shirt –> handkerchiefs

January 26, 2010 By Kate in sewing, thrift Tags: handkerchiefs, recycling, sewing, thrift 31 Comments

Tom was getting rid of some shirts. This one was very old and worn. But I loved the fabric — a soft, light weight cotton shirting with a very high thread count, a bit like Tana Lawn. I just couldn’t let it go to the charity shop. A while ago, Felix sent me some lovely vintage handkerchiefs, to which I’ve become quite attached. I particularly like them because they are old. A hanky seems at its best when the fabric is well worn, softened, weathered — just like the fabric of this shirt. They are useful things to have about one’s person in this grim, grey January weather — I at least find I can’t make the transition from a brisk, chilly outdoor walk to an overheated institutional interior without scrabbling around for a hanky, and noisily blowing me nose (ahem). So I washed and dried and pressed the old shirt and then. . .

I cut out two 12 inch squares from the back of the shirt; pressed the top and bottom edges in by 1/4 inch; did the same with the two side edges; then repeated (so that no raw edges showed). Then I pressed the whole thing again, and sewed round the handkerchief edge twice (with two allowances of about 1/2 and a 1/8 inch) to create a secure folded hem. This was the easiest kind of sewing (some simple cuts in the fabric; a press with the iron; no need for pins; a couple of straight seams) and it took me less than 30 minutes in a break between one set of exam scripts and another. I now have a couple of serviceable and satisfying recycled shirt hankies. There’s enough fabric in the shirt back for a few more, and I could probably get a couple out of the fronts as well.

I don’t know how to phonetically convey the sound of a blowing nose . . .but I’m sure you can imagine it.

Mrs Sew and Sew interview

May 19, 2009 By Kate in History, textiles, thrift Tags: 1940s, British history, History, imperial war musuem, Kirstie Allsop, make do and mend, Mrs Sew and Sew, rationing, rations, sewing, thrift, tweets, twitter, war 13 Comments

Since my sister bought me this book a while ago, I have taken all my darning advice from Mrs Sew and Sew — the fictional character invented by the British Board of Trade to promote practices of mending and making do. When considering war-time rations, we perhaps first think of food and fuel, but clothes and textiles rationing was introduced in 1941 and continued until 1949. The clothing allowance, which enabled each person to acquire what was thought of as the equivalent of one full outfit, began at sixty-six coupons per year, and was later cut as low as twenty. Children’s clothes carried a lower coupon value (to allow for fast-growing kids), and rations covered fabric and notions as well as finished garments. All garments were carefully itemised and valued. For example:
“Bolero, short jacket, short cape. If woollen or leather and with sleeves of not less than elbow length — 5 coupons. If not woollen or leather and with no sleeves or with sleeves of less than elbow length — 2 coupons” (Clothing Coupon Quiz (British Board of Trade, 1941)

(emergency clothing coupons like these were issued in special circumstances — such as when property had been destroyed by bombing).

At a time when a couple of yards of elastic might cost you a valuable coupon, the care and repair of clothes became paramount, and to encourage such thrifty practices, the Board of Trade and Ministry of Information invented the persona of Mrs Sew and Sew. In a series of pithy pamphlets (which you can still read today) Mrs Sew and Sew issued clear and constructive advice on all textile-related matters, from dressmaking with parachute nylon to recycling a worn rug into a pair of warm slippers. I love Mrs Sew and Sew’s pamphlets and often make use of them: her instructions on how to darn a sock really are the best and clearest I’ve read anywhere.

(Make do and Mend, 1943)

I was intrigued to discover that, with the support of the lovely people at the Imperial War Museum, Mrs Sew and Sew was, through the wonder of Twitter, once again dispensing her words of thrifty wisdom to the nation. In her witty missives, the home-front has been speaking to the twenty-first century in a variety of very interesting ways. I recommend signing up to follow her tweets and those of the IWM right away! While much has been made by other crafty commentators of how the 1940s dictum of “make do and mend” speaks to that discourse of thrift that has such a particular national currency right now, I would like to stress that Mrs Sew and Sew and her tweets are entirely free from political bias (by which I mean that she has in no way associated herself with the new-tory language of thrift or (God forbid) that of the Conservative Party’s celebrity housing advisor). In 1943, fuel rationing would not allow for a gigantic 4 x 4 in which to carry home your skip-pilfered furniture; nor would a jolly team of builders be available to renovate your derelict Devon home. And while I can’t speak for her, I’m pretty sure that Mrs Sew and Sew would not recommend doing the decorating in your best Cath Kidston frock. Do bear that in mind, Kirstie.

Anyway, its time for me to stop wittering on, and bring you a treat: yes, its Mrs Sew and Sew herself! I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that Mrs Sew and Sew agreed to this interview, and would like to thank her (and the IWMs Sarah Gardiner, for kindly acting as her intermediary).

In what ways has your life changed since war began? Are any of these changes welcome?
The negative aspects of war are well known. Obviously having family abroad fighting on our behalf is incredibly difficult to cope with, while rationing and bombing has a huge effect on us back home. But in a positive light, the war has helped bring communities together to help one another. There are so many on my street that I didn’t know before the war that I know now. It’s a source of tremendous strength to know that you’re not suffering alone.

Do you think that managing on rations is easier in London than in the rest of mainland Britain?
I imagine it’s roughly the same. Rations are the same throughout the country, but of course in rural areas you have easier access to locally grown produce that might find its way to your plate without entering the ration system. And this is probably offset by the fact that produce from abroad often comes through London docks – and sometimes finds its way onto the black market.

I understand that the German magazine Frauen Warte is incorporating propaganda into its knitting patterns. What are your views on this?
Well, it’s not surprising really. They’re doing everything they can to win the war. I’m surprised we haven’t started doing it too!

Did you hear about the recent abuse of fuel rationing in Barrow in Furness? How can we discourage such things from happening?
I haven’t heard about the problems in Barrow in Furness, but I do think we need to keep reminding people why rationing is so important. We need to do everything we can to support the war effort, and these rations support this.

Will I manage to clothe myself and my family on the new reduced ration of clothing coupons? What are your top tips for coping on coupons?
It’s going to be difficult keeping everyone clothed on the rations. But there are lots of things you can do to make this easier. The most important thing to do is to really look after your current clothes to make them last as long as possible; repair holes as soon as they appear, shake out clothes before putting them on hangers, check stored clothes for moth eggs frequently and so on. And when clothes are really beyond repair, think about how they can be used in other ways…old sheets can be turned into handkerchiefs and thick material can be used to patch elbows and knees on children’s clothes.

Is knitting wool subject to rationing?
I’m afraid so. But have you got any old woollen items that you’re not wearing any more? It’s possible to unravel the wool from old clothes back into a ball – it’ll be thinner than it was before, but it should still be usable.

Should I just throw away my old, worn winter coat?
Oh, definitely not! Don’t forget that we’re all in the same position trying to make ends meet. Other people on the street are patching up their old clothes and it’s not embarrassing at all that you can do the same.

Help! I’ve found moths in my knitting basket. What can I do?
Oh no! Well the one thing moths hate is fresh air. Take the whole basket outside, empty it out and give everything a good shake. You might need to unravel the wool to get rid of all the moth eggs. They’re a real pest, and you should definitely give stored clothes a good shake outside too to get rid of the eggs (they’re often found under the collar).

Which women from the past do you most admire?
Oh, Marie Curie is top of the list without a doubt. An incredibly intelligent woman, and it’s so rare for a woman to succeed in such a male dominated profession. Did you know she was the first female professor at the University of Paris?
I also admire Madge Watt. She was the driving force behind getting the Women’s Institute in the UK, and this organisation has helped look after evacuees during WWII.

And who inspires you today?
It’s so difficult to just list one person. There are so many women pulling together to get us through the war, many of whom are only known on their street, that it would be unfair to name someone who’s famous. My answer is therefore that unsung heroes throughout the country are the source of my inspiration today.

Please tell us the name of your favourite film.
I love Gone With The Wind! It’s such a wonderful, stirring story. And Clark Gable is a real dish!

Thankyou, so much, Mrs Sew and Sew!

Links and further reading:
Imperial War Museum
Mass Observation Archive
Helen Reynolds, ’Your Clothes are Materials of War: The British Government Promotion of Home Sewing during the Second World War’, in The Culture of Sewing; Gender, Consumption and Home Dressmaking (Berg, Oxford, 1999), pp. 327-339.
C. Buckley, ‘On the margins: theorizing the history and significance of making and designing clothes at home’, Journal of Design History, volume 11, no 2 (1998), pp. 157-172

out with the old

January 11, 2009 By Kate in craft, design, fabric, fashion, Politics, refashioning, sewing, textiles, thrift Tags: 2008, art, artists, British textile industry, clothes, clothing, consumerism, consumption, darning, fabric, fashion, knitting, landfill, mending, new year, recycling, repair, rubbish, sewing, sheep farming, stitching, sweatshop, textile art, textiles, waste 55 Comments

You may remember that a year ago I decided to stop buying clothes for the duration of 2008. My decision to do this was sparked by a couple of things. I had been reading a bit about darning and mending and wanted to think about what repairing and caring for one’s clothes meant. Also, since I heard this very-well researched series of documentaries on the BBC world service, I had been increasingly bothered by textile waste — the sheer amounts of it, as well as the complicated politics of its disposal. I then had a moment of utter revulsion after seeing Florence and Fred’s Affordable Elegance advertisements, in which the disposability of the 20 quid dresses they had designed for Tesco’s was “cleverly” celebrated.

(textile waste now makes up 30% of rubbish destined for UK landfill sites)

The year is up, and here’s my summary of the project: During 2008 I have fashioned or refashioned for myself 7 tops, 5 skirts, 4 dresses, 3 sweaters, 3 pairs of socks, 2 shrugs, 2 cardigans, 2 hats, 1 shawl, 1 coat, 1 maud, 1 tank top, 1 jacket, 1 pair of gloves, and 1 scarf. Additionally, I have repaired and re-repaired the sleeves of sweaters, the seats of pants, the hems of coats, the heels of socks, the tops of mittens, and the feet of stockings. I made lots of things from patterns and kits and in doing so, have participated, in a vicarious sort of a way, in the design process of some really talented people. I also designed several items of clothing for myself from scratch, and have encountered my own limits and shortcomings along the way. This year of stitching and knitting and learning has been both enjoyable and thought provoking. It has certainly changed the way I think about the making, consumption and meaning of worn textiles.

clothingoneself
(clothing myself in 2008)

Despite the apparently prohibitive terms I set myself (“you will not buy clothes”) this project was never about denial. As you may have gathered, I am someone who loves clothes. I mean, I really love clothes. The things I wear are a source of tremendous pleasure for me, and I regard dressing up in them (however foolishly) as a sort of creative act. So I was not about to deny myself that pleasure or that creativity, but rather wanted to think about focusing it a little differently. One other thing that the project was not was generically anti-consumerist. For I am undeniably a consumer. I exchange money for stuff. I do not regard The Commodity as the root of all evil and in fact I think that commerce — of ideas and words as well as things — is generally a very necessary good. So I did not deny myself the pleasure of clothes, nor did I cease to be a consumer. I bought notions and fabric and quite a lot of yarn. I continued to cut pictures out of magazines, read about fashion history, and dream about the qualities of fabric, and the possibilities of different outfits, just as I had done before. Raw materials, ideas and images continued to be rich sources of inspiration and enjoyment to me. And I had many, many clothes already. To be frank, I had no need of any more. But if there was something that I wanted, as opposed to needed, I would have to think about how to make it, about where the stuff to make it was coming from, and then about how to sew or knit it up for myself. So, in fact, the only thing that I stopped doing this year was spending a lot of time in shops, and buying a lot of clothes in them. And I can honestly say that I’ve not missed this in the slightest.

romney
(handsome Romney. Diamonds Farm. Horam, East Sussex)

What I started rather than stopped doing over the course of the year is much more interesting (well, it is to me at least). Of course, I made things, and I thought about what I was doing when I was making them. But additionally, I also visited farms, crofts, mills and other businesses where fibre is spun, dyed, and woven into cloth. I have learnt how fabric is produced from animal or plant to finished garment, how and where it is sold, to whom, and why. My love of finished textiles has developed into an interest in the process of their production, and the history of those processes. I’ve started thinking in a new way about the importance of textiles to different local economies; about the provenance of materials; about how Britain’s regional fabric is a very literal thing; and about the ways in which different national, local and global histories are all woven up in, and told through, textiles. I’ve also met and learnt from lots of wonderful people who live and work with fibre and fabric. Through this, I have also started to regard the value of textiles very differently indeed.

sweatshop

Clothes are not cheap. Time and care and labour are all expended in the rearing of a British sheep, but the three pence the farmer receives for the fleece makes it hardly worth the shearing. At the other end of the production-consumption chain, 2 million tonnes of largely man-made textile waste is discarded in Britain every year. The quality of this stuff is so low that charity shops cannot re-sell it, and laudable schemes like Oxfam’s wastesaver find it difficult to re-use or recycle. Our cheaply bought and easily discarded textiles swell mountains of domestic landfill, or are exported in containers for other countries to deal with. In the Czech Republic, for example, the outbuildings of former collective farms are now filled, floor to ceiling, with Western Europe’s abandoned clothing. Meanwhile, in Sri Lanka, adults and children suffer the indignity and poverty brought by brutal employment practices that we should more accurately term indenture or slavery. And all to make a mountain of transitory crap that is daily bought and thrown away.

bicyclethief2
(Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani) exchanges his bed linen for his bike in the Bicycle Thieves)

Now, I am not making any great claims for myself here. I know that my 2008 make-your-own project was an exploratory luxury. While I could go on about how I have learnt new things about production, process, and materiality, I also know that fundamentally, this is the politics of luxury: of someone who has enough disposable income to spend on yarn and fabric, and enough leisure time to make things and (crucially) to enjoy making them. People do not have the time or money for such luxuries, and they certainly still need cheap textiles. But we also need textiles of durable, lasting quality. We aren’t pawning our good bedlinen (as in the Bicycle Thieves), we are chucking it out and buying another flimsy ten-pound duvet cover whose seams were sewn up by an impoverished ten-year-old on the Indian subcontinent. A recent consumer survey for Asda has apparently shown that supermarket shoppers now value durability as much as price where clothing is concerned. Asda is now changing its “George” ranges to reflect this shift in priorities. Wouldn’t it be nice if they added a guarantee of fair, non-exploitative labour into this mix?

stoppax

I want to conclude with some inconclusive remarks about mending and representing mending. I’ve been doing a lot of darning this year, and have become very interested in the care and repair of clothes, as well as in the way that mended and re-made textiles are such rich repositories of personal and cultural memory. A lot of really good British artists are interested in this as well. I particularly admire, for example, Kirsty Hall, Celia Pym and Tabitha Moses, who all use the processes of mending or repair to explore the evocative and ritual nature of textiles. The work of these artists is rich with thought and meaning. But their practice is now one of the only ways, it seems to me, that contemporary audiences can look at made and mended things as public objects upon which to think and reflect. And sometimes, I am a little troubled by how the only way to approach the acts of women and men that were once quotidian and exceptionally ordinary is through extraordinary forms of representation, such as those that art affords. While the work of the three artists I mentioned is without exception, truly brilliant, there are certainly many other art practitioners whose work does little more than decontextualise familiar household textiles and the practices associated with them to very little end. I am naming no names, because this is something I am still thinking about . . . but I am wondering . . . could there be another way? Or if this is just a matter of there being Bad and Good textile art, as with any other form of art or practice. Anyway, there’s something to mull over further. (Any thoughts on this issue appreciated).

styles
Scrap of linen check (1759) used to identify foundling number 13169. (London Metropolitan Archives)

Making and mending my own clothes will continue in 2009, as will the thinking about the making. But I might just have to buy myself the odd pair of pants, and also hope to have a bit more time for some other truly luxuriant crafty things that I enjoy and have not done much of in 2008 — in particular, embroidery. I also have a new and exciting year-long project for 2009. More on this — and on my lovely trip to Islay — anon.

all change

September 28, 2008 By Kate in craft, design, fabric, knitting, refashioning, sewing, textiles, thrift Tags: craft, dressmaking, fabric, handmade, kitty craft, knitting, Madeira, orkney angora, Rosa Pomar, seasons, sewing, textiles, thrift, wardrobe refashion 21 Comments

Today I put away my summer clothes, and removed the winter ones from storage. I always find it a bit depressing having to encounter the berloody tights again . . . but it is nice to see warm winter dresses, sweaters, and coats. Anyway, before I pack the summer stuff away, I thought I’d show you various garments I sewed and knit myself over the past few months which, for one reason or another, I didn’t get a chance to blog about. You will note that there is something of a red theme going on — this wasn’t intentional! And apologies for what’s going to be a rather picture-heavy post.

1. Dotty Dress.

I was finishing the lining of this dress when I wrote this post back in June. I was reasonably pleased with how it turned out, so don’t know why I didn’t blog about the process more. It is a “very easy” Vogue pattern (V8319) and was reasonably straightforward — as I recall, it only took a few evenings to make. The only downside about the dress is that it came out slightly large. I was nervy about the rep Vogue patterns have of running small, so made myself the next size up. And then the dress was difficult to take in after I’d finished because of the precise way the body and cap sleeves taper together. But I am being pernickety – it is not too baggy, and I like the pattern very much. I may use it to make myself a winter dress –in the right size this time. I bought the pleasing dotty fabric from here — a site that I try not to look at too often as their stuff is just too damn tempting. Heres another picture. You can blame Tom for the hysterical gurning and throwing of shapes.

next up we have:
2. Boat skirt

I made this back in early June, using some Cath Kidston furnishing fabric I’d been given and some lovely red grossgrain ribbon I received in the badge swap (thankyou, Philippa!). I followed the basic instructions in this book, adding lining and facings to the formula. Its a good fit, quite sporty. I like this skirt very much and have worn it lots over the past couple of months.

And another skirt:
3. Summer swallows skirt.

I bought this Japanese fabric as a birthday treat to myself from the wonderful Rosa Pomar, whose stock is always so lovely — top quality and exceptionally well chosen. I like skirts like this with a lot of fabric — the width of the bottom is about three times that of the top. To make it, I just followed the instructions for a basic pleated skirt in this book, adding facings to the formula to make the skirt hang a bit better. I spent a long time matching up the waves and swallows on the pleats — this was well-worth the effort I think. Finally, I found some wide, black, broderie anglais edging on ebay, and added this to the bottom. Bingo! A skirt for wearing with a sticky-out petticoat underneath. And though its perhaps more of a summer garment, these swallows are going to hang around for winter too.

And finally:
4. Mary Traynor

I knitted this little top while hanging around in hospitals, waiting for surgeons and physiotherapists to finish doing what they were doing to Tom’s hand. The yarn is so lovely to work with — it was quite a comforting thing to have in one’s hands. Mary Traynor was my maternal grandmother — a champion knitter who spent every summer in lacy tops of her own making. She is to blame for my knitting, and lacy summer tops remind me very much of her.

The top is my own design: bottom-up, in-the-round raglan; spiral shell lace pattern; crocheted edging. It took just one skein of ornkney angora 4 ply. That’s right folks! Just 50g!

I love this yarn so much — so light and sugary, and it knits up a dream. The finished top turned out well, but it is wee — almost too wee. My thursday night knitting comrades laughed heartily at the size of it when they saw me making it — the combination of the lace pattern and a 40cm circular needle meant it looked contracted and near-dollsize, but it blocked out nicely, and does fit me — just. Here it is being blown around on the promenade near Funchal.

ye gods, was that really just last week? The weather is so crisp and autumnal here that Madeira seems a world away. So, anyway:

Design: Mary Traynor (my own pattern)
Yarn: Orkney Angora 4 ply. Red. One skein. Ysolda, and her lovely beret, are to blame for my yarn choice.
needles: 4mm addi turbos
ravelled here

Swapping round the warm- and cold-weather wardrobes has reminded me just how many berloody clothes I own, and that, aside from the occasional pair of tights (groan) that I really do not need to buy any more. I’ve found real pleasure in making and wearing all the things I’ve sewn and knitted so far this year, and am looking forward to revamping my wardrobe with handmade items this winter — tweed suits and knitted dresses, here we come.

And for those of you who were kindly asking after Tom: things are starting to improve. Madeira really did wonders for the healing process: he was told the other day by the woman we call “badphysio” that he was doing remarkably well “for his age”. (Note: we only call her badphysio because she’s rather dour and hardchrist, not because she’s at all bad at her job). The poor hand is still incredibly painful–now the tendons have healed, they have to be stretched and punished to prevent him having a claw. He has no feeling in the fingers, and the injuries are still rather fragile. But the evil splint can now be taken off during the day, and he is allowed to go running and hill walking again. This is very good news indeed.

sewing mania

May 13, 2008 By Kate in fabric, sewing, textiles, thrift Tags: dressmaking, Japanese fabric, Mariko Fujinaka, sashiko, sewing, textiles 10 Comments

My attempts to refresh my summer wardrobe without buying anything are reaching interesting lengths. I seem to be spending all moments when not working, eating, or snoozing at the sewing machine. If my maniacal dressmaking activities are boring you, look away now (I fear that the thrill of my new clothes is certainly wearing thin on Mr B, who just mutters, ‘yes, very nice’ at each new item and goes back to reading his issue of ‘What’s Brewing?’)

Here is the fruit of yesterday evening’s labours. I had been looking at Mariko Fujinaka’s instructions for a ‘summer top’ in The Crafter’s Companion and decided, with some modifications, to give it a go.
Again, I used another old top as the the template, and cut out front, back, and facings:

(old top, new pieces)

I sewed the facings to the front and back, then seamed it up the sides. Then I added the now-obligatory external pockets (which you have no doubt noticed are something of a theme with me). These ones are an obvious echo of those I knitted a few weeks ago for the kaari sweater

yes, and more buttons too . . .

I then made some running stitches around the neck and along the pocket (to separate off three different sections) with sashiko thread:

I am very pleased with how neatly I managed the seams and facings:

so here’s the finished top:

and me in it

Nice and simple. This was made from the remaining piece of dark indigo-dyed cotton I used for the top in the previous post, and two fat quarters (one with a wave, and one with a crane-fly print). Again, it’s a Japanese dobby-weave fabric. It has a linen-like hand and hang, both of which I really like. I only have a few more fat quarters of this lovely stuff left and am tempted to combine the whole shebang into some joyous all-over garment of Japanese dobby. I may look odd, but who cares? I really enjoyed Felix’s recent post, in which she talks about her forthcoming patchwork skirt as a ‘portable case of ideas.’ Brilliant!

refashioning

May 10, 2008 By Kate in refashioning, sewing, textiles, thrift Tags: linen, refashioning, sewing, textiles, wardrobe refashioning 11 Comments

This morning I refashioned an old dress from the summer wardrobe (the whole of which has now happily come out of hibernation). I have had it since 1995. I was a student then, and I remember I felt incredibly extravagant buying it. It was the fabric I liked — plain grey linen — and I wore it an awful lot that summer. At least, I think I did — unfortunately I can no longer find the photographic evidence. Nor do I have any evidence, in fact, of how this dress looked before I started messing around with it with scissors and sewing machine today — I forgot to take a before pic. Fool! (Ma, do you have any pics of me in this dress? I’m sure you remember it).

Anyway, there were a few problems with the dress, which is why I’ve not worn it for ten years or more: 1) the fit was large, and it hung sack-like on me 2) it had a wrap-around split front. This extended the whole length of the dress from the the empire-line waist to the ankles and had an unfortunate tendency to flap open in the breeze. As I recall, I had to wear a couple of safety pins in the front to prevent any unseemly knicker flashing. Finally 3) the linen creased like buggery. Not much I could do about the last of these, but I tried to sort out the first two to make it wearable again.

With my seam ripper I took the skirt off the bodice, sewed up the split from the wrap-around then re-attached the skirt to the bodice, sewing it flat across the back but taking in the resulting extra fabric on the front of the skirt by adding a few pleats. Then, in lieu of a waistband I sewed on a fabric cover with an attached internal cord to the front of the dress. This enables me to gather in the extra width of the dress thus:

As you know I like external pockets. So I added some pockets in the same fabric as the waistband, and trimmed them with the grey cord:

(note to self: you really do have weird bony thumbs)

The fabric is a fat quarter of Japanese cotton bought last winter at the Knitting and Stitching Show in Harrogate. The cord was a gift in last year’s fabric-and-notion-filled birthday box (thanks, Ma).
So here are my sewn-on additions:

and heres how the whole dress looks now:

Theres a seam right up the centre from where I sewed up the open edges of the wrap-around, but its now hidden in the folds. Not a terribly exciting dress, perhaps, but it is comfy, fits better and, most importantly, no longer threatens to reveal my underwear.

functional poetry

March 2, 2008 By Kate in design, quilts, review, textiles, the life of things, thrift Tags: design, hand-made objects, quilting, quilts, review, Russian folk artifacts, textiles, Vladimir Arkhipov 7 Comments

I have been making a start thinking about Belle’s quilts. She lived near Blackpool, and the first quilt will be a jolly sea-side-y affair, made up entirely of her stripey tops and T-shirts — of which she had over thirty. In the summer she was always in stripes. I’ve been looking at different methods of piecing and quilting striped fabrics:

. . .and getting lots of inspiration from the way that Jude makes — and writes — about the texture of memory.

Then yesterday I read Vladimir Arkhipov’s Home-Made: Contemporary Russian Folk Artefacts, and it completely blew me away.

Arkhipov is an artist, who, for the past decade and a half, has travelled all over Russia collecting and exhibiting ordinary and marvellous hand-made objects. The objects, and the human stories behind their making, are documented in this super book. The bigger picture here is Perestroika and Russia’s economic and political crises from the mid ’80s to the late ’90s — a period when not not only items of luxuriant or complex manufacture were difficult to get hold of, but when everyday commodities became both scarce and pricey. All of the objects in this book are useful, and the vast majority are born out of necessity — but scarcity and privation are only part of the story here. Arkhipov, and the individual makers whose work he brings to light, show how conditions of necessity produce a particular material grammar; a poetry of ingenuity out of the aesthetics of use.

Here is a poetry of mending quite different from those eighteenth-century darning samplers I wrote about a few weeks ago:

Lubov Arkhipova, Socks, Kolomna (1995)

Arkhipov describes his archive of hand-made objects as “socially responsible art . . . in which people are [authors] of their own histories, histories that have unique illustrations — the self-production of everyday things.” His collection shows individuals as creators not just of things, but of meanings, as each maker accounts for their object in their own words. These short texts and multiple voices often produce intriguing dialogues between the makers and their objects through the narratives, memories, and desires with which they are invested. For example Aleski Solomkin’s contribution to the collection is a doormat made of beer-bottle tops that his neighbour and drinking partner kept flicking over the fence into his garden. Forced to clear up the debris of several evenings’ drinking, Solomkin felt “it would have been a shame to just chuck them all away,” and created an object that, beyond its immediate function, is also a quiet celebration of booze, friendship, and neighbourly-ness.

Many makers also speak persuasively about the pleasure of everyday materials and the creative process. For example, this beautifully made leather cap is formed out of an old Soviet punch bag and a worn out pair of leather boots:

Aleksandr Yakimovich, Cap, Moscow (1993)

Aleksandr Yakimovich talks about how the leather of the punchbag softened up over fifteen years of hard use, and of the “great pleasure” he derived from “making something out of something else” and subsequently wearing it. “Its one of my masterpieces” he says of the cap.

In terms of my own thinking about piecing cloth and memory together, the object I was most drawn to was this quilt made by Galina Svistakova for her son, out of the clothes of his brother, his father and his grandmother.

Galina Svistakova, Quilt, Ryazan (c.1990)

Of this wonderful cloth Svistakova’s son says “I think that things possess the aura of their owners, of a person who may very well no longer be with us, that things all carry information and inform us, and harmonise with other people’s things. I believe they live their own independent lives and that we need to. . . harmonise with them and be sensitive to them, in order for them to work in our favour.” This is the sort of functional poetry I can only aspire towards.

blanket

February 1, 2008 By Kate in quilts, sewing, textiles, thrift Tags: blanket, quilting, thrift 7 Comments

Here’s a quick pic of the finished blanket:

In the end I tied it — theres no batting to move around inside it and the test quilting I did looked completely pants on top of the pattern of the fabric, which is already quite busy. It looks better lying flat though, it has to be said. It is tied in the corners of each square with dark red wool, resembles a futon from the back, and is very, very cosy!

£1.50

January 30, 2008 By Kate in quilts, sewing, textiles, thrift Tags: "you make my day" award, blanket, quilting, thrift 4 Comments

Don’t get me wrong, I love our flat, but did I mention that it is berloody freezing? There is one source of heat in the living room, and we have the cooker in the kitchen, but everywhere else is baltic. In winter we wander around the place wrapped up like woolly mammoths. I have been tempted on a few recent occasions to get out our RAB mountaineering sleeping bags. These are guaranteed ‘safe’ to minus five, so will probably do the trick.

I have been buried under a pile of marking for several days and have been rewarding myself between scripts by making a patchwork blanket to warm us and the bedroom up.

A few months ago I visited Hinnigans in Selkirk and bought several offcuts of thick woollen fabric. As I understand it, these are waste lengths, produced when the makers are testing different patterns and colourways on the looms. I bought three lengths — bluish, pinkish, and brown — all about a foot wide. Out of these I’ve enough fabric to patch together a blanket six foot square. Here it is partly pinned and partly pieced together.

I am going to attach a back to the blanket (a burgundy coloured old cotton sheet), quilt the top (in a basic geometric fashion, following the diagonals) and edge it with bias binding. The wool is very thick and warm and already has a quilt-like squashiness which means no batting is required. Each of the long lengths of wool cost me 50p, so, with the recycled backing and the notions from stash, the materials cost £1.50 in total, which really isn’t bad. The fabric reminds me of the Welsh tapestry capes one so often sees in charity shops. Well, I often see them anyway — most usually in lurid 1970s shades of bright green and orange. The colours of the patchwork are a bit less lurid, but the dense quality of the wool is equally pleasing. While I love the fabric, there is little to say about the simple design, and the less said about the execution the better (!), but I shall post a finished picture when the whole hybrid patchwork-quilt-blanket is completed at the end of the week.

In other news, I am veritably basking in internetniceness, having been tagged with one of these by four lovely fellow bloggers.

I would have tagged Alice and Kirsty meself, had I got in first: they are both enviably talented crafters with two very distinctive creative styles, and they also write uberblogs chock full of wit and smartness. Leslie and Mick’s blogs are new to me, but their tag has given me the opportunity to discover them. Many of the blogs I read regularly are, on the surface, very different from each other but, thinking about it today, they do have one thing in common — and that is a particular, often idiosyncratic, aesthetic that colours everything they do. This aesthetic can be something I identify with on a personal level, as is the case with Estyn, who has an incredible eye for the chance lovelines of the everyday, or Helen, a talented knitter who also takes beautiful, evocative pictures of the landscape of the Borders and Assynt. But there are also bloggers that inspire me because their culture and creative practice is very different to my own. Flor and Lene come into this category. While I have never met Ashley I sort of feel I know her very well because of the warmth of her writing, as well as the lovely things she makes and an, um ‘real life’ intellectual connection. There is an artist’s intelligence apparent in all that Kristen, Felix and Jennifer do, and finally, Jude is endlessly inspiring on all counts. Indeed, hers is less a blog than a lived poetics of making.

Kate Davies Designs

Category Archives: thrift