being always sad and confused and afraid. It became my persona, one that never ever left me. The only time in my life I have been at peace and felt safe was when I could get lost in a book. It was also the only time I could focus for any period of time.

The Artist’s Wife in the Garden
Peter Severin Kroyer

Reading became my connection to dreams and worlds beyond my own inner pain and frustration. I became a collector of books as well as many dreams, and this is where I have resided all of my life.

Postcard: “Thorton (Wilder), Mitchell (Kennerley), and Christopher (Morley) at the Gotham Book Mart and Gallery also known as Cats at Work by Rhonda Gray & Stephen T. Robinson

When I was about to leave for college, my mother made me an offer. She said if I would sew all of my clothes for my first year of college, then she would buy me any pattern or fabric I would need to complete this task. So during the summer before I was to leave for college, I spent my days and many nights at the machine perfecting my skills and building my sewing confidence. Essentially, this knowledge became an inherent part of my creative outlet as well as a gift that I have never been without my entire life since that time.

But sewing and reading are solitary pursuits, and over time I realized I was less inclined to become engaged in any social diversions. I was becoming more introverted even in the last few years. And I was becoming more depressed as a result. Going back and exploring painful scenarios is never easy, but I was finding a pattern in this. My blog had been a way to connect with people and share a little of myself. I felt at times that I was all over the place with subjects and ideas and plans. I thought my direction was to get back into making quilts. This had been too many years ago that I had followed this course. I did not realize it was really not my first love or dream now. It has taken me nearly a year to understand and define what it is that yearns to be my focus, and in the process my sadness and depression have dissipated if not totally disappeared.

I have a renewed focus and an energy and joy, something I have not felt, perhaps, ever. For those of you that have followed me and felt a little frustrated with my hopping around, I can truthfully say it was a definite expression in my posts. And since quilt making will no longer be my focus, I feel inclined to say that those of you who have put me in their blogrolls as one to follow in this particular pursuit, I will understand if you feel a need to take me off your list for this reason. We need to create the blogs that match our interests and personal goals, and I know from this point forward that I will be solely concentrating on antique and vintage textiles and relating these primarily to clothing design, textile history, and quilt-related history.

This has been a struggle in some ways to write this post. Who wants to admit that they have had to deal with depression or inability to focus, but I also feel that we live in a world of much sham. I do not want to pretend my life has been something other than what it is or has been. I will not discuss this again on my blog because I want this blog to be about creative pursuits, fulfilled dreams, and questions about life that relate to these goals. I think now going forward into my second year as mendofleur, the format will somehow seem cleaner and sharper and straightforward. And I just might be found dancing in and out of the lines as I write.

I must credit Sue from England for the term “up-cycling”. I like it because it is updated from recycling that covers so many different items in our culture. I want this term to be exclusive to clothing in this blog.

This is a used sweater that I want to update. I like the fit and the design, but was not too happy with the gathered fullness at the sleeve cap. It seemed dated.

I also felt the line of the armhole was a bit off, so I am going to restructure this so it has a closer fit to my shoulders.

I liked the styling of the back, but I did not want to repeat this fullness in the sleeve.

My idea is to cut some of the fullness out and then re-sew a new seam to fit the cap. When I complete this I will post the results.

The wrap skirt is on hold for a few days. I started thinking about how I would clean this after I made it and decided I needed to wash it in a delicate, cold-water wash before cutting it out. It had never been cleaned and, further, I would like to be able to wear it and care for it in the same manner without the need of a dry cleaner.

Hail the vintage coat

In Melody Fortier’s book I pictured in my last post, she extols the virtues of the vintage coat. In her chapter titled ” Categories of Clothing” starting on page 29, she writes that “Vintage outerwear is definitely the best value for your dollar. The fabrics alone are usually worth more than what you pay for a comparable new garment, and many of the beautiful wools and weaves are no longer available. Cashmere coats top the list. The cashmere used in vintagewear was collected (harmlessly, mind you) from cashmere goats living in the wild in such countries as India and Mongolia. Their modern domesticated counterparts simply do not produce the same fine, silky fur” and she goes on to say that “made with better fabrics and superior construction, vintage coats wear amazingly well and look beautiful forever if properly cleaned and stored”.

I found this coat many years ago in a vintage shop owned by an local actress in San Diego that had the most interesting pieces I had ever come across. Unfortunately, she closed her shop to return to acting full time, but before she closed her doors, she gave me a huge box of vintage patterns because she knew that I loved to sew and was so fascinated with her incredible eye for style and great pieces.

The coat has two labels.

And it also had a consumer protection label, that said “National Coat and Suit Industry” and “National Recovery Board” with FWG, as well as “Manufactured Under Fair Labor Standards”. According to Melodie, “The National Recovery Act, in effect in the United States from 1933 to 1935, served to promote fair competition in business as well as fair labor. Some manufactures had labels put into their products to indicate they were in compliance with these guidelines”. So I think it is fair to say that this coat was made sometime during those two years.

I used to wear this coat, but not so much anymore. I am thinking of taking the lambswool off since it is deteriorating and replacing it with somethings else. I am not sure what. I have become an advocate for the ethical welfare of animals, so wearing a piece such as this does not suit my standards anymore. I also refuse to wear any leather, including shoes, but this is a subject that will not serve my purpose on this blog. The lining is a nice rayon crepe with a good weight. It is also underlined with another loosely woven wool for added warmth.

This coat has a great style. I am drawn to anything with a raglan sleeve. Even more remarkable, the sleeve looks raglan from the back and set in with a seam from the front. I have never seen this treatment before in any other pieces. I found this in an antique and collectibles shop in a rural farm town south of Portland, Oregon. It was marked down in price from an already fair one, and as it was spring, the owner probably felt it would not sell in the nicer weather. It is extremely well made with a beautiful heavy satin lining and bound button holes which I love, and you rarely see unless it is a couture or designer piece.

This coat is a perfect fit and looks great with jeans or skirts and tights.

Labels have always fascinated me and this is a great one!

One of the things I have found in wearing vintage styles is that it is important to pair it with something edgy or trendy so you don’t look frumpy or out-dated. Layering is good too with funky accessories to give the whole look a sharp feel. Once I made the mistake of wearing a black vintage cocktail dress to a holiday function with a vintage rhinestone necklace, and my hair in a french twist and was uncomfortable all night. The look was too predictable and virtuous and staid. You really don’t want to look like the minister’s wife sipping a cocktail.

Tomorrow I will cut out the skirt and begin to plan some other clothes for spring and summer out of some old linen pieces that I have in my collection. I will post the process of the skirt as I plan, cut, and sew.

Musing about clothes

Having spent more time than usual in shops looking for something to wear to my daughter’s wedding, I had a chance to do some serious thinking about the way I dress, what is important to me, and how much that is being marketed and sold is uninspiring and uniform and dreadfully constructed. I guess what prompted me to delve deeper was when I was told in a bridal shop that the majority of shoppers had no idea about whether a garment fabric was silk or acetate and did not really care. They only wanted to look good in whatever they selected. I find this troublesome. What I also find disturbing is that this market will pay an equal amount for acetate as they will silk. Am I a fabric snob? Perhaps, but I think we need, as consumers, to take a hard look at what we are purchasing. I tend to be very selective in buying anything. It has to be well-made. The fabric has to be exceptional. The style has to be unusual. In this current market, I do not think any of those prerequisites fit into my expectations when I walk into a shop. I purchased this book out of curiosity, wondering what the author was saying about vintage clothing, a term that can surprisingly range from true antique to the 1990’s.

I have always loved vintage clothing because of the unique style as well as the workmanship in the majority of the garments. I started collecting some of these pieces many years ago because it would grant me the wish to dress in a very unique and memorable way. I was always drawn to Victorian whites, lace pieces, designs from the 20’s to the 40’s. Now I guess vintage includes clothing made up through the ’90’s. Too bad I gave so many things away. But I am digressing.

The author of this book, Melody Fortier gives solid advice on all sorts of vintage purchases. I especially respect and confirm what she has to say about new versus vintage: “…with today’s insatiable demand for cheap plentiful goods, manufacturer’s have had to cut corners. The result in not only diminished quality but a decline in style and innovation. For those who crave a wider palette from which to build a wardrobe, vintage is a fabulous resource.”

As I am thinking about all the dispirited racks and racks of sameness in the department stores and the malls, I reflect on Bloomsbury artist Vanessa Bell, sister the famous Bloomsbury writer, Virginia Woolf. Vanessa has been a muse of mine for many years now. She sewed many of her own clothes. She wore clothing that represented her strong character, her individuality. She loved color, design, simplicity in form, and she chose to reflect this in her style of dress. When she went to France, she always bought fabric that she could use for her clothing.

I think it is important to think about how we purchase our clothing. Are we buying without care or thought? Do we need all this stuff? My hunch is that if we were more discerning, we could have more fun with our looks and be better consumers at the same time.

I have some ideas I would like to explore. I have some very unique textiles and I would like to try using some of them for clothing. This wool jacquard piece above is a throw that I purchased in Lincoln, Nebraska when I went there for a conference on quilts and their history. I found this in one of the local antique malls. It was one of those “heart” purchases. I actually left it and walked out of the store only to return and purchase it a few minutes later. So please bear with me and do not despair, but I intend to make a wrap skirt with it. I think Vanessa would agree that it would be most suitable for this and that its languishing anymore in a back corner of my cupboard is simply not doing either of us any good.

The reverse side is on the right and could be used as the outer part of the skirt.

The fringe around the edge has all kinds of possibilities, perhaps even part of the hemline. I am dancing around so many ideas that are not letting me go. This is the beginning…..I want to explore this in depth, the re-purposing of vintage/antique textiles into unique and quality pieces that will hopefully be timeless and unrivaled in quality. It is an experiment, but one with possibility and promise I think.

A room with a past

At least twenty years ago I decorated this room in an old 1910 house in downtown San Diego. It seems miles away from my life as it is now in Portland, but it was a memory, a room that I still think about as magical in many ways. The house was directly under the flight pattern of the airport downtown, Lindbergh Field. When I am not remembering the noisy planes, I am thinking with pleasure about this room.

It was actually a breakfast nook, right off the kitchen, but I decided it was cozy and private enough to be my room of inspiration and memory, and also a room dedicated to The Art of Longing by Cooper Edens, my love of vintage clothing and my hand-made hats. I wallpapered it to a point up the wall, added a border, and then bordered the border with a hand-painted strip of copper paint. Above this, I painted in cursive the entire book of The Art of Longing. I hung hats around the words.

I hung some of my favorite ribbons and trims from a decorative metal hook and framed illustrations from a Cooper Edens calendar that was very dear to me. When I entered this space, I was suddenly transformed from the ordinary into the dreamer I have always been. When I invited my mother over to see it for the first time, she looked up and down and all around reading the words of my favorite book. I waited for a response. She paused a minute, and then said without hesitating, “I have no idea where you came from.” It was the biggest compliment she had ever given me.

On one end of the room there was a cupboard for dishes with glass doors. I covered the doors with lace and in it stored my laces, vintage patterns, and fabric where I could easily reach it. Above the cupboard, I hung a vintage Bill Blass silk evening jacket that I had purchased with hard-earned money. I still have it, but for the moment don’t know what box or cupboard it might be in.

It was during this same time that I made this “skull cap”. I had been inspired by Greta Garbo on the front of an Architectural Digest magazine and decided to recreate one. I hand-painted gold designs on the outside, couched gold threads down the sides and top, and trimmed the edge with a wide metallic trim. When I was finished I added a decorative element to the arch of the wall between the living and dining room. We had a very tolerant land lord.

It is funny how things come about. A week ago, I had been looking for some photos for my daughter for the wedding and came across these. I had not even remembered taking a photograph of the room. It reminded me of a time of great creative impulses and experiments and confidences. Now this room seems to come alive once more in order to remind me that this is the best way to thrive if you want to take a risk and realize one dream or many. I tend to think I found these photos for a reason, that it was not simply a coincidence.

Traveling home

We arrived home around 5:30 pm. Most of the trip the last two days was spent along or near the Pacific Ocean. At one point I drove in a steady and often turbulent rainstorm.

After I took the photo of the ocean, I looked across the two-lane coastal highway and saw some goats with two babies. This one was the youngest, and as I shot the photo the mother corralled her baby and guided it away from me and down the hill out of sight.

We spent last night right on the ocean in some rustic lodging that had fireplaces. It was the perfect ending of our trip. Now we are back thinking about obligations as well as routines.

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