analog me

Embellished T-shirt

I really do feel happy when I  wear this. I bought the T-shirt at the Salvation Army because I loved the stripes, but it was way too big for me. And I figure that if I am going to bother remaking something to fit my body I should personalize it a bit so I don't feel like one of thousands of Target clones. As usual, I used the Lydia pattern at Burda for the armscye and sleeve top and just narrowed the sides. I cut the flowers out of Kaffe Fasset quilting fabric and stitched it on with a small straight stitch.

There was an internet conversation going on a few weeks ago about homemade versus handmade clothing that I am still mentally processing. (My analog brain is so not up to digital speed.) Anyway, I have been thinking about how hand knitting has really diverged from fashion knitting in the last couple years-- to the point where much of what I see on Ravelry and blogs is far more compelling and better made than what I see in stores. I think this is because hand knitters started designing in a way that is much different than machine knitting--mostly by abandoning the practice of making and then assembling flat pieces with shaping only along the edges. Instead, a lot of the most successful designs have shaping and design integrated throughout the garment in a way that mass produced garment can never have--and because of that they also fit much better than factory made sweaters. Although they can fit in with today's fashions, I also think their look is a bit more timeless.

Anyway, I wonder if home sewing might experience a similar transformation. I am at the point where I want things I make to look like me, but I still mostly use commercial patterns. Most of the personalization I do involves surface embellishments like this T-shirt applique to alter them. Lately, I'm feeling this is a bit superficial--I'm interested in the idea of building the personality right into the structure of the garment. 

After a head's up from some other sewing blogs, I have been following Natalie Purschwitz's documentation of making all her own clothing for a year. What I really enjoy, is that she designs her clothes to convey her personal design aesthetic.

I am also inspired by a local architect/designer here in Minneapolis who has a small clothing line called Uniform Studio. The clothes are more about form than fashion, and the non-solid fabrics have the designs dyed right into the fabric.

Both these designers seem much more interested in making stuff that fits with their style, even though it might be a bit outside the current fashion world. And interestingly, that is also what seems to inspire a lot of the sewists who are using vintage patterns to make their clothes-- a certain line and form that might not be the fashion right now.

So I'm wondering, what inspires you about "handmade"? Is it the simple fact and beauty of being made by hand?  The details ? The uniqueness of the fabrics/colors etc? Or are you drawn to design lines that you just don't see anywhere for sale?

P.S. The postage stamp quilt in the first photo came from my grandmother's house--talk about the beauty of hand made!

The Laundry. . .

It seems that my seasonal ineffective disorder has been replaced by Summertime Overdrive Disorder. I'm so busy doing things that I should have done before, that I have no time to do anything I really want to do now. 

As usual it was the Laundry that moved me. (I'm sorry, I'm trying to stop.) 

You may remember that in a moment of blogging-induced euphoria I decided that henceforth all laundry would be done al Fresco? I did have the clarity of thinking to accept that the actual washing of clothing could be delegated to my washing machine, but I have been trying to dry and fold most of my clothes outside. So I am guaranteed to spend a least 1/2 hour a day outside, instead of in my laundry dungeon. 

While I was enjoying doing the laundry outdoors, I could no longer ignore the fact that the yard was neglected and ugly. So from laundry, I went to gardening. I  did about 3 years worth of garden rehab, tree trimming, tree planting, transplanting etc.  So now I have an even nicer place to fold the laundry. 

I also made this little peg bag to hold my clothes pins from some scraps some of which I covered with iron-on vinyl. It's very handy and the water proof top and back is nice if you forget it out in the rain. I made directions. 

(When I started blogging, I had no idea what direction it would take me, but I had no idea my future was in Laundry blogging. I didn't even realize it was a blogging niche.)

Later, with only a few hours to get my younger son ready for camp I found that his stuff sack had disappeared. How does a sleeping bag divorce itself from the stuff sack? My older son had just chopped the legs off his pants to make shorts, so I grabbed that fabric, and old sash from a dress I no longer wear, an extra belt, and a shoelace and made this. 

He asked for the shoulder strap so it would be easier to carry. Doesn't this design look like it would be great for. . . a laundry bag? Each lad could have a personalized bag to tote that bale of cotton undies and t-shirts around.  I got a helpful laundry tip from Andreae--don't mix it up by family member, then you don't have to sort it out. This idea and the laundry sack, were in my mind as I folded clothes in the dappled shade. Suddenly a revelation. . . the kids are old enough to do their own damn laundry. (to be fair: My older son is a camp counsellor intern this year and is already doing his own each weekend.)

Now I need a new blogging niche. And quick, before I start seriously contemplating knitting my own clothesline or crocheting laundry baskets out of garbage bags.

 

You know you're a redneck when. . .

 Here is a look of what I'm working on right now. 

 

Our porch used to have either really ugly brown carpeting or nasty 1970's panelling covering almost every surface. We enjoyed it anyway .  Our decorating style has often been to just hang something over whatever we find annoying, and we covered these walls with old tin signs and license plates. I think this style is now referred to as "man cave." 

Finally, though the decayed brown carpet, cheap panelling and plastic trim started to wear on us and one weekend a couple years ago, my husband ripped out the offensive 1970's materials. This felt great, but was followed by a period of paralyzing indecision when we had to figure out how to rehabilitate the space. The plaster is too flakey to paint, the flooring had been glued down with tar that we couldn't remove, and the windows were frozen in position.

So for the last 2 years, the entry way to our home has been a space with with peeling plaster and a tar-paper floor that smells like asphalt. My husband and older son commute all year by bike and they parked here. I must admit to storing random stuff I have picked up off the curb here too.  

In cold weather we found it was useful for meat storage and overflow from our fridge.

In other words, we turned the porch to our lovely 1920's home into a nasty garage. We even replicated the suburban practice of making that nasty garage the entry to our home. 

We finally chose some new windows that actually open and close again and a carpenter is installing them. I picked up an old dresser in the alley that I hope to paint and use for storage, and I want someplace to recline. (It seems that for true relaxation, I must be recumbent.) (I think this blog post is totally going to qualify for "you know you're a redneck when. . ." )

Yesterday, I braved a giant nausea-inducing box store and bought light fixtures and now we need to agree on paint colors. Sadly, no area of debate has greater potential for marital disagreement.

So what look do you think we aim for? I'm thinking about a green-grey blue with white trim. 

Pants of over-thinking

In the last couple weeks I've been really excited to read the posts and their comments about the conflicts people feel about the "hand-made-ness" of the clothes they make. Not because I'm happy that people are feeling conflicted, but because I have been having the same internal debate with myself for almost as long as I have been making clothes.

It's a state of mind I get into when I have to reconcile my accepted notions of quality, handmade vs. machine made, with what I (and my culture) thinks is a reasonable investment of time, money and energy for the product. I am used to making these calculations as a consumer buying a piece of clothing. But, when I become both the producer and the consumer--and know all the sordid details of my labor--I can get really conflicted ! Add in my feelings about disposable clothing, desire, money etc. etc, and it's rather overwhelming. 

For example, I'm getting tired of wasting time searching for pants that fit, so I decided to sacrifice a pair of well-fitting and well-worn Ann Taylor pants, unpick the seams and make a master pants pattern.  To test the pattern, I used some inexpensive (5/yd?) twill from JoAnn's to make some pedal pushers. 

Everything was pretty straight-forward and efficient until it came time to put in the zipper/fly. 

I had directions from a Burda pattern and a book on tailoring pants that I just couldn't decipher, so I spent a lot of time looking at the original, pinning, basting, ripping. The quality of the fabric is lower than most RTW fabric. When I had to rip, it became apparent that the fabric was not yarn-dyed so that parts of the undyed threads were noticeable. Eventually, after about 2 hours, I was happy to have made this.

 Front fly/fly shield.

At the leg opening, I had planned on making buttonholes, but I decided to just try and finish quickly so I tacked them shut with buttons and did some topstitching. 

 

Not only was the double topstitching a bit imperfect, the width isn't the standard so it looked odd to me a first. And then I got to thinking why should a difference of a few millimeters between top stitching look "wrong" just because it is not what our eye is used to seeing on mass-produced clothing? And would I have ever noticed if I wasn't inspecting my own handwork for errors?

Logically, I know that I should quickly make another pair of pants using the same method to nail down that fly-opening/waistband technique so subsequent pairs will go faster. 

But the self-critic in my mind says I shouldn't "waste" any more time idly puttering with pants.

The judge adds that I make too many errors.

The consumer is pissed that my fabric choices are so crappy. 

But the seamstress-- fickle woman of desire--she desperately wants to try one of the vintage patterns I found at a garage sale last weekend!!!

 

Vacation Project

Sometimes the hardest part of packing for vacation is choosing a project to bring along. It needs to be smaller, appropriate for my anticipated attention span, and should not require too many tools/notions. 

So last week when we went to stay at the cabin my husband's extended family shares, I brought along materials that I thought perfectly matched my crafting needs: some gorgeous flannel and a retro cotton print to make some simple baby presents. 

Michael's grandparents, who built the cabin in the 1930's, were thrifty so little was thrown away or changed for the last half century. Since they died, the grandchildren want everything to stay the same, so it has almost become a museum of things you could buy in rural Minnesota in the last 50 years.

As I was ironing the binding I noticed something that made me laugh:

The 1970's ironing board and iron perfectly match the orange and yellow in the fabric. 

And yes! the cream and orange sewing machine was a perfect match too.
It was a rare moment when life imitated art. And I found the 1970s technology perfectly suited to the project.