Well folks, I finished the cranberry red velvet jacket. I finished it on Thursday and wore it that night to the theatre, where it received its first compliment. Since then, I've posted its photo on Facebook where it gleaned many more compliments.
I'm thrilled to have finished it. I loved wearing it. I'm sure I will wear it a lot. It feels delicious to the touch, it’s easy on the eyes, and the silk lining makes a soft rustling sound as it moves. I haven't tasted it yet, but you never know.
The joy of making clothing for oneself is that it fits. I have one shoulder higher than the other, one arm longer than the other, but you cannot tell these things by looking at me in my velvet jacket.
Also there is tremendous satisfaction in completing this project. I was afraid to cut the fabric. I dithered for ages about what to make, then what pattern to use. When I didn't have enough fabric for the robe I had envisioned, I didn't give up. I found a jacket pattern I could make with the amount of fabric I actually had. When machine sewing wasn't working for me, I switched to hand-sewing.
When I had to rip out three feet of hand-sewing, did I cry? No. Did I give up? Not for a minute. I ripped it out and started over.
If I haven't already told you, and I probably have if you know me at all, I was inspired to make this for myself by a poem I wrote. I spent decades longing for a dress my mom gave away when I was four years old. Finally I can stop longing and simply love and appreciate what I've made for myself.
Here's the poem (once performed by Vox, a spoken-word chorus, here in Portland:
Cranberry Red Silk Velvet Dress
Genesis.
The dress refuses to be
replicated, supplanted, replaced.
There will never be a substitute
for that first taste of luxury.
Suddenly at four years old I
outgrew it. And Mom gave it away.
Away! I still wanted it.
Psalms.
I find myself writing
long songs to garments, pieces of
silk, satin, taffeta. Rarest bits
of grosgrain, tissue thin lawn,
bloodied wool. Remembering my Sunday
undies, my Platex girdle in minty green
that held my already flat stomach flatter.
Acts.
Before I learned to read I raised my
homemade dress in church and proclaimed:
my slip has my name on it! the cotton
garment read: FLOUR. Three years later
I wore my favorites to school: a
drop-shoulder blouse and full circle
skirt made from our living-room
curtains and slipcover castoffs.
Lamentations.
My father died. Mom stopped
making my clothes and started making
step-fathers instead.
Revelations.
Deep pockets of lies lay in
wardrobes filled with cocktail dresses and
platform sandals with long narrow straps
made for a princess who couldn’t provide
school shoes for her daughters.
----------------------
And here's the jacket
What do you long for? Have you made or bought something for yourself to replace a long lost favorite item?
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that turned out really beautifully. Love the closure method.
Long for? More hours in a day where I am alert enough to do all the art I want to do.
Day's aren't getting longer. I just have to focus and choose.
‘Tenacious’ is the word that comes to mind. Well done you! Also Chris-de-Burgh’s song Lady in Red.’ I am hearing it now in my head.
My treasured item of clothing is my maternal grandfather’s flannel nightshirt, which I am sleeping in this week. As a small child on cold nights I would climb into my grandparents’ bed and snuggle up against his nightshirt to keep extra warm. When he died in 1976, a few weeks short of his 80th birthday, which he was so looking forward to, I claimed his nightshirt (plus his Great War army bread knife and bedroom chest-of-drawers, which we use every day).
I have been wearing the nightshirt since recovering from open heart surgery in 2017. One of the few continuing side effects has been sneezing which starts off cold spasms regardless of the time or temperature. I will sleep in the nightshirt on my 80th birthday next month. It is difficult to convey the importance of such items as you so well understand. 🐰