Leaf Bowls

I really like these Oak Leaf bowls from Martha Stewart. They are the kind of gift that would be perfect for one of my grandmothers, who entertains a lot but who has more than enough bowls. That said, I can't help but feel that this is not the kind of project I'll probably do. For one thing, it involves what looks like a lot of tedious cutting. I hate cutting. For another thing, I don't have a local fabric store that carries wool tweed. And I probably wouldn't order five different kinds of wool tweed online, since to make the shipping charges worth it I'd have to order way more wool tweed than I really need. Or end up making leaf bowls for everyone I know.

I wonder, though, if you could do this project with the felt, a really heavy interfacing, and quilting fabric? I doubt the cotton fabric would have enough heft to hold up, but maybe. If I had an actual studio, I'd probably try this out. This is why I need a sewing studio. So that I could simply open up my wool tweed stash, pick out a few yellows and oranges that didn't make it into my fall wardrobe the year before, and turn out some leaf bowls.

Or I could just spend hours and hours creating new fabric designs to send to Spoonflower.

Pattern Search

I wish that someone would start a website where I could go and ask a knowledgeable group of people "hey, does anyone know the pattern number of a Vogue, Christian Dior dress and coat ensemble? It's a yellow coat. Double-breasted."

A bright yellow coat. That's got to be memorable, right?

At least, I did wish for that website until I remembered about the Vintage Sewing Pattern Wiki. Ask and you shall receive!

I missed it at So Vintage Patterns (in my size, too!). Guess it's back to eBay.

The Dress Lodger, Sheri Holman

How is she dressed, pray tell? By her clothes, surely we will know her.

Her dress is blue. How descriptive. But of what color blue?

Ye, of course in better years we too attended spectacles where nymphs and water sprites yearned for mortal men, where mermaids brushed their hair and admired themselves in flashing mirrors. You woudl have us picture, then, the backdrop of that theatrical Sea: the billows of cyan silk, the azure pasteboard waves, the ultramarine netting, tangled with sea horses and starfishes, flung to represent an aquatic paradise. We will close our eyes and do as you command. Ah, how cool they look while we sweat in the theatre of a hot summer's night, spying on their underwater world with its hierarchy and despot king and chorus of rebellious daughters; a world so rich and foreign, yet so happily fraught with the politics of our own. Now, to that cool, blinding blue, we are to add the color of our play's artificial sky, appreciating the scene painter's ability to reach back into his childhood and extract the extinct shade of cerulean that floated over the River Wear before the factories were built. Yes, we are old enough to remember that color. We are old enough, certainly, to remember a good many other things besides.

To the complex blue body of her dress, you would have us add wide-blown gigot sleeves swelling from bare shoulders and a matching belt cinched at her narrow waist, creating the inverted-triangle look so popular among fashionable women of today. Festoon the entirety with tulle and white bouffant in three puffy tiers from knee to ankle-length hem. Tie her up with a handful of bows down the bodice. She is a sumptuous, fantastical wedding cake. A walking confection. A tasty morsel. And yet, still you hesitate. Certainly no one other than the finest lady might afford such a singular dress. So what is wrong?

Wedding Dress #3

I fussed around with a number of different ideas for WD #3. The wedding was in Malibu, at a very nice ranch, so I wanted something pretty dressy. On the flip side, though, this wasn't a formal wedding, so I didn't want a gown.

This is another pattern I got from my grandmother. I love that this dress pattern is so simple and yet can be either formal or casual, depending on the fabrics used. A brocade would make this into a rich, luxuriant dress, but it would also work in a simple cotton print. As it happened, my grandmother had also given me several yards of a black and white print. A polyester mix, I think, judging by the very odd texture--one side is rather slinky and the other is almost ridged. When she initially gave it to me, I had no idea what to do with it, frankly. After all, black and white stripes on top of an arabesque flower pattern doesn't go with everything. It worked out well, though, when I paired it with a simple black for the bodice. Too bad the jacket pattern was missing. But I love that this dress, which fits perfectly, reminds me so much of my grandmother--her pattern and her fabric.

I'm not even sure how to describe that pattern--stripes and paisley?

Memo to Molyneux

I've realized what it is that bothers me about the skirt on this dress:


This is totally a "Pull Tab to Open" dress. What horribly awkward placement! Too bad, because I really do like the neckline.