Thoughts about Sewing, Empowerment, and Body Image

Posted on May 29, 2014 by Tasha

As we near the end of Me-Made-May, it seems like a good time to share some thoughts about sewing, empowerment, and body image. Although I get a huge boost of self-sufficiency when I’m wearing the clothes I made, I actually don’t think much about sewing as it relates to how I feel about my body. Except for when I’m making pants. I originally wrote these thoughts as part of a proposed series on the Colleterie, which didn’t get off the ground, but it seems a shame not to get them out into the world. I thought about a lot of this again just recently when I was working on my trousers.

I’m lucky that when I was growing up, my parents always stressed that I’m just fine the way I am. I’ve never had a really negative image of my body. But I have always had trouble finding pants that fit at all, or were remotely comfortable. I would describe my figure in a nutshell as small and pear shaped. When I’m good about exercise, my thighs get firmer, but they don’t exactly shrink. In fact, in High School, when I was doing lots of power yoga every week, and in the best shape I’ve ever been, I just about gave up wearing pants altogether. It wasn’t worth it; they were just too uncomfortable. I have a vivid memory of sitting in class wishing I could just grab the top thighs of my jeans and yank upwards, and that the seams would pop down the sides, releasing my legs. I never actually tried it, but after that I stopped wearing jeans.

Since then I’ve explored my style, how it relates to my body, and to how others see me, through my sewing—starting with long skirts. As you know if you’ve read this blog for a while, I’ve also been working on and off for years on pants that actually fit me. It wasn’t until I was making the purple pair that I realized how much not being able to find clothes that fit or flatter could affect my conceptions about my body. Those purple pants aren’t perfect, but they show off my shape and are comfortable—a miracle to me. When I’m standing in front of a dressing room mirror and no pair of pants I try on looks good or feels right, I think that encourages me to feel like I need to change, like my body is not right. I was fairly amazed at how, looking at my legs in these new me-made pants, it was so much easier to say, “I love my body! It’s so cute and curvy!” It’s not my body that needs to change—it’s the pants. From my hair to my thighs, I’ve had the best experiences with my body when I realize not only that I can’t change something, but that I shouldn’t be trying to change it, that the beauty the universe gives me is for me to embrace and to work with, not to fight. And I can only do that if I’m willing to think outside the box, to take the time and develop the skills I need to get what I really want and need.

To me sewing, and making anything, is all about empowerment. Since I sew, I can break free from the consumer culture that gives me limited choices, while at the same time encouraging me to find fault with everything, in order to sell me more cheap stuff. Sewing is a way out of that cycle, and also a way in to a deeper and better understanding of my own body and taste, my personality, my unique self. Perhaps the best part is that this kind of freedom is available to anyone who wants it, anyone who’s willing to can their own jam or sew their own jeans. Let’s go get it, people!

A Fall Harvest Without Much of a Garden

Posted on October 11, 2013 by Tasha

Over the past few weeks I’ve done a couple of things that I’ve been meaning to do since, oh, last year . . . one was to dig out the compost. I mention this because for any of you who think you don’t know enough or have enough time to compost; I don’t either, and mine still works. I practice a kind of benign compost neglect which goes like this: I dump all of our vegetable scraps into a big black plastic cone-shaped thing outside with a screw-on lid, which I got from the city of Flagstaff. I continue to do this all winter, when everything is frozen. I did some research when I first got the bin, and theoretically I know that I’m supposed to add stuff that contains lots of carbon, as well as the food scraps which are mostly nitrogen. So, every three months or so (when It’s not too cold out and I’m feeling ambitious) I dump in a shovel of fireplace ashes which the previous owners of our house left in a large metal trash can outside. Depending on the season, I scoop out the bottom of the little compost container from the house with either pine needles or snow, and that goes in the bin too. The one thing I do actually add with some regularity is a bucket of water, since it’s so dry here. If there is snow on top of the lid, I dump it inside the container too. I turn my compost once every never.

Then I leave for the pretty much the whole summer and abandon the bin completely. Only once have I coerced any friends and/or house-sitters to do anything to it while we’re gone. And when we come back, a minor miracle has occurred. The mound of frozen stuff that was nearing the top third of the container is now a much smaller, browner pile of—dirt! Tada!

I asked my dad which of our motley collection of plants would most like some extra nutrients, and he suggested the strawberries growing out by the front fence, which he planted there . . . they are just like the strawberry plants we had at our house when I was little, producing a handful of the tiniest and most intensely flavored strawberries you’ve ever tasted every year. Maybe a few more next year?

After digging it out this time, I have a few compost rules which I am trying to stick to: 1. All eggshells must be crushed (otherwise they take forever to break down). 2. No stacking/nesting of things like avocado skins (ditto. Surface area is a good thing). 3. No stickers of any kind. They do not break down (in my haphazard compost anyway) ever.

The second thing I did was to freeze chiles for the winter. And this year in a new twist, we asked Cory, the super nice farmer from Whipstone Farm, to roast us some sweet red bell peppers as well (on the spot at the farmers’ market) and he did! I froze them using the exact same method I do for chiles. I’m pretty excited about this development, which should mean a steady supply of relatively cheap, local, sustainably grown roasted red peppers all winter long—yes! I mention this in case someone is growing peppers near you as well. You could roast them at home if you don’t happen to know an accommodating farmer with a giant gas-powered chile roaster . . . I usually use the broiler in my oven.

Anyway, I’m pretty pleased with myself, especially for someone who doesn’t have anything approaching a real garden. Any time I do manage to put a little bit of my work into my bit of soil, or into saving food for the winter, it feels pretty great.

A Touch of Comfort, Weird or Ordinary

Posted on September 13, 2013 by Tasha

Much of our time on the road is just slightly anxious for me. There are a lot of unknowns that hover around the edges of my consciousness; where we will sleep, when will eat, can we park the truck here? Plus of course I miss my people and my places. Most of the time these little worries are barely visible on my conscious radar. Then I’ll catch a glimpse or a touch of something that comforts me, and only as the feeling grips me, like the warm hand of a friend on my shoulder, do I realize that I could use reassuring.

Often times the things that comfort me are what you might expect; objects I’ve made that remind me of the skills I have to fall back on, and of home. Seeing, using, brushing, (and occasionally burying my face in) the garment bags I made before we left this spring has been great all this summer.

Sometimes though, it’s something silly or just plain weird that gives me little bursts of happiness. Right now for instance, I get happier every time I see my blue-painted toenails. To clarify, I paint my toenails maybe once every five years. Most of the time, I prefer their natural state. But for a Caribbean beach wedding in the company of close friends and their kids, it seemed appropriate. A dear 9-year-old friend painted one foot, and I did the other. (If you can’t tell, I’m not telling, which is which.)

All the way back home, I’ve been vaguely wondering how other people interpret my slightly sloppy blue toes. But I don’t really care, since every time I see them, I’m reminded of great friends and good times.

Whatever you’re up to, I hope you have some weird (or not so weird) little things to give you a touch of comfort when you need it!

Free Yourself to Make Something Ordinary

Posted on August 29, 2013 by Tasha

Now that I’ve told you a little more about why we travel most of the summer, I can also share some things I’ve made for our trips.

Our clothes spend a fair amount of time in a “closet” consisting of a thin strip of wood between the shelves we have built into our truck. It’s much better than keeping them in a suitcase, but still not ideal since they are unprotected. At the end of last summer, when we unpacked the clothes from truck to house, I noticed that one my jackets was significantly more faded on one side than the other. Maybe hanging it with the same side to the skylight for the whole summer was not the best idea? The same thing happened to Bryan’s jacket, so I’m pretty sure that extra UV light on one side was the problem—combined with the fact that it was warm last summer and the jackets didn’t come off the rack very often. I had been thinking vaguely for a couple of years about making some kind of garment bags to protect our clothes from getting dirty/scratched up as we move things in and out of the truck, especially as I have started to take more me-made garments on the road. This was the final straw, I had to do it.

I decided to make two, each half the width of our “closet.” One would be slightly longer than my summer dresses, and the other just long enough to protect shirts and pants. I traced a plastic hanger for the shape of the sides, and left a split in the front to close with a zipper.

This was the perfect scrap/thrift store shopping project. Since it didn’t matter exactly what the garment bags looked like, as long as they worked, I could use practically anything. I used the last of some heavy canvas from old curtains that came with our house, plus another small curtain (made out of some great textured blue-green fabric) that I bought at Goodwill.

This may seem like a strange project to wax poetic about, but here’s the thing: as I cut myself loose from trying for aesthetic perfection, not caring what anyone would think of my topstitching or pieced fabric, sewing felt more like sculpting; using what I had on hand, and my hands, and just making something almost like I was pulling it out of the air. I was free to use my creativity in any way I wanted, to use whatever I could find, odds and ends of colored thread, salvaged zippers (really nice ones actually)—and I started to see an unexpected beauty in my intentionally imperfect stitching, one that I hope comes through in these photos. I was free to do whatever I wished, and yet cared enough to add little touches and experiments. I was trying things, enjoying the process, and making something useful as I went. With enough practice behind me to be comfortable with fabric and thread, I was able to just play, and it felt pretty magical.

Around the same time, as we both worked on various projects for the truck and Bryan’s display before the summer season, he was refinishing the director’s chair that he uses in the booth. He did a really nice job, dissembling and sanding the chair before applying the new finish. After all that, I decided it needed a new bag to protect it from getting scuffed all over again as it’s loaded in and out.

Chair in the process of disassembly—we’re looking through where the seat would be.

I went back to the thrift store looking for something to line my chair cover with. I loved searching through the housewares section, looking at everything as a material instead of a finished product (always my favorite kind of shopping), and letting the serendipity of what I found help shape my project. I decided on two vintage towels for padding the front and back, and a second-hand piece of fabric to round out the outside. I think the green stripes with my other leftover fabrics make it look like something for sailing.

When I announced that I was going to spend our penultimate evening in Flagstaff sewing (this chair cover), I got an enthusiastic “Ok!” from my notoriously goal-oriented husband. Remind me to try this trick again next year . . .

It’s weird, but having all these me-made covers on our travels this season has been quite a boost to my morale. Every time I see them, or touch them, I’m reminded that I have a spring of creativity and ingenuity which I can use to make whatever I want, and whatever I need. That’s pretty much all I need to feel good about life in general.

How about you—have you done any creative and/or freeing projects lately?

Life as Artists on the Road

Posted on August 22, 2013 by Tasha

I’ve been working on this post for a while (um, understatement). I keep feeling like I should, or would at least like to, explain a little more about what we do and why it is that I travel so much, but it turns out to be not so easy to explain. Everything from how I met my husband and fell in love, to the story of my own life and work so far, to the state of the art market (we’re not getting into that one here) is wrapped up in it, and just figuring out what to put in and what to leave out has been more difficult than I thought, but here we go.

View from the truck windshield—a beautiful sunset from I-40.

The beginning of the story, for the purposes of this post anyway, is 2000, when Bryan (long before he was my husband or had this work) left his career as a business consultant. He didn’t like what he saw himself becoming—that guy in a suit who cuts off little old ladies on his way to the airport. He looked at the senior managers at his company and saw that while they were paid generously, they didn’t seem happy. They were still overworked and stressed out. Most of them had been divorced. They spent their careers working to help huge companies with questionable ethical and environmental records. He wanted more time off, and to have some choice of his clients, neither of which the company wanted to give him. He followed his heart and resigned.

Bryan wasn’t sure what he would end up doing next. He was a passionate photographer, capturing America’s wilderness using large format film (he still does). To make the next part of the story short, over the following few years he carved out a niche that would allow him to make a living. By the time I met him, in 2003, he was traveling most of each summer, exhibiting his work and photographing for new projects, and spending his winters in Flagstaff, Arizona, where I grew up.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I had left school at the University of Arizona (in Tucson), feeling unfulfilled, uninspired, and lonely, and moved back home to Flagstaff in December of that year. I worked at a small museum in town (cataloguing lots of beautiful artifacts) and at a couple of other places off and on, but nothing that was going to turn into a career. Bryan and I met at the end of that summer, started dating and (um, more long story getting short here) fell in love from fall through winter. By the time he asked me if I wanted to travel with him the following summer, I was ready to say yes. It was a big leap of faith, actually bigger looking back on it than it seemed at the time, but I knew he was the one for me, and it worked out. We survived some big adventures together that first time on the road (some that I question whether I would stick around if they happened today), but we made a good team. By the time we got back home in the fall, Bryan had decided that I was the one too. We got married in October 2005, and we still travel together every year.

The truck—hauling, transport, mobile studio and camper.

Our time on the road is a mixture of selling work, making new work, and of course the adventures that happen in between. Most of the selling takes place at the country’s top juried art fairs, and at galleries. The fairs are competitive events run by neighborhoods and art associations. Each season it’s a logistical challenge for Bryan to come up with a national tour from the shows and gallery openings he is invited to that will sustain our work.

Most of these art fairs take place outdoors. As well as art and workspace and some regular living stuff, our truck holds a tent and carpeted walls to make a kind of mini-gallery for the photos, which we set up and take down every weekend that we “bring art to the people.” Dealing with the weather is also a major part of this experience. I started a list of things never to take for granted, but everything else pales in comparison to the first two items: hot showers and ice.

Wherever we end up, there are usually interesting things to photograph nearby. It might be a national park, or interesting architecture for the In a Big World Wandering series, or something for an entirely new project.

Don’t worry, he made it to the other side without falling in.

In between selling and shooting photos, we usually either camp out or visit friends and family. I love camping, staying in beautiful places, and trying out local foods at farm stands and restaurants. But few things make me more suddenly grateful than arriving at a real house full of friendly faces, running water, a large bed with clean sheets, laundry, and a kitchen, etc. My fingers start to itch at the thought of real kitchen tools, and we usually end up cooking a lot for whomever we’re staying with, as part of our efforts to at least act like, if not actually be, the world’s best houseguests. It’s a good survival strategy; we need to make sure we can always come back.

As you might imagine, doing work of my own during this traveling time is . . . difficult. But I’ve also found that it’s fairly necessary to my happiness. I’ve tried selling my own work at art fairs, mainly felted handbags (you can see a few of them on Etsy), but that market wasn’t quite right for the things I made. Along with the usual issues of customers not understanding the cost of handmade goods, plus the physical work to set up an extra display every weekend, it all convinced me that this wasn’t the way to go (at least not with the bags). I did learn a lot though, about all aspects of running an itty-bitty handmade business, and about myself. I began to figure out that my passion is really more for empowering other people to become makers than for selling things I make, hence my latest project (and this blog). Although come fall, I will be making a about a ton of those little fuzzy hats again . . .

Left to right: my booth, and Bryan’s.

But back to the road. Being gone for long stretches, usually months at a time, of course makes me homesick. I miss my friends, my family, the smell of the pine forest, my studio (especially my studio—the freedom to make pretty much whatever I want, whenever I want to), my kitchen, green chile, good tacos (depending on where in the world we are) . . . but I’m starting to adapt. At this point, if we stopped traveling, I know I would miss that too. I’d miss the friends and family scattered around the country that we get to spend time with, the foods we get to eat (yeah, I’m a little obsessed with the food) and the things we discover, especially when we can get off the interstate and explore. It’s an amazingly diverse and interesting country out there.

At the end of a mediocre show, we’ll often look at each other and say, “Well, we lived.” It occurred to me recently that what we mean is not just “we survived” but also “we’re living” in the fullest way, taking advantage of the paths and adventures that are available to us, even though not all of them are good, and testing our limits. It’s not always fun, pretty much never glamorous, and as a friend who’s taking a sabbatical from art fairs recently put it “a stupid way to make a living.” And yet, one thing we don’t have to worry about is regret about chances not taken and roads untraveled. The odd and beautiful parts of life on the road, the magical things that happen when you’re in a strange place at a strange time, are what will keep me coming back, probably for as long as this weird way of life is possible for us.

A performance called (I am not making this up) Squonk Opera passing by the booth in Pittsburgh.

Now I feel like maybe I should have written this post right at the beginning, as a brief summary of the state of my recent life . . . but here it is. This won’t become a blog all about life on the road (that’s not my thing), but I would like to bring up a few other ways that my own goals and work intersect our travels, and hopefully after this it will make more sense. What about you, any thoughts about travel/work/life?

An Interview with Me on ‘So, Zo…’!

Posted on July 9, 2013 by Tasha

I’ve been talking to Zoe of the lovely blog ‘So, Zo…’ about the debut of Hello Sewing Machine. Not only did she agree to feature it, she wanted to interview me! So if you’re curious about what inspired me to make this e-book in the first place, and of course my thoughts about saving the world, check out this post to read all about it! Plus, there’s a discount code for you as well . . . hop on over!

Hello Sewing Machine—Behind the Scenes, and Acknowledgements

Posted on May 12, 2013 by Tasha

So today, a bit more about my new e-book, how I made it, and some well-deserved thanks to those who helped out!

My first idea to make this book revolved around a cartoon sewing machine, and adding real thread to my drawings. I thought it would help explain how all sewing machines are (in a lot of ways) pretty much the same. I hoped that the thread would show up, and look like thread, and add a fun element of style (it did!). But I knew that I needed more detail to explain some things. For months I was stuck, thinking that I needed photographs, and not figuring out how to make them as good as I knew they would need to be. That’s when my husband Bryan (a professional photographer) suggested maybe I didn’t need photos at all. After all, instruction manuals of all kinds are still full of illustrations. Sometimes they are even clearer than photos would be. The more I thought about this, the more I thought he was right. I started drawing, and then I knew he was right. In an illustration, everything that I would like to be in focus is so, and the visual emphasis can be wherever I want it to be.

This has got to be my favorite drawing in the book. To find out what’s going on, you might have to get yourself a copy!

As I drew, I took some snapshots for reference, so I wouldn’t have to keep moving my hands back and forth and get them in the same place again, etc. I also took a couple just to show my process and progress.

Sewing thread onto a drawing of my mom’s treadle sewing machine, using that same machine!

The fact that Bryan suggested doing these drawings points to another really important thing about Hello Sewing Machine, which is that I didn’t make it by myself. In fact, sometimes it seems like I didn’t make it all (despite the weeks of drawing, months of writing and editing, etc.), but more like I stood in the middle and brought together elements from everyone and everything I knew, things which already existed, and they coalesced and became this book. I now understand why authors seem so passionate about their acknowledgements! Mine are in the book, but I’m going to post them publicly here too. Lookout! Thanks below:

Desk reaches maximum level of chaos, near the end of the drawing phase.

First and foremost, thanks to my mom. She made most of my clothes when I was little, and created fabric magic right before my eyes. Not only that, she taught me to sew, too! She gave me access to all kinds of creative tools and supplies from the time I was old enough to hold them. When I grew up, she bought me a sewing machine I couldn’t afford on my own, and I’m still welcome to anything and everything in her sewing room at any time. I absolutely would not have the skills I do now without her in my life.

A close second for thanks is my husband Bryan. Besides the idea to illustrate this book, I also leaned quite heavily on his knowledge during the design and layout phase. Every day I lean on his love and support, and the fact that he believes in me. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in life and our many adventures together.

Also many thanks to Van and Charlie Odegaard, for letting me teach sewing to real live students at Odegaard’s Sewing Center! I’ve learned at least as much as I’ve taught. And I would like to thank Jena R. and Michael K. for the music. I listened to a lot of music during this project, and the CDs they gave me were like friends keeping me company. Thanks to Brian S. for a great idea in word processing—it worked! And last but never least, my truly amazing proofreaders: Kelly, Tom, Wendelin, & Lauren.

I’ve been as much humbled as excited by this whole process. Both are great feelings! I hope to continue to share the love here. More soon . . .

In Which I Read My Diary From Last Year, and Re-Up for Me-Made-May!

Posted on April 22, 2013 by Tasha

If you were reading this blog this time last year, you no doubt remember that I signed up for Me-Made-May ’12, hosted by the fabulous Zoe. I just think this is the best idea, it encourages all those of us who make clothing to actually wear it in our everyday lives, and thus think about what we make and use and why.

I had a great time doing it in 2012, and learned a lot. My pledge was to wear one item of me-made clothing every day, which I succeeded in doing. Sometimes you would not have been able to tell, since I made underwear count. I also pledged to blog about something MMM related once a week, which I almost succeeded in doing. I did draw and post a cartoon of my summer wardrobe, an extension of the way keeping track of what I wore for the month helped me clarify what I wear and what I would like to wear. My overall favorite thing I did was to get three other lovely bloggers/sewists to share their thoughts on style and how sewing allows them to express themselves, in this post.

I knew that I wouldn’t take a picture of every outfit I wore, so I decided to also keep short notes for each day. I dug them out recently and I was surprised at how much is in there, about my thoughts and how far I’ve built up my me-made wardrobe in a year, so I thought I would share some of them. If you are bored by reading other peoples (very brief, not edited for grammar) diary entries, please skip to the bottom of the post. I’m going to include a couple of explanatory notes – May was as usual for us, a busy travel month, and even with the notes it’s going to feel pretty disjointed.

Day 1 – wore green Deva yoga pants, blue Henley. I felt more proud and self-sufficient than I thought I would!

Day 2 – I wore Henley & pjs to clean, then grey pants & ‘Bethan t. I thought about the various imperfections of those pants and vowed to make better ones. (On this day we flew from home to pick up our truck and continue our summer art show circuit. I promise to write a post about what exactly that means and what it’s like, soon.)

Day 3 – Wore cropped drawstring pants and strapless top. Found myself wishing I could wear all me-made outfits! Wanting more time to sew since this month is good inspiration. (When we are on the road I am separated from my sewing machine by hundreds or thousands of miles.)

Day 4 – wore all me-mades! Shorts & blue tank to set up, then new sundress + undies.

This is my standard booth-setup outfit, shorts that were a test make, and a tank that’s near the end of its life.

Day 5 – washed undies the night before to wear, wore those under too hot for anything else dress. Thought about need to make another airy dress, fabric is key.

Day 7 – laundry day. Repeat of plane ride outfit and thoughts about pants. (We are camping out between shows, as we drive to the next one.)

Day 10 – wore B’s jeans & mm pink top in anticipation of City Museum. Maybe I should make some jeans? Would it be more work to find or make? Is either worth it – probably I will stick with the no jeans plan. (We stopped off at City Museum, in St. Louis, which is like an amazing cross between mixed-media sculpture and playground. It’s awesome. Wear sturdy pants. I once lost a fair amount of corduroy on the multistory slide.)

Day 12 – blue skirt/jeans for hiking with mm black tank. Dressing this way may mean laundry sooner. It’s cool and I’m wishing I brought mm hiking pants/another sweater. Thinking about how what we wear is a compromise between what we’d like, what’s available and the weather.

Day 13 – still camping, wearing mm tanks with alternating skirts & B’s jeans. Kicking myself for not bringing mm hiking pants.

Day 14 – now wearing B’s socks as well with more of the above and freezing! Raining out and did laundry.

Day 15 – with fresh laundry! Wore grey mm pants, tank & sweatshirt. Thought about the ideal summer wardrobe – two pairs of pants, one for setup/camping, one nice enough for town/at show if cold. Thought that I have as much affection for the non-mm clothes that fit well, color I love, etc.

Day 18 – all mm! Shorts and blue tank for setup, wedding test dress for show. Thought of a plan to shorten/line dress. (This show is in Reston, VA. I love the DC area – the picture above is at the Air and Space Museum Udvar-Hazy Center, and the one below at the MLK Memorial.)

Day 21 – lounging/computer work/groceries and cooking at friends – good day for mm cropped pants & berry T.

Day 23 – same outfit as day 16, boring! Me made pjs for laundry.

Day 24 – sorely tempted to cheat, but we are almost done & I can stick to my pledge. Mm black tank & pink stripe skirt. Stuck in Floyd Bennett Field.

Day 25 – in NYC. Mm linen skirt (loving it!) & dk blue top stitched tank with blue cord jacket.

Day 26 – poor packing leads to undies only today – with ‘bethan top and blue tea dyed skirt with flowers. Also no bra – but fabric shopping in NYC!!!! (This really happened. Maybe I’ll tell you about it some time, we had quite an adventure.)

Day 28 – Mm drawstring pants & pink shirt w/ mm bra. Good for driving/hanging out with nieces. Wishing I could wear all mm pieces for the rest of May but don’t think I have enough.

Catching tiny frogs with our little nieces at a pond in MI

Day 30 – grey pants even got a compliment from Mandy! With pink mm shirt and sweatshirt.

Day 31 – same as day 30 – camping out – cool again. Even though at times frustrating, I’m a little sorry to see the end of mmm.

So, um, there you have it! Reading these over, I think I should make another shirt like the pink one, it was probably the most-worn item. I’m certainly glad to report that my me-made wardrobe has grown by a few of the pieces I most needed last May – now that I have good me-made pants I shouldn’t end up wearing Bryan’s jeans this summer! I also thought more about what I would pack this year (we’ll be on the road again for most of May), there are plenty of me-mades in various layers ready to go. And I made a new airy dress, which I hope to show you some time during Me-Made-May – knowing that I wanted to up my pledge this time was an incentive to get it done in time.

My pledge for this year is: ‘I, Tasha of Stale Bread into French Toast, sign up as a participant of Me-Made-May ’13. I endeavour to wear two handmade garments, of which underthings may count for only one, each day for the duration of May 2013’

I’ll definitely take some pictures, although probably not every day, and put them up at the MMM Flickr group. It was really fun last year checking out what everyone else was wearing there. I’ll make notes again too. I’m looking forward to seeing what new ideas I come up with during this year’s challenge. There’s still time to sign up, until the 30th, and all are welcome, so go check it out, I highly recommend it!

All’s Well That Ends Well, but Please, Don’t Put Your Wool in the Washine Machine

Posted on March 12, 2013 by Tasha

At one point, I considered not writing this post at all, because I’m pretty embarrassed about how this skirt got to the point where it needed remodeling in the first place. But in the end, there was no way to not write about it, especially since I ended up wearing this once-shameful skirt to dressy Flagstaff event (maybe the only dressy Flagstaff event? We always joke that people here wear jeans to everything) . . .

I made this skirt, as near as I can figure, about 10 years ago! This was a time before I knew much at all about wool, other than the basics; it comes from sheep, it’s been used since ancient times, people say it’s lovely, etc. It may be worth pointing out that this was also years before I had felted anything, on purpose or otherwise. You probably see where this is going. I put a sample of the fabric though a normal cycle in the washing machine. Nothing happened, the fabric looked just about the same as when it went in. “Great!” I thought. I made up the skirt using the Folkwear Walking Skirt pattern, one I love and have used a lot. And, I continued to wash it in the machine. It never went in the dryer, thankfully, or what happened next probably would have been a much shorter process. As it was, the fabric continued to look like nothing happened, for many years, for dozens and dozens of washes. But eventually, all that agitation inevitably started the fibers felting together. By last winter it was impossible to ignore.

Since I now know quite a bit about felting, once I could look past my obvious horror since I had ruined some lovely fabric, I found it fascinating that the places on the skirt where small parts of the fabric were stitched to each other (the waistband, hem, and back placket) were still unfelted, while the big skirt pieces were noticeably felted, thicker and fuzzier. Actually, it was the contrast between the two parts that made the skirt look weird, especially the unfelted hem, which looked almost gathered against the felted skirt. My current theory is that since the hem and placket fibers couldn’t move as much, they couldn’t interlock to felt like the others did.

The skirt sat in my to-fix pile until I figured out a plan, actually a pretty simple one, which I think is essential to not spending inordinate amounts of time remodeling something. I would cut off the not-as-felted hem, waistband, and placket, fit the remaining felted skirt to a wider and lower waistband facing, make a new placket, and re-hem it. Above you can see my chalk lines for what to cut in the back, I continued the line of the wider side of the placket down to the hem, and cut a symmetrical amount from the other side of center back, to keep the back pieces the same size. I got little pieces of felted fabric to use for my new placket from the extra cut off below the old placket.

While I working on this project, I was also trying to figure out what I would wear to the Viola awards. They’re Flagstaff’s yearly art and science awards for teaching, exhibits, and community outreach, and they throw a big Oscar-like party to give them out. Bryan was nominated for one this year, for the exhibit of his In a Big World Wandering work, for which we also made the giant silk cyanotype. I’d never been before, and I wondered what would everyone wear, what should I wear, should I borrow something, is it more like a costume party, should I wear something shiny?

I am not a shiny person. In the end, I decided not even to go to my friend’s and try on formals to borrow, but instead to wear something that reflects who I really am. Not only that, but I realized I could actually wear the lovely tailored skirt I was working on – if I went ahead and finished it! I took the photos of my outfit right before we left, and I think you can tell I was pretty thrilled with my decision. If what we wear tells everyone we meet a lot about who we are and where we stand, shouldn’t it be even more important, at an event where people are actually paying attention to my clothes, for me to wear something that shows my values and my heart?

So I wore the rescued skirt, in it’s newly tailored glory! Note the buttery folds. And a nubbly cream silk tank top I made to wear to a wedding last year (same copied pattern as this linen one) which has proved more useful than I thought it might. The shawl is something I started knitting for our wedding, realized would never be done in time, and eventually finished later. (It’s a longer and wider version of the Fiber Trends Cocoon Lace Wrap, in a wool/alpaca blend lace weight yarn.) It’s drapey and surprisingly warm, enough to keep me comfortable outside while I took the photos. The pin holding it closed was my grandmother’s. I didn’t make the tights or shoes, but I still love them . . . topped off with my winter coat, and I felt like I had stepped back to the ’40’s.

Proof that we went and I wore this outfit! If you are curious what others wore, or what the event looked like, there are lots and lots more photos on the Facebook page for the organization. We didn’t win (Bryan’s photo exhibit was up against the opening of the Discovery Channel Telescope! And the winner, a recycled art exhibition that’s been going strong for 10 years here) but it was a really fun party, and I got lots of compliments, especially on the shawl.

But back to the skirt, and I might as well confess one more thing, I feel slightly guilty but I can’t help it; I like this fabric more now than I did in it’s new/intended state. It’s so soft but with so much body, and it tailors like a dream. In fact, making the new placket and waistband gave me the itch to sew with wool again, it’s just a pleasure to work with. This has got to be the flattest-laying, easiest-pressed-in-place placket I’ve ever made. And the buttonholes – I made them by hand with a single strand of waxed black cotton sewing thread, and it was as if I sealed the cut edges with a magic wand. Not only can you not see the stitches here, I couldn’t see them in my studio while sewing in broad daylight. Note the pockets! Another benefit of me-made formal wear.

I also thought about how much I’ve learned in the last ten years. I was able to add several refinements to this second round of the skirt, including using rayon ribbon on a lot of the edges to reduce bulk, adding a contoured waistband that fits my figure, and using catch stitches to secure the hem and placket so they wouldn’t show from the outside. Now that it’s on a strictly hand-wash-only plan, the new and improved version should last me another ten years at least!

Morals of the story: please wear your heart on your sleeve, especially to formal events. Sometimes a silk purse is lurking inside the sow’s ear of your mistakes. And people please, no wool in the washing machine!

Why Not Fix an Item, as a Gift?

Posted on March 3, 2013 by Tasha

So, it was my dad’s birthday recently, and he asked me if I would fix this jacket as my present to him. Great idea, right? Since half my DNA comes from this man, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if he comes up with ideas I love, but I was a little surprised by this one.

Think about it, instead of getting someone we care about a thing which they might or might not use, we could offer to fix something they already have and love. Who couldn’t use a chair glued back together, something painted, or a ripped seam sewn. Especially if you, the giver, have some expertise in what you’re fixing. Book repair, sock darning, judicious application of super glue . . .

This jacket has been in Dad’s wardrobe for years. It needed a new zipper, and as I inspected it I noticed that the fabric around the cuffs was also shredded, and the pocket corners starting to wear. I cut new cuffs and reinforcing patches for the pockets out of some leftover outdoor fabric from my mom’s stash, which luckily matched pretty well. Now it’s ready to go, hopefully for a few more years of wear!

When we choose to repair an item, not only are we keeping things out of the landfill and extending the life of a much-loved/used object, the time we spend fixing something is a thoughtful gesture to a loved one and, to me anyway, far more satisfying than trolling the stores.

So, thanks Dad for the wonderful idea! Let’s spread it, it has potential . . .