Getting Back Into the Sewing Game

· by | in Classes, Process | tagged

Readers,

The illustrations for a post about taking a pattern-drafting class are not exciting.

The tools for pattern-drafting may be simple and dull, but the results can be spectacular.

The tools for pattern-drafting may be simple and dull, but the results can be spectacular.

The tools–a 2-inch clear ruler, a fashion ruler, a measuring tape, mechanical pencil, and paper–aren’t the most interesting things to photograph.

The instruction sheets are dull, too.

Great pants start with accurate measuring.

Great pants start with accurate measuring.

What is exciting about pattern-drafting, in my experience, is the fervor of patternmaking teachers.

Edith, my fairy godmother sewing and patternmaking teacher in Minneapolis; Steve, who worked with me on a shirt pattern for Jack in St. Paul; and Victoria, the bespoke tailor who taught the Savile Row class in London last year, all preached discipline and mastery and had boatloads of patience for their uncomprehending student: me. I did not reward their efforts. My spirit is willing, but my aptitude is weak.

I was so pessimistic that I could learn one jot about patternmaking that I passed up a class by Nina Bagley offered by the City of Columbus Recreation and Parks Department last fall about how to alter commercial patterns to suit your taste and figure.

Columbus, Ohio's Cultural Arts Center offers classes in painting, metal work, and much more.

Columbus, Ohio’s Cultural Arts Center offers classes in painting, metal work, and much more.

(I ask you–how many city governments would offer such a class–and for only a nominal fee–taught by a master patternmaker who worked in New York and Italy? I love Columbus!)

No, I would only be frustrated again. And surely I could find a teacher to work with me individually. I had just set up my new sewing room and could get back to getting things sewn again in a few weeks. Couldn’t I?

Apparently not. Call it bad luck, call it inertia, but I found myself in early December with a sewing room but no sewing community–and no desire to sew. I had scared off a couple of sewing teachers local fabric stores had referred me to. One called me and the other wrote back to say, regretfully but firmly, No. Another teacher responded positively to my e-mail, asking me for dates I could meet her for lunch, but never followed up on my response.

The measurements you took become lines on your big piece of paper.

The measurements you took become lines on your big piece of paper.

I did ponder registering for a tailoring or clothing construction course at the Columbus College of Art and Design, but blanched at the $1200 per credit hour. $3600 for one course! Surely there was another way to enter or create a local sewing community to rekindle my enthusiasm for sewing.

This was the state of affairs in early December when, as I always eventually do, I rallied.  Ever the librarian, I delved into researching my burning question again. I Googled the name of the teacher of that class I spurned in the fall, and found an interview with her on a little Columbus website.

Eventually, the lines turn into pattern pieces.

Eventually, the lines turn into pattern pieces.

I liked what I read. I dug around some more and found contact information for her. I decided to take a chance and write her. Here’s what I wrote:

Hello Nina,
This morning I read what you said in the “Locals” piece at http://thelocalsstory.com/2012/10/24/nina-bagley/ and said to myself, “That does it—I’ve got to meet this person.” What you said about being a patternmaker and doing quality work struck a chord.
Since moving from Minnesota back to Ohio six months ago I have really missed my sewing teacher-patternmaker Edith Gazzuolo, who worked with me on challenging vintage-pattern sewing projects. She pushed me to accomplish more and at a higher level than I had before, and changed my life.
I am now looking to hire an expert or two here in Columbus to work with me one-on-one when I have questions about fitting, pattern alterations, and construction. I started a blog, Getting Things Sewn, a little over a year and a half ago partly to chronicle my projects and processes and partly to challenge myself to sew the patterns I couldn’t stop dreaming about. I have a small but growing and widespread audience around the world that’s interested in what I’m doing.
A very large part of what I do is to clarify what’s stopping me—whether a technical question, aesthetic question, or something else—and define and test processes that work for me. Right now I feel quite stopped—my projects and the blog are stalled out—and the main reason is I need some local experts on my team to answer questions that are tough for me. I am a writer first and a sewer a distant second. My spatial aptitudes are only average, and it’s hard for me to grasp fitting and patternmaking. But with the help of experts I can do good work. (Threads magazine has featured a couple of my jackets made from a 1936 pattern. One of those jackets is on my home page.)
I want to get back to sewing great stuff and writing about how I’m overcoming obstacles that frustrate so many sewers today.
I am writing you with the hope that we will meet soon and that a creative partnership will be in the offing. Edith was so important to my life that I wrote a tribute about the lasting lessons she taught me that will give you an idea of the kind of student I am and what I want to achieve. It can be seen here: http://gettingthingssewn.com/all-i-really-need-to-know-i-learned-from-my-sewing-teacher/
Thank you, Nina,
Paula DeGrand
www.gettingthingssewn.com

Darts in the front pattern piece.

Darts in the front pattern piece.

As I paused before hitting Send I thought, She’ll be either intrigued and want to know more, or a little stunned and say no or not even reply. Having just spent 25 years dealing with phlegmatic Minnesotans, I’d gotten used to being perceived as histrionic at times. But now that I’d returned to the battleground state of Ohio, where people are not taken aback by enthusiasm (Go Bucks!), I hoped I would be seen as–normal.

I took a breath and hit Send.

Ten days later, Nina Bagley replied: Here’s my number–call me. I did. She had a pants patternmaking class at the Cultural Arts Center coming up in January; it could fill quickly; I should think about taking it. She understood how confusing patternmaking can be for novices: “I kind of go through the back door and explain so the light bulb goes off.”

Going through the back door sounded good, as well as the prospect of light being shed on this arcane art.

IMG_6625 (460x195)

Once again, that fervor peculiar to patternmakers trumped any doubts in my mind. I registered for Pants: Block Pattern Making for $100 plus a $5.25 processing fee. If I could actually make patterns for pants that fit and flatter me, how great would that be? And if I could connect with a great teacher, and make a sewing friend, or several? This could be the best $105.25 investment I’d ever made.

Yes! I'm in!

Yes! I’m in!

Tuesday at 6:30 I entered the classroom, met my seven congenial classmates, and started following Nina’s directions for turning measurements into a pattern draft. Three hours never went by so fast. And I actually kept up!

At the end of class we were all smiling as we gathered our tools and paper and bundled up to go back out into the bitter cold night. For homework we will sew muslins from our drafts to be analyzed and fine-tuned in our second class.

No one was more enthusiastic than Nina. “I can’t wait till next week! I can’t wait till next week!” she declared.

And you know what? Neither can I.

Yes!

Yes!

Setting Up My New Sewing Room

· by | in Sewing space | tagged , , ,

Readers,

My sewing room, occupying the largest bedroom in Jack’s and my new home in Columbus, Ohio, is about 90 percent set up now.  It was fairly easy to plan the layout, and fun, as well.

With my mannequin, Ginger, in our new home.

With my mannequin, Ginger, in our new home.

From my little desk I merely have to turn around to bask in the morning light streaming in from two directions. This morning I’m enjoying a clear blue sky and the last bright leaves of fall.

From my second-floor perch I have been enjoying a spectacular fall in our neighborhood.

From my second-floor perch I have been enjoying a spectacular fall in our neighborhood.

Then, without leaving my chair, I can roll a short distance to my sewing library and survey titles without bending or squinting.

To retrieve a book or magazine I can just roll to my right.

To retrieve a book or magazine I can just roll to my right.

Pulling my pattern catalog from the shelf, I can swivel half a turn to a work table to page through it.

From pattern illustration...

From pattern illustration…

If I think, “Hmm–what fabrics would look great with that pattern?” in no more than an instant I’m unfurling yardage and scattering buttons over it.

...to fabric and buttons pulled from the shelves in the blink of an eye.

…to fabric and buttons pulled from the shelves in the blink of an eye.

From my other chair I can stitch and then swivel to the ironing board to press open a seam–or stand and use my new steamer.

I can lower the ironing board to press while sitting. More often, I press standing.

I can lower the ironing board to press while sitting. More often, I press standing.

As you can tell, I’m thoroughly enjoying the new headquarters of Getting Things Sewn. I am really glad we made a sizeable sewing space a high priority in our house hunt.

However, it took imagination, a leap of faith, and lots of work to transform this into a room I love being in.

Like the rest of the house, my future sewing room was dingy, drab, and smelled like an ashtray.

Like the rest of the house, my future sewing room was dingy, drab, and smelled like an ashtray.

At first, the entire house smelled like a giant ashtray. Everything was in desperate need of freshening up.

The imitation wood-grain Contact paper dated from the 1960s or '70s, probably. Out!

The imitation wood-grain Contact paper in the closet dated from the 1960s or ’70s, probably. Out!

Much of the oak flooring was covered with decades-old carpet underlaid with disintegrating padding.

Pulling up carpet released fibers into the air.

Pulling up carpet released fibers into the air.

Rolling up the last of the carpet, which was at least 30 years old, I think.

Rolling up the last of the carpet, which was at least 30 years old, I think.

Goodbye carpet, and good riddance!

Goodbye carpet, and good riddance!

Removing the crumbling padding revealed oak flooring in decent shape.

Removing the crumbling padding revealed oak flooring in decent shape.

The windows were covered with cheap, unattractive blinds and valances. All the walls were dingy.

These valances and blinds must go!

These valances and blinds must go!

A month and a half before the moving van came, Cynthia (my sister, photographer and now neighbor) and I pulled out the ratty old carpet and padding and pried out hundreds of carpet staples . Jack flew down from Minnesota for a long weekend to paint the whole upstairs, plus the living room, with a potent primer called Kilz.

In one long weekend Jack primed the whole upstairs plus living room. Then he flew back to Minnesota to finish teaching and sell our house.

In one long weekend Jack primed the whole upstairs plus living room. Then he flew back to Minnesota to finish teaching and sell our house.

We had the floors refinished, and they turned out gorgeous!

We had the floors professionally refinished.

We had the floors professionally refinished.

The final coat: wet...

The final coat: wet…

...and then dry and lustrous. The room was beginning to be beautiful.

…and then dry and lustrous. The room was beginning to be beautiful.

July 10, Jack and the moving van both arrived from Minneapolis. Reunited at last!

July 10: the moving van arrived.

July 10: the moving van arrived.

And then we opened lots and lots of boxes.

All our possessions arrived safe and sound, including my fabrics, which had been in the garage for 3 months.

All our possessions arrived safe and sound, including my fabrics, which had been in the garage for 3 months.

Messy!

Messy!

And before we got settled in, we had the exterior walls insulated to save on energy costs in the years to come. There was never going to be a better time to have this done, but waiting for the insulation guys to finish the job required a boatload of patience.

Holes were cut into the exterior walls and insulation blown in.

Holes were cut into the exterior walls and insulation blown in. Then the holes were filled.

All the filled holes had to be sanded and primed. Lots of fun!

All the filled holes had to be sanded and primed. Lots of fun!

As soon as the insulation job was done, Jack set immediately to work painting the sewing room so I could execute my grand plan. It was a fun puzzle to solve. I had learned so much from planning the basement sewing domain in our previous home in Minneapolis, creating a zone for each activity.

Before: an unsightly closet.

Before: an unsightly closet.

After: neat and clean!

After: neat and clean!

The room measurements were 17 feet by 13 feet. I measured my bookcases, metal shelving units, work tables, desk and printer stand, rolling chairs, the ironing board, steamer, and even the base of my mannequin, Ginger–anything that would take up space. On a large sheet of graph paper from Cynthia I laid out the locations of doors, electrical outlets, and windows.

The floor plan.

The floor plan.

From a colorful old file folder I cut out scale representations of all these sewing furnishings and started moving them around my graphed-out room. It was immensely satisfying to do this.

I imagined how much more I would enjoy my sewing room if only I positioned my fabrics to be easily seen from the hallway.  So that decided where I would put my metal shelving units for storing fabrics and buttons.

We set up the metal shelves where we could enjoy seeing the fabrics whenever passing through the hallway.

We set up the metal shelves where we could enjoy seeing the fabrics whenever passing through the hallway. The rest of the arrangement fell into place.

I cut heavy adhesive felt to size to protect our new floors from being damaged by the metal shelves.

I cut heavy adhesive felt to size to protect our new floors from being damaged by the metal shelves.

Then I assigned the rest of the zones I needed: places for writing and planning; consulting my sewing library; cutting and stitching, pressing and steaming; photographing garments on the mannequin, and closet storage.

Writing, planning, and sewing reference along this wall.

Writing, planning, and sewing reference along this wall.

When I first saw how close together my work tables, shelves, chairs and pressing equipment were on my graph, my heart sank. I thought I wouldn’t have enough room to do my work. Then I realized that 90 percent of the time I’d be in here by myself and wouldn’t need much clearance. Plus, I could find this smaller space to be  more efficient than my other, larger space.

In my previous sewing space my most frequently used tools were hung on pegboard or stored in a wide, shallow box on a work table. They were easy to see but often just out of reach, on the other side of a table. Over the years the minutes I spent walking around a table to reach for a hemming gauge or pair of shears resulted not only in lost hours but lost concentration.

I repurposed Elfa file carts to hold frequently used sewing tools, my patterns, and pressing equipment. They fit right under the work tables.

I repurposed Elfa file carts to hold frequently used sewing tools, my patterns, and pressing equipment. They fit right under the work tables.

In a moment of inspiration I saw using our Elfa file carts more profitably to store my sewing tools than our papers. I have filled one with pressing tools and the other with sewing gadgets and my patterns. The carts roll to wherever I need them and stow handily under the work tables.

The Ikea file cart has three drawers, space for hanging files, and enough surface to open a book. It’s awaiting its work assignment.

Someday I'll go through the clippings in that box and organize them in this Ikea file cart.

Someday I’ll go through the clippings in that box and organize them in this Ikea file cart.

My baker’s cart, which holds unfinished projects (and anything else, these days), fits perfectly in the closet. That was lucky. I also use the closet for interfacings, wearable-test fabrics, muslins, threads, notions, rolls of paper, and the serger.

The rolling baker's rack, which holds unfinished projects, fits perfectly into the closet.

The rolling baker’s rack, which holds unfinished projects, fits perfectly into the closet.

The baker's rack rolls out for easy access.

The baker’s rack rolls out for easy access.

The closet stores muslins, sewing project problems, interfacings, fabrics for wearable tests...

The closet stores muslins, sewing project problems, interfacings, fabrics for wearable tests…

...notions, rolls of paper, the tripod, the sewing machine cover, a couple of pillows to recover, and the serger.

…notions, rolls of paper, the tripod, the sewing machine cover, a couple of pillows to recover, and the serger.

What’s left to do?

  • Improving the lighting. I’m making do with a couple of clip-on utility lamps and a five-headed goose-neck floor lamp from Home Depot until I make a plan.
  • Decorating! This room is functional, but it needs personality! Fashion clippings! Swatches! I used a neutral paint color for photography, but I want color, pattern, texture on my bulletin boards.
  • After a seven month hiatus, SEWING!

    The stage is set.

    The stage is set.

How Do I Proceed?

· by | in Me, Process | tagged

Readers,

I don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but this blog is not all that much about completed projects. It’s about process–my process, at any rate. That’s why this blog is called “Getting Things Sewn” rather than “Things Gotten Sewn.”

William Alexander's new book poses with my 17 berets.

William Alexander’s new book poses with my 17 berets.

Since I’m in process mode (aka The Slough of Despond) a lot more than in finish and celebrate mode, I am very interested in others’ accounts of their quests and processes. Sometimes I learn a thing or two.

The beginning of a baguette, from Cooks Illustrated's excellent new recipe.

The beginning of a baguette, from Cooks Illustrated’s excellent new recipe.

I recently read Chris Guillebeau’s new book, The Happiness of Pursuit: Finding the Quest That Will Bring Purpose to Your Life. Guillebeau’s quest was to visit every country in the world (193, from the list he was working from), which took him a decade, most of which seemed to be spent waiting for planes. My takeaway: avoid goals involving airports or turbulence.

And last night I finished another book about a quest, Flirting with French: How a Language Charmed Me, Seduced Me and Nearly Broke My Heart by William Alexander. This morning I found myself writing him a letter.

The baguettes rising.

The baguettes rising.

Dear Mr. Alexander:

I just finished reading Flirting with French, in which you describe your quixotic desire to be French, which apparently has nothing to do with studying for the citizenship exam and everything to do with drinking absinthe (but not smoking) in dark cafes. The goal of becoming French naturally means your having to learn and speak the language, a situation overripe with comic possibilities.

Everybody knows that an American trying to be French is a doomed cause. Actually, though, I think your secret desire is to look French, whatever that means to you or to other people.

Fully risen, the baguettes await slashing.

Fully risen, the baguettes await slashing.


At the risk of  incurring a massive case of envy in you, I admit that I myself have achieved this goal–no, it’s not even a goal–without trying.

Countless times strangers have come up to me on the street, or in hallways (in public buildings, not at home) and exclaimed, “You look French!” This has happened so often that I can sometimes sense the comment coming the way some pets are said to sense impending temblors, and brace for impact.

When I'm dressed like this, strangers run up to me on the street making a wild claim.

When I dress like this, strangers run up to me on the street. Why is that? (photo by Cynthia DeGrand)

The speaker always has an air of triumphant discovery–of what, I do not know. Meanwhile, I have an air of confusion.

Assuming the remark is meant as a compliment, though, most of the time I remember to say “Thank you.”

“You look French!” falls from people’s lips without their (the people’s, not the lips’) knowing I have a French last name, have studied French, or can make pretty good baguettes.

The baguettes have been slashed. Ready for the oven!

The baguettes have been slashed. Ready for the oven!

Approximately 100 percent of the time I have been so identified as “looking French” I have been wearing a beret.

So, mon ami, if you want to look French–at least in America–my advice is simply to plant a beret on your head,  go for a stroll, and wait for the “You look French!” exclamations to roll in.  If this experiment becomes the subject of your next book, remember to put my name on the acknowledgments page.

Perhaps risking even more envy on your part, I have gotten as close to being perceived as French as most Americans ever will, again without trying. Once, at the train station in Dijon, the man selling me my ticket to Lyon told me “Vous êtes presque française.”

You are almost French.

Done!

Done!

Although it was possibly seeing my name on my passport or credit card and not hearing my French pronunciation that drew this observation from him, I chose to assume in any case that he meant this as a compliment.

He may have meant, “Nice try. Keep it up.” Then again, he may have meant, “Don’t kid yourself: you will never reach that exalted state.”

I was not wearing a beret at the time. When I’m at that train station in Dijon next time I’ll be sure to wear one and see what that ticket seller says.

Cooling.

Cooling.


But actually, Mr. Alexander, the real reason I’m writing you is not to incur envy but to express my admiration. You dedicated hundreds of hours to tackling the study of French in lots of different ways–Rosetta Stone, corresponding with an online native speaker pen pal, attending a weekend immersion course in the US and a two-week immersion course in France–with varying levels of success. During those thirteen months you had major surgeries and, I infer, a full-time job as distractions.

At the end of that period you weren’t as proficient in the language as you’d hoped to be, although you did reap other wonderful, unexpected rewards.

But, back to the beginning of your learning adventure, when you attended that Second Language Research Forum. You know, when you sat down with Heidi Byrnes and asked, pleadingly, “How do I proceed? How do I learn French?”

A good crumb. (Tasty, too.)

A good crumb. (Tasty, too.)

In other words, how could you translate this perhaps unreasonable but certainly powerful desire into a practical plan to achieve your goal?

Bingo. Exactly what I want to know, too!

She answered, “The difficulty you’re going to have is you will essentially find no materials out there.” 

Well, yes and no. My experience in getting things sewn is there are only too many learning materials and methods out there. The secret is knowing which ones are going to work for you. That’s a very individual thing, and it takes time to figure that out. At least thirteen months, I would guess.

What I’m trying to say is, during year 1 of a venture like yours, maybe all you really learn is–how you learn. You begin building a foundation of resources and practices. Maybe it will be in year 2 that you’ll pick up more understanding. With more practice, in year 3 you may increase accuracy, and in year 4, speed.

Learning enterprises like yours are so inspiring, but then the book project comes to an end, and with it, many a learning project. I hope your learning project continues, however, for your sake, and for us many readers who are also perpetually trying to figure out, “How do I proceed?”

Sincerely,

Paula DeGrand

If one beret has people saying "You look French!" how about 17?

If one beret has people saying “You look French!” how about 17?

Meeting Edith Head

· by | in Field trips

Readers,

As Cynthia and I were walking toward the Decorative Arts Center of Ohio late Sunday afternoon, I overheard a woman exclaim to her companions, “I had no idea it would be so awesome!”

Edith_Head_6073 (460x324)

Both fabulous–and both designed by Edith Head.

Oh sure, she’d just seen three dozen or so costumes from Paramount Pictures’ vaults that curator Randall Thropp had rescued from utter ruin, so awe was in order. Sequins, beading, soutache braid, fringe, lace…they all tend to prompt such a response.

What surprised that visitor to “Designing Woman: Edith Head at Paramount, 1924-1967″ had to be Edith Head herself. Spanning her six decades in the public eye as a costume designer, Edith Head was, let us say, singular-looking.

Edith_Head_6043 (342x460)

Edith Head (1897-1981) with her amazing 8 Oscars for costume design.

Okay, she looked rather…odd. Those round, usually tinted, glasses. That sphinx-like expression that kept you guessing.

That hairstyle.

How did such a person ever hold sway in the most looks-conscious place–and industry–on the planet? That’s what I, and maybe the woman I overheard, wondered.

Edith_Head_5997 (460x307)

Pinch me! I’m in the same room as Edith Head!

That question’s ripe for debate. But there’s no denying, that girl had grit.

When actress Susan Claassen’s Edith Head strode into the room, we the audience completely and happily deferred to her as top dog. And it wasn’t only because she’d had 35 Oscar nominations and eight wins.

There was just something in Edith Head’s demeanor that told you she would prevail. She would work 15-hour days, six days a week for 44 years at Paramount, and then move to Universal Studios in 1967 for another 14 years.

Edith_Head_6015 (282x460)

As portrayed by Susan Claassen, Edith Head was animated…

Whatever she might lack in originality she would make up for in sheer stamina. And that’s nothing to sneeze at.

Although Edith Head’s still photos made her seem humorless–and, let’s face it, designing costumes on deadline for major stars is serious business–Susan Claassen’s portrayal showed the costumier to have had a very dry wit. “People say to me, ‘Edith, what makes you different from other designers?’ I tell them, ‘I’m not different. [Pause.] I’m just the best.'”

...and droll.

…and droll.

This Edith was not aloof. She would glance at individual audience members with a just-between-you-and-me expression before delivering a tart comment about the difficult Claudette Colbert.

She would chop the air making a point,Edith_Head_6014 (270x460)

and walk stiffly, convincingly like someone in her 80s who’d spent decades in awkward postures hunched over sketches at drafting tables.Edith_Head_6017 (317x460)

And when Edith had finished telling us about her trials and triumphs in Hollywood, we all trooped out to have our pictures taken with her as she gave us her seal of approval.  I was beside myself.

Edith Head gives me her seal of approval.

Edith Head gives me her seal of approval.

Can this be really happening?

Can this be really happening?

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I met Edith Head!

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After we all had our moment with Edith, we followed Randall Thropp from one gallery to the next. He told us not only about the significance of each costume in the film it appeared in but also about how it was saved from almost certain oblivion through the conservation talents of Betsey Potter.

This cloak was discovered in tatters and was at first thought to be only yardage, not a garment. Betsey Potter restored it to a thing of beauty.

This cloak was discovered in tatters and was at first thought to be only yardage, not a garment. Betsey Potter painstakingly restored it to a thing of beauty.

Randall told us the granddaughter of an employee of Paramount’s costume department donated quilt squares her grandmother had made from scraps saved from films she’d worked on. Those quilt squares helped him identify costumes, the movies they’d appeared in, and who had worn them.

This blouse was identified from a scrap worked into a quilt square.

This blouse was identified from a scrap worked into a quilt square.

In the last room of the show Randall told us that the everyday tools and supplies the costumers used to carry out Edith Head’s designs were going to be scrapped but that he had managed to salvage and identify some of them. There is such value in these mundane items if they can be kept together as a collection. We were all glad he’d done this, partly to recognize the labor of hundreds of studio employees over the decades and partly to illuminate a bit of that past for us today.

Archivist Randall Thropp has rescued spools of thread, trims, and tools of the costumer's art as well as their final products.

Archivist Randall Thropp has rescued spools of thread, trims, and tools of the costumer’s art as well as their final products.

Both Susan Claassen’s portrayal of Edith Head and Randall Thropp’s enthralling stories about the costumes gave me a far greater appreciation of a museum costume show than I’ve ever had before. Plans are being discussed for this collection to be shown at other small museums in the US in the coming years. If I read about its opening at another location, I’ll be sure to mention that news in this blog.

I will also be watching Susan Claassen’s website for news of her show, A Conversation with Edith Head, being booked at theaters around the country. Her presentation at the Decorative Arts Center of Ohio was really fun. I’d love to see her full show. You can see excerpts of her show here.

(Thanks to Cynthia DeGrand for all photos except the one of the seal of approval.)

Head of Class

· by | in Field trips | tagged

Readers,

When I learned that a show of Edith Head’s costumes was headed for the Decorative Arts Center of Ohio in the little town of Lancaster, I jumped up and down and hollered “oh my gosh!” over the phone a couple dozen times.

Can I realize my ambition to look like Edith Head? We shall see.

Can I realize my ambition to look like Edith Head? We shall see.

The sister who called me with this news tidbit had figured I’d be interested in this exhibition but wasn’t prepared for such audible enthusiasm. That may be because I’d never told her I’d had ambitions to dress up as Edith Head’s double. Now I would get to see–for free!–a few dozen of the hundreds–no, probably thousands–of garments she’d had a hand in designing over her decades-long career in Hollywood.

What do I even know about Edith Head, and how did I come to know it?

The formidable, inimitable, inscrutable Edith Head.

The formidable, inimitable, inscrutable Edith Head.

Not a whole lot, and I don’t know.

Edith_Head_0758

I love this lettering, and how about that notation about Claudette Colbert?

I’m not alone in having strong and yet vague impressions of Edith Head, or at least of her unsmiling, enigmatic, no-nonsense persona, who started in the ’20s with  Clara Bow in the silents, moved on in the ’30s to ’60s designing for such stars as Mae West, Barbara Stanwyck, Gloria Swanson, Bette Davis, Elizabeth Taylor, and Grace Kelly, in the ’70s with Paul Newman and Robert Redford in The Sting and ending in 1982 with Steve Martin in Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid.

Self-described "hider and hoarder," archivist Randall Thropp regaled his audience with one story after another about Edith Head, her costumes, and the people who wore them.

Self-described “hider and hoarder,” archivist Randall Thropp regaled his audience with one story after another about Edith Head, her costumes, and the people who wore them.

Randall Thropp, the costume, prop and set archivist at Paramount, who opened the Decorative Arts Center of Ohio’s show with a curator’s talk June 8, said that on the VIP tours of Paramount someone in the group inevitably asks about Edith Head. He also noted that a recent New York Times book review cited Ms. Head’s view that “You can do anything you want in life if you dress for it.”

Ginger Rogers playing an attorney in a early version of the "power suit."

Ginger Rogers playing an attorney in a early version of the “power suit.”

The suit in the exhibition.

The suit in the exhibition.

It took more than Ms. Head’s memorably severe coiffure, tinted glasses, and neat, classic clothes to earn 35 Oscar nominations and 8 wins, however. She also said “In any one building on New York’s Seventh Avenue, there are twenty designers better than I, but they wouldn’t last a day in Hollywood.”  Dressing for the part may get you noticed, but without grit you won’t be around long.Edith_Head_0914

Edith Head’s costumes would not be around long, either, had it not been for Randall Thropp’s self-described “hider and hoarder” tendencies. If you can believe it, until 2006 it was possible for the public to rent costumes from Paramount that included some by leading designers like Head. As Thropp discovered labels with Head’s name sewn  into waist or sleeve seams he took an executive decision to remove the garments from circulation. Then he sequestered the garments for a while till it was safe for them to come out again.Edith_Head_0853

Paramount had been known to turn historically significant props and costumes over to auction houses, dispersing a cultural legacy forever into the hands of private owners.  On his own initiative and in his own cunning way Thropp preserved the work not only of a designer who remains practically a household name but that of hundreds of seamstresses, tailors, jewelers, milliners, beaders and other practitioners of the costume arts.

While I am mesmerized by the tools of the trade, Randall Thropp chats with visitors.

While I am mesmerized by the tools of the trade, Randall Thropp chats with visitors.

When I saw the glass case my first thought was, “This reminds me of Wayward,” the vintage shop in St. Leonards on Sea, England I visited in January. The cones of colored thread, trims, packets of pins, Paramount labels, a hat stretcher, an Art Deco-era hosiery box with a beguiling typeface, and what appeared to be a specialized iron, were at one time the everyday supplies and tools of the costumer’s art.

I suppose that's a special kind of iron. Have you ever seen one like this?

I suppose that’s a special kind of iron. Have you ever seen one like this?

While I come to costume shows to see the costumes, obviously, it’s almost more poignant to see these mundane objects that have become equally rare and often obsolete.

Ever on the lookout for ideas for my own label, I was taken by Paramount's lettering for its label.

Ever on the lookout for ideas for my own label, I was taken by Paramount’s lettering for its label.

The yellowed typed index cards listing workers’ names, job titles, periods of employment, and wages are additional silent witnesses to the cast of thousands behind the scenes that produced the finery to dress the casts of thousands parading before the camera.

Just a few of the employee cards on display. If only they could talk!

Just a few of the employee cards on display. If only they could talk!

I look at the variety of names, job titles, promotions and handwritten notations aching to know the people and stories behind them. Were those living wages? Did they get lunch at an employee canteen at the studio as part of their compensation? I hope so.

Edith_Head_0904

Edith_Head_0900

Edith_Head_0905

As for the costumes: Okay, I admit I’d hoped to see Audrey Hepburn’s blouse and skirt from Roman Holiday. I suppose they’re jealously guarded by their owner, who must have paid a bundle for them, I don’t know.Edith_Head_0771

I pretend to be dazzled by sequin-encrusted gowns that weigh ten pounds, but I can’t imagine myself wearing them. Instead, I was predictably drawn to the Adrian-like suit from The Big Clock worn by Maureen O’Sullivan. The trompe l’oeil bow is a tailored little stroke of genius.

A clip from The Big Clock showing Maureen O'Sullivan in her suit with the fetching faux bow.

A clip from The Big Clock showing Maureen O’Sullivan in her suit with the fetching faux bow.

I wandered among the four rooms and the main floor marveling at the costumes’ technical mastery I could barely imagine, much less achieve. Add to that deadlines, budgets, and egos, and I wonder how costumes get made at all.

Sketches, some with swatches.

Sketches, some with swatches.

Edith Head most certainly did not fret as I do about getting things sewn. No, orchestrating the talents of hundreds of skilled workers over 60 years she got thousands of things sewn.Edith_Head_0821

Nevertheless, those efforts would fall to wrack and ruin without the talents of today’s curators, conservators, and exhibition specialists diligently, devotedly spending years to preserve records and create informative and entertaining exhibitions giving context for us visitors.

Thanks to Carol Abbott’s inventiveness, on an iPad placed in each room you can tap on the image of a costume and see a clip from the movie it was in. In a minute you get information, entertainment, and context in a format that couldn’t be more intuitive.

Adjunct professor Carol Abbott put together 35 clips from 31 films that show the costumes with just a tap on an iPad.

Adjunct professor Carol Abbott put together 35 clips from 31 films that show the costumes with just a tap on an iPad. Maureen O’Sullivan’s suit is visible at upper right.

And thanks to Randall Thropp, an elderly and ailing Shelley Winters got to see the costume (the one survivor of a set of four) that she wore in the rowboat scene in 1951’s A Place in the Sun. Clearly moved, she told him, “I can’t believe you saved my costume.”

Shelley Winters was grateful Randall Thropp rescued her costume, and so are we.

Shelley Winters was grateful Randall Thropp rescued her costume, and so are we.

If you’re in central Ohio sometime this summer, head over to the Decorative Arts Center of Ohio to catch this entrancing show.

Joan Fontaine on the cover of a fan magazine, with a swatch from her dress.

Joan Fontaine on the cover of a fan magazine, with a swatch from her dress.

If you’re there August 17, don’t be surprised to see me tailing actress Susan Claassen portraying Edith Head as she leads tours through the galleries. I could use some tips on how to get that hairstyle right.

Starstruck, or just dizzy? Who cares?

Starstruck, or just dizzy? Who cares?

(Photos by Cynthia DeGrand)

 

A Cottage for Sale

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· by | in Me

Readers,

Our real estate agent called this morning to let us know our house is going on the market this afternoon.

The cottage is for sale!

The cottage is for sale!

I haven’t peeked at the real estate website to see whether the listing is really up yet. It’s going to feel strange to see our house arranged by a stager, shot by a real estate photographer, and described by our real estate agent to ignite the imaginations of potential buyers.

This isn’t quite our home anymore. Now it’s a cottage for sale.

But that’s okay.

You know the song “A Cottage for Sale,” with those lyrics of heartbreaking wistfulness and regret?

The Cape Cod I lived in till age 4, before my family moved to Columbus.

I lived in this Cape Cod till age 4. From here I moved with my family to Columbus.

Months ago I listened to upwards of twenty renditions on YouTube, planning the post I knew I would write when we put our house on the market. Now I am writing that post and wanting badly to put Judy Garland’s amazing version in.

But readers, while I may feel some wistfulness–I will miss my hairdresser of twenty years desperately–regrets are nowhere to be found. Nope, just excitement and anticipation.

Thursday I fly to Columbus to start making our 1958 fixer-upper our new home. Meanwhile, Jack will stay in Minneapolis long enough to teach his summer classes–

And get this cottage sold.

 

Getting Things Sewn is Getting a New Home

· by | in Me, Sewing space | tagged

Readers,

Last week Jack and I bought a house in Columbus, Ohio that will be the new home of Getting Things Sewn!

With Kelly Myers, the world's most wonderful real estate agent.

With Kelly Myers, the world’s most wonderful real estate agent.

Built in 1958, with the same owners from 1959 to 2013, the house is structurally sound but needs updating. Carpets need to be ripped out and floors assessed for refinishing, and all the walls need paint, just for starters. Everything needs refreshing.

Assisting me in this first round of improvements will be my sister, photographer–and neighbor–Cynthia DeGrand, who will be just two minutes’ walk away!

Our creative spaces being so close together–my sewing space and Cynthia’s photo studio–means wonderful new opportunities to experiment with the subject matter and images for this blog. I have often had ideas for posts but didn’t have the imagination or technical expertise to create the images. Meanwhile, Cynthia has had ideas for composition or modeling, but I was not in Columbus often enough for her to experiment with and perfect even a tenth of those ideas.

With the 764 miles between us reduced to a tenth of a mile, we can easily experiment with indoor shoots, location shoots, documenting sewing processes, and more.

This 13- by 17-foot bedroom enjoys natural light and more warmth than my basement sewing space. (The carpet and window treatments are going.)

This 13- by 17-foot bedroom enjoys natural light and more warmth than my basement sewing space. (The carpet and window treatments are going.)

I will also experiment with designing my new sewing space–or spaces. In Minneapolis I devised a pretty satisfying basement sewing domain, which I wrote about in 2013. In Columbus I will start over in a 13- by 17-foot bedroom, possibly using part of the sizable basement for cutting tables.

I have new local sewing resources to discover: people, classes, supplies, collections, and events, which is exciting, but I also want to keep in touch with the sewing community I cultivated in Minneapolis.

For the last few weeks I’ve been decluttering, packing, cleaning, and painting (lot of painting) in preparation for selling our Minneapolis house. While Jack manages the selling, I’ll fly ahead to Columbus to get some repairs and improvements underway. They will be so much easier to do before the moving van arrives.

I have been impatiently waiting for the day I could say Getting Things Sewn is getting a new home. At last I can. I will be testing everything I’ve learned so far about creating sewing spaces and cultivating new sewing ties and look forward to recording my new adventures.

Goodbye, old sewing space!

Goodbye, old sewing space!

 

 

 

Editing My Pattern Stash: How It Turned Out

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· by | in Process, Sewing supplies | tagged ,

Readers,

Some of the patterns from the 3-star pile.

Some of the patterns from the 3-star pile.

If you’re short on time (I know I am), I’ll get right to the point: editing my pattern stash turned out surprisingly well.

Move 'em on out: difficult side closure, too boxy, I'd never wear it. Brings the eye down, I have better choices, rounded shoulders, boxy and brings the eye down.

Move ‘em on out: difficult side closure, too boxy, I’d never wear it. Too much ease, I have better choices, rounded shoulders, boxy and brings the eye down.

As with editing my fabric and button stashes last year, editing my patterns was informative, fun, and productive. Even painless. What more could I ask?

Duplicates other patterns. ditto, too much design ease, not my style.

Duplicates other patterns. ditto, too much design ease, not my style.

The trick in editing my stashes, I’ve found, is designing a process that’s intuitive and easy (are those the same thing?) and that helps me do something better than  before.

Great uses for my vintage buttons, but I would probably not wear either.

Great uses for my vintage buttons, but I would probably not wear either.

The process has to be intuitive, so I understand it; easy, so I actually do it; and helps me accomplish something that matters, so that it’s worth the trouble–worth the trouble of executing the process, but also designing it, which has been the real bugbear.

Bolero overload. Sweetheart necklines: no!

Bolero overload. Sweetheart necklines: no!

But on to the results.

Using the rating system I devised, I assigned one to five stars to each of 200 patterns.

Sloping shoulders, no waist definition.

Sloping shoulders, no waist definition.

Basically,

  • 5 stars: I’ve made these and they were successful. Keep.

    Duplicate, better choices, not my style.

    Duplicate, better choices, not my style.

  • 4 stars: I haven’t made these, but they’re flattering and I love them. I can definitely imagine making them. They would work in my wardrobe. Keep.

    I have better choices, looks like a home ec project, ditto

    I have better choices, looks like a home ec project, ditto

  • 3 stars: I haven’t made these. I’m ambivalent about something here: some features are flattering and some aren’t; the style might work or it might not. These would probably never be tops on the sewing to-do list.  Are these worth keeping? Look at these again and decide.

    Elegant, but lots of other patterns are better wardrobe matches.

    Elegant, but lots of other patterns are better wardrobe matches.

  • 2 stars: I haven’t made these. Something is a dealbreaker: the style no longer suits me, or I now know that’s not a flattering silhouette, or this duplicates other patterns. Out they go.

    Sloping shoulders, dropped shoulders, bolero overload

    Sloping shoulders, dropped shoulders, bolero overload

  • 1 star: I have made these. Face it: they’re duds. Maybe they’re fixable, but I will never make it top priority to fix them. I’d rather choose a different pattern. Bye-bye.

    I wouldn't wear it much, zipper closure, not sure I'd wear it.

    I wouldn’t wear it much, zipper closure, not sure I’d wear it.

The 3-star pile was the most interesting and instructive. Seeing all the 3-starred ones together, I could see similarities in design features that just didn’t work for a triangle figure like mine:

  • Insufficient shoulder definition: dropped shoulders, kimono sleeves, raglan sleeves
  • Little or no waist definition
  • Features that drew the eye down or just didn’t draw the eye up
  • Too much design ease

    Scoop neckline--no; I'd never get around to sewing this; boxy

    Scoop neckline–no; I’d never get around to sewing this; boxy

I saw styles I wouldn’t wear now; I wasn’t that person anymore, if ever I had been.

Sloping shoulders; wrapround dress insecurity; what--MORE boleros?

Sloping shoulders; wrapround dress insecurity; what–MORE boleros?

Some patterns looked costumey to me now.

I have another shawl collar dress that's better; wouldn't wear it; boxy, sloping shoulders and boxy; sloping shoulders

I have another shawl collar dress that’s better; wouldn’t wear it; boxy, sloping shoulders and boxy; sloping shoulders

Whenever I found myself saying “There are better choices,” I paid attention.

Given how many 4-star patterns I have sitting on the bench begging to be put into the game, when would I ever sew the 3-stars? Like that famous New Yorker cartoon, how about never?

After the edit I arranged my pattern catalogue differently. That was not part of the original plan.

After the edit I arranged my pattern catalogue differently. That was not part of the original plan.

Because I understood why I was keeping what I was keeping and weeding what I was weeding, I had no second thoughts and no regrets.

I hadn’t set out to weed out a certain number. It came to about 60, or about 30 percent, just using this star rating process.

When I looked at the keepers, their winning qualities stood out all the more for not being lumped together with the ones that were only pretty good. For me, that’s the ultimate value of an edit: to clarify what interests and inspires me the most, and identify the resources–the fabrics, buttons, and patterns–that are the best matches.

Arranged by garment category now, not by year, the way I arrange my wardrobe.

Arranged by garment category now, not by year, the way I arrange my wardrobe.

There was another unexpected result from this edit: I changed how I arrange my pattern catalogue.

Years ago, to sidestep the problem of choosing one category for a multi-garment pattern, I arranged patterns by year.  But I realized recently that arranging my patterns by year emphasizes the historical period of the garments, which doesn’t help me plan a wardrobe.

Sometimes I attach swatches to the page.

Sometimes I attach swatches to the page.

When I want a coat, I should be flipping to the coat section of my catalogue and examining all my coat choices regardless of the era.

In a couple of instances, it turned out, did I want to put a pattern into a couple of garment categories: both “Jackets” and “Tops,” for example.  In those cases I can just make an duplicate page.

Tracing the outlines of the garment helps me see it better.

Tracing the outlines of the garment helps me see it better.

What I had feared–that my catalogue would be the size of an unabridged Webster’s dictionary–has not materialized.

Abridged, then?

Perhaps.

Weighing in at a slender 5 lbs 4 oz

Weighing in at a slender 5 lbs 4 oz

From the Fabric and Button Stashes: New Pairings

· by | in Process, Sewing supplies | tagged , ,

Readers,

What would bring out the best qualities in my latest finds?

What would bring out the best qualities in my latest finds?

Among the ridiculously wonderful simple pleasures in my life as a sewer is seeing how my latest acquisitions go together with what’s in my stashes.

These buttons, from a Spitalfields vintage fair in London, work nicely with this Italian linen-rayon.

These buttons, from a Spitalfields vintage fair in London, work nicely with this Italian linen-rayon.

This is often how my projects now start out. I may see a winning combination of a pattern and a fabric. Later (as in minutes, hours, or years) I may see a richer relationship with additional fabrics or with buttons that seem to have been made for each other.

Another option.

Another option.

Many times I’ve had a fabric in my stash that appealed to me and yet didn’t have the right complements to bring out its best qualities, so it remained unsewn. I’ve wondered whether I made a mistake keeping that fabric.

But then, how about these?

But then, how about these?

Then at sales in Minneapolis, like the Textile Center sale, or the Guthrie Theater costume department sale last fall, or at vintage fashion fairs I’ve attended in London, I may discover offbeat finds that partner beautifully with that “orphan” piece. I discover new (to me) relationships of color and texture.

I cut a slit just large enough to be a pretend buttonhole for a closer look.

I cut a slit just large enough to be a pretend buttonhole for a closer look.

Working out these design puzzles is very absorbing. I only wish I were much, much better at it.

This pair says "Summer suit!" Do I have just the right three-button jacket pattern?

This pairing says “Summer suit!” Do I have just the right three-button jacket pattern?

When I got back from The World’s Largest Textile Garage Sale just over a week ago, I spread out my fabric purchases and started pulling buttons to try with them.

For comparison, another choice.

For comparison, another choice.

Here are some possibilities. Several look very promising.

How would this chunky button look with this chunky tweed?

How would this chunky button look with this chunky tweed?

Maybe, maybe not.

Maybe, maybe not. Not a first choice.

How about this?

How about this?

Closer, I think.

Closer, I think.

Another try.

Another try.

A contender.

A contender.

Just for fun. There are blue flecks in the tweed. Would these blue buttons work, or are they too much?

Just for fun. There are blue flecks in the tweed. Would these blue buttons work, or are they too much? They deserve to be out in the world, not on a card forever.

There are better choices for this button.

There are better choices for this button.

A possibility.

A possibility.

I so want to put this mid-'40s buckle on something. But is this linen the right home?

I so want to put this mid-’40s buckle on something. But is this linen the right home?

Can't wait to find these buttons their perfect little piece of real estate. What could it be?

Can’t wait to find these buttons their perfect little piece of real estate. What could it be?

Black rounds edged in white, in two sizes. Big ones for the front closure, smaller for pocket trim?

Black rounds edged in white, in two sizes. Big ones for the front closure, smaller for pocket trim?

Monochromatic choices.

Monochromatic choices.

These translucent buttons seem right for this lighter-weight linen.

These translucent buttons seem right for this lighter-weight linen.

This orange button and its eight mates have been languishing on the wrong-color fabric for years. This is a much better combo.

This orange button and its eight mates have been languishing on the wrong-color fabric for years. This is a much better combo.

From the World’s Largest Textile Garage Sale

· by | in Field trips, Sewing supplies | tagged ,

Readers, Yesterday I attended my favorite event of any kind in the whole year: a gigantic rummage sale to raise funds for the Textile Center in Minneapolis.IMG_5776 (460x266) I considered not going this year, since we’re moving and the last thing you’d think we’d want is more boxes to pack. But do you think I listened to reason? No!IMG_5777 (460x279) Not when I could be among hundreds of my fellow fiber lovers. Not when I could rifle through tables piled high with choice discards from other sewers’ stashes and find amazing remnants for bargain prices. Not when I had vintage buttons back home needing fabrics to be paired with.

In the last minutes before the sale opened, buyers limbered up for the race to the tables.

In the last minutes before the sale opened, buyers limbered up for the race to the tables.

No, I was destined to go to the World’s Largest Textile Garage Sale.

Carts at the ready for customers like me buying in bulk. Volunteers stationed at checkout, next to the loading docks.

Carts at the ready for customers like me buying in bulk. Volunteers stationed at checkout, next to the loading docks.

Fittingly, the sale was held at the ideal place for recycling and DIY types: the University of Minnesota’s ReUse Program warehouse. Waiting for the sale to start, we early birds were encouraged to pull out old office chairs ($10 apiece) and sit, not stand, in line. How nice is that? I did have to balance myself gingerly on my rickety chair, but that would be just another colorful addition to my Textile Garage Sale story for 2014.

Beyond the couches were tables of silent auction items like sewing machines and pressing equipment.

Beyond the couches were tables of silent auction items like sewing machines and pressing equipment.

The rest of the year I may swatch one fabric and take weeks deliberating over a possible purchase.  But at the World’s Largest Textile Garage Sale, hesitate and ye are lost. I strode toward the wool and linen fabric sections with a glint in my eye, prepared to make dozens of split-second decisions.

I did!

I did!

This year I made good use of the stash “parking lot,” claiming a large box early, which I then filled without difficulty.

This was only the beginning.

This was only the beginning.

As usually happens, I ran into Steve Pauling, the Bobbin Doctor, in the machines section, where I admired a space-age looking Singer sewing machine and a mangle that had seen better days, both in the silent auction. Steve said he’d been too busy to go see what Ginny herself, of the fabulous Ginny’s Fine Fabrics in Rochester, Minnesota, had donated.

Thousands of patterns, sewing books and magazines donated for the Textile Center sale.

Thousands of patterns, sewing books and magazines donated for the Textile Center sale.

Oh my gosh. I had visited the legendary Ginny’s for the first time last summer when I was researching “Sewing Destination: Twin Cities” for Threads magazine. I’ve been to some of the best fabric stores anywhere–in San Francisco, New York, and London–and Ginny’s easily ranks with them for quality, variety–and price. The stuff that dreams are made of doesn’t come cheap, nor should it.

Having carts made it all the more tempting to buy more.

Having carts made it all the more tempting to buy more.

I had already stowed several fabrics on their original cardboard cores in my stash box. Were they Ginny’s fabrics? Yes, they were! In fact, one of them looked familiar, and I realized I had admired that Italian linen-rayon blend in Ginny’s bargain room in the back of the store last summer.

With my catches of the day.

With my catches of the day.

What other Ginny’s treasures could I uncover? I then investigated nearly every fabric I could find wrapped around a cardboard core on the chance that it was from Ginny’s and at a price I would likely never see again.

Pure linen with a beautiful weight and drape for a suit.

Pure linen with a beautiful weight and drape for a suit.

Eight of my nine fabric purchases ended up being from Ginny’s Fine Fabrics: pure linen, pure cotton, linen-rayon and linen-cotton blends, all about 80 percent off retail prices. I also found a wool tweed that had the look of the 1940s or ’50s in its coloring, a very good backdrop, I hoped, for some of my vintage buttons.

This tweed has a vintage look that should be great with some of my buttons from the '30s, '40s and '50s.

This tweed has a vintage look that should be great with some of my buttons from the ’30s, ’40s and ’50s.

In the magazine aisle I found 19 of the 20 issues of Threads magazine I needed to complete my collection, for all of $2.00.

This linen cries out to be made into a shirt for summer.

This linen cries out to be made into a shirt for summer.

Having made the rounds of the fabric tables about six times, I began to slow down. The patterns, sewing books, notions, ethnic and vintage textiles, UFOs (really!) and machines didn’t interest me this year. Well, the mangle did intrigue me.

An Italian linen-rayon blend.

An Italian linen-rayon blend. 12 yards!

But reason returned. After two intense hours, it was time to call it a day.

Luckily, I was able to wheel my purchases to checkout on one of the ReUse warehouse’s carts, and had help loading the car. Thanks, Textile Center volunteers!

More Italian linen-rayon, in greenish blue for summer.

More Italian linen-rayon, in greenish blue for summer.

Back home, I swatched all my new acquisitions, measured the yardage–as little as 3 yards and as much as 12–and started pulling buttons for possible matches to inspire new projects.

9 1/2 yards of linen for summer blouses and a dress.

9 1/2 yards of linen for summer blouses and a dress.

The next round of fun was about to begin.

The newest members of the stash.

The newest members of the stash.