Snasta!

snasta

in Gaelic; adj.

1. 
   
   • finished, 
   • polished, 
   • glossy
   
   
   = Status of the Wright Dress!!

As of  July 16 at 4pm, the Wright Dress is finished! I can hardly believe it.  All hemmed, stitched, zippered, together.  Snasta!

My grandma insisted on correcting my zipper issue (which I was happy to have her complete), and she hand-stitched the hem into the bottom of the dress.  I watched her sewing, imagining all of the years, places, and projects her hands have tended.  And I'm so happy to have had her help tend to this one.

I sat nearby with a stack of old albums while she worked.  I have this idea to gather old family photos of wedding days to showcase at our wedding, and I found some amazing old pictures. She reminisced over them as I asked her about a few of them.  Most of the photos were ones I had never seen before, and they were little glimpses into the youth and past of my sweet grandma.  "We were young once, too", she had to remind me.

It was during this time that I realized how much I look like her.  I had never considered it before.  When she was about my age, her hair was the same length as mine, long and brown.  It's just amazing to see the span of a life, the importance of family. 

It was a perfect afternoon spent with her, and the perfect way to finish up the dress.  I've loved that the dress has meant learning quite a bit about myself, and also about others.  There's just something about dreaming something into existence, and the process of creation.  It's satisfying, gratifying, and simple.

My mom and sister were there when I slipped it on, all finished.  They helped tie the bow in the back and celebrated it.

So, here's to the Wright Dress!  I'll be the one wearing it.

My Grandma and a friend.  Love it.

Color Commotions

If you ask any of my roommates, they'll tell you a thing or two about my love of color.  And pattern.  And mixing them all up.  My best friend, bless her heart, put up with it for years.  I always took over decorating whatever house or apartment we had snagged for the year (because we moved nearly every year), and made it the hodgepodge of my possessions (85.2%) and hers.

I once read that a decorating style can be as simple as this:  collect things you love, and they will all go together.  I adopted this approach, almost because I had no choice.  When you're a poor art student turned poorer career woman, what you can afford on your small allowance of monthly shopping money comes in very small, very random quantities.

And in my uncertain moments, when it was even too much color and visual commotion going on in a room for me, she'd laugh and say, "you always make it work."

So, my tendency for color, pattern, and eclecticness is translating very accurately into this wedding.  Nothing matches, and there's not a single color scheme.  It's all randomness, and things I love.

People ask me what my colors are, and I just have to laugh.  Let's just hope I can make it all work.

Idea board for the wedding:

Brown Kraft Envelopes and Kindness

I have so many advantages because of where I work--to name a few: an in-house print shop/press, a mail room, and lots of girlfriends to bounce around ideas.

Total cost of my wedding invitations?  Well, about the cost of 260 stamps and $25.00 for a box of 500 brown kraft envelopes.  I don't mean to brag, but what a blessing!

My 100lb glossy cardstock invitations were born just 6 floors below my office, and printed as a wedding gift from the shop manager.  What kindness!  I teared up a bit when he handed them to me wrapped up tightly in clear cellophane.  I could never have expected it.

So, after 10 long hours divided over the course of a few days, I hand-addressed all of the envelopes with a pen I stole from Jacob.  The USPS has an amazing series of Abstract Expressionists stamps (my favorite after Fauves), so they completed the package.

I love how meaningful things in life carry the weight--the stamp of approval--of sentiment.  And my expectations couldn't have been met with more contentment and thankfulness.  Invitations were such a big deal to me--I worked on them for nine months--and they turned out just perfectly wrapped in brown kraft envelopes.

Austin Wedding Inspirations

Listen, I've combed a lot of blogs.  I have a hard drive full of right-clicked images, a book filled with (literally) cut-and-paste pages.  I've gone through glue stick after glue stick collecting pictures and ideas. You really can't believe all of the inspiring stuff out there--and if I had known how fun wedding planning could be, I wouldn't have put off getting married for so long. Weddings are becoming so creative, fun, and expressive. So don't believe all of the shows on TLC.  They scared the heck out of me, too.

Here is one of my all-time favorite weddings. This amazing wedding took place just outside of Austin, Texas.  I just want to steal everything about it. But, sadly, I won't. You can see more beautiful photos of the wedding on the Nichol's blog, here.

So here's to creativity, individuality, and 'weirdness'.  And I think Austin represents pretty well.

Eight Weeks!

Rain falls all around as the latest hurricane from the gulf disbands in the skies this far inland.  I've always loved rainy days--the gray color of the sky and the diffused light, the force indoors, the excuse to relax.  Lately, though, I've developed a sort of resentment toward the weather, and any bride planning an outdoor wedding can relate.  Months of planning could go awry on the whim of a weather pattern.  The jet stream, El Nino, barometric pressure--a radar filled with color--could force the dreaded relocation, a change of plans.  Yet the mark of well-adjusted human is adaptability.  So, I'm acknowledging this.  But I'd just prefer no rain eight weeks from today.

So--onto the dress!  The dress is almost done, just a few measurements and a hem.  The dress now rests in Muskogee, as my grandma will help me with the hem.  Right now the fabric falls in a pool around my feet, and if it wasn't an outdoor wedding, I'd be tempted to leave it.  But grass and gravel suggest otherwise.

I couldn't speak more of the process of dress making.  It's been about discovery, trial and error, and problem solving.  It's also been about surprise.  The dress has come together almost completely apart from my hands--and sometimes I feel like I just helped it into existence.  And after slipping it on this weekend, it feels as soft as a cloud.  A light, airy, sunny cloud.

Here are a few detail pics.  I'm most proud of the neckline, a crocheted piece that I hand-sewed into the top of the bodice.  It's not quite the guipure lace, but the delicate design is close.  I love it.

So, here's to rainy days.  And the hope of sunny ones...

Milemarkers

I made the long drive to Muskogee last night.  Out of the city, across vast and empty land.  The landscape changes around mile marker 236, and the flat and windy horizon of Oklahoma City smudges into taller trees and the hills of "Green Country".  I wonder how many times I driven this stretch of highway?  Hundreds of times, possibly.  It carried me to OBU in a whirlwind, and I remember watching the exit signs as we got closer to my future.  There's one sign in particular:  Earlsboro. Earl was my beloved dog that died tragically the first Christmas break after I started college.  I still pass it and it makes me think of him.  He seemed to represent the last bit of home, the time before I left out on my own.

There's one stretch of highway that falls from a graceful hill, exposing a long curve.  When you live in the "flatlands", any type of dip or rise that you can visibly recognize is a wonder.  I love the sight.

So, thank you I-40. We've had a love/hate relationship over the years.  I've dreaded your uneventful miles, your indifferent pavement.  But you've carried me home and back, through my college years and now into another life change.  You'll carry me to my wedding day, the climax of all this waiting and planning and dreaming. We've shared a lot of good music, time to gather clarity of thought, a few speedometer readings I'd rather not admit.

And we've many miles yet to come.


My latest I-40 enjoyment, The Orbans.  Enjoy.

Invitation Inspirations

They're out there.  They're in the mail!

Jacob helped me stuff and stick return address labels on invitations last night--and they're finally done!  I took them downstairs this morning to the mailroom in a box labeled "brown kraft".  They came to rest in a US Postal Service Bin, just waiting for their little homes in mailboxes on far away streets.  We've been through so much together--me and those little #10 envelopes!

So, the giant hurdle is jumped! And the invitations came together perfectly.  I'll be posting more pictures later, because I'm quite proud of the design.  I'll just wait until all my sweet guests get them first.

I've totally enjoyed this ride of invitation development and design.  There are so many inspiring invitation ideas out there--you could hop from blog to blog and never get enough!  I finally narrowed down my concept to that of a "gig poster".  Jacob has quite the gig poster collection amassed already--some hand-screened, small-series prints.  I just love them.  And invitations these days have finally taken the hint from gigs.  Here are some posters that offered a hand in some inspiration: (And we're the proud owners of a few of these guys!)

Aren't they fun?  Bright colors, vivid imagery, an emphasis on font and type--you can see why invitations took the hint. And here are some of my favorite invitation designs.  So fun! 

These invitations really reflect the freedom I've found to make this wedding truly a reflection of our own personalities and interests.  I'll always see the value in tradition, but not in confinement or commercialism. One of my favorite art professors always said: "Art is about ideas".  And art can be anything you do--even a wedding!    

50 Lines

All things are in motion.  The greater moments in my life I have felt swept along a current--and I like to think of it as the river of God's goodness. When circumstances exist beyond my own accomplishment or activity, I can only acknowledge the Lord's blessings.  I can only step back, thankful.

We have a new house, the sweetest little Tudor Rival on the quietest little street with large oak trees shading the sidewalks.  We have a backyard full of rose bushes and a mantle with Art Nouveau embellishments.  The house was built in 1927, and I can't help but think of the first owners.  Were they young?  Newlyweds?  I like to imagine these details, the history of a home that is now mine.

We'll be flying to Ireland the day after the wedding.  Eight days there: cliffs, castles, traces of my own ancestry.

The past and present collide, affirming these days of transition and change in my own small existence.  It's a chemical change of sorts--simple and quiet, an altogether new substance of life formed by the exchange of energy.

And I can only step back, thankful.


Enjoy Sarah Jaffe, "Clementine".  Love it.

DIY Ice Cream Topping Tins

So, in addition to changing the wedding location, time, and date, there were other inevitable changes on the horizon.  The reception has now been replaced with what I'd like to call an "Ice Cream Social".  We're talking ice cream, sorbets, tons of toppings, cherries, banana splits, and root beer floats.  Oui!

I remember having these church-wide socials when I was growing up.  I remember all of the homemade ice cream makers spread out on tables in the church parking lot, so many flavors that it would take bowls and bowls to sample all of the different recipes.  Still when I think of summer nostalgia, I have to think of sharing ice cream with people I love.  And the sticky fingers are totally worth it. 

So, here's the "scoop".  Not much about a traditional wedding reception appeals to me.  After we first became engaged and I first contemplated the meaning of a wedding, I had to narrow it down to a very simplistic purpose:  to celebrate making the lifetime commitment of marriage with everyone I love surrounding me, and then to enjoy--really enjoy--this gathering.  I can think of only one other time that all of your closest friends and family gather, and it's the very opposite of a wedding.  I want to make the most of celebrating the life that awaits because the next time it will be a celebration of the life that has already taken place.

So, all of these sentiments to present...
my latest DIY project!

First, let me give props to Eat Drink Chic for this amazing post about a DIY Ice Cream Parlor.  It's definitely a major source of inspiration.  I love the creative method of displaying the toppings and making the table a very coherent visual.  Check it out, here!  Here are some of my favorite photos from this amazing ice cream creation:

So, here are my DIY Ice Cream Tins.  I want a super buffet of ice cream toppings, so these are the first in a series of projects to create serving containers for the Ice Cream Social.

I got these guys at the Dollar Tree.  Score!

And so I painted them using all sorts of colors (as all colors are "my colors"), using the most amazing little gun.  Get this thing before your next spray paint project.  It snaps on to the top of the spray paint can and the trigger applies pressure to the top of the sprayer.  No more tired fingers!

And...here are my little serving tins! 

CrossTimbers!

So, as of today, the wedding is 81 days away!  That's eighty-one!

Jacob and I found the perfect place to have the wedding.  While we love my Aunt Helen's farm and are so thankful that they would let us trample all over it, we realized the risk we were taking with an October wedding.  I just had to trust my instinct, a nagging feeling I had that the weather might be poor.

So...August 28th.  Camp CrossTimbers.  Absolutely.

It's a nice drive, tucked away on a hill outside of McAlester.  It's beautiful, quiet, and quaint.  I love the overall relaxed feeling of the place and even more--imagining all of the people I love in one place.  Hopefully they'll be enjoying some volleyball, paddle boats, and ice cream.  Perfect.

P.S. Jacob made an awesome video of the day we spent at CrossTimbers, so watch it here!

Open Waters

It may be no surprise: I decided to throw away the pattern.

I felt uninspired by it and overwhelmed by it all at the same time.  I had to ask myself--do I have to commit to the puzzle of cutting out pieces and following those rules?  My old battle with rules surfaced.  Are rules guides?  Or confinements?

I decided, finally.  No pattern out there existed for the Wright Dress.  I've embarked out on the open waters of garment construction with no compass and no tangible map. 

I studied the Pettibone dress from the pictures of the lucky brides wearing it.  The bodice I have is a similar style.  I just need to sew in a skirt.  Find the Guipure lace for the neckline.  Sew in a sash.  Done.  Right?

Well, I'm on my way.  I cut out the skirt and several layers of lining.  I had to figure out the easiest way to gather the top, and I discovered a blog post about the ease of gathering with clear elastic, here.  I finally hunted down the stuff at JoAnn's.  It's magical stuff, and it worked perfectly.  You simply stretch it out across the top of the hem while sewing it in.  It created a perfect, even gather. I highly recommend it.

So, here's the next development.  I'm on my way.  And I'm very hopeful about what awaits on the horizon.

P.S. Check out this video.  I'm loving She and Him, a project by Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward.

Tucked Away

More dress updates are coming soon!  I'll be taking it home this weekend for Mother's Day to hopefully finish it up. I've documented all of the elements, and I promise to explain it all.

I've been thinking.  It's been hard to have a project that I've hidden from Jacob.  I usually seek his quiet opinions about paintings, "design", and photos--and I hadn't realized how much I need his input in my work.  We often disagree, which makes me defend things he usually shrugs his shoulders about.  I've learned I'm intentional about utilizing some of the things that his line of work has taught him to avoid.  I have to remind him that while all art is communicative, not all communication is art.  And some blurriness or illegible fonts are okay, when they're there on purpose.

Jacob helps me develop ideas like this.  He helps me know what I like, and be more confident within my work.  Maybe even more determined. So, it's been a battle to keep this project tucked away.  Literally.  I've often wanted to pull it out, and just talk through it with him.

Thankfully, though, I've been able to show it to several of my girlfriends.   All of the affirmation I needed came a few weeks ago, when I pulled it on, zipper not quite completely sewn in, and showed it to Becca.  And she cried. It was perfect.

I joked with her:  "Better than you expected?"

I've surprised even myself.

In the meantime,  I just have to share an exciting purchase.  Everyone, please behold the "wedding boots":

Yes, they're my first pair of cowboy boots.  And yes, they'll be getting me down the aisle tucked under a dress I made.  And maybe I'm learning that some of my favorite things in life stay tucked away for a while, at least until the perfect moment...    

Six-Month-Out Marks

Jake and I celebrated the six-month-out mark by sharing a great hike in the Wichitas with some of my closest girlfriends.  I really love the Wichita Mountains.  This area of Oklahoma is really unique...maybe because it doesn't quite seem to belong.  We loaded up the Vibe with snacks, blankets, and a change of clothes in case we found some great photo spots. 

Once inside the reserve, you can make out an old tower on a hill from the road.  We found a place to park and hiked up to this unexpected find.  It stands tall and lonely, made of the same round red stones that make up the mountains.  The tower was long ago welded shut, but Becca (who else?) found a way in--a small hole between boulders and the old metal door.

One by one, we found our own way of maneuvering in through the small space.  And what we found inside was just short of perfect.  A long, winding cement staircase led to the lookout point above, and old graffiti ornamented the walls.  Someone named Mike left his mark in 1961.

These are some of the pics we took.  Three cheers to Becca for some great shots...

Headpiece Detour

So, what's a great dress without a great headpiece?  (Because I'll have to make that too, right?)

While I definitely appreciate the traditional veil and what it symbolizes, I'm considering a few alternate options.  Here are a few ideas that I love...

Through a Needle's Eye

I'm learning a thing or two about sewing.  I'm becoming familiar with the repetition of the machinery, the relationship between the pedal and the pressure of my uneasy foot.  I'm learning the pattern of threading the needle, always the same: counter clockwise, behind the groove, down around the dial, up through the hook, behind the clasp, and finally through the eye and under the foot.  I like the formula of it, the equation for supplying the main ingredient to binding fabric together--a small, seemingly insignificant--line of thread.

Thread isn't the only important thing.  There's the needle.

During my second weekend of sewing the Wright dress, I broke the two needles in my serger.  That mishap eventually led to me breaking a 2mm screwdriver off inside the hole that releases the needles from the machine.  I know, nice.  I'm just now able to talk about it. 

So, finally, I'm becoming familiar with panic--the quiet, still kind.  But this panic has enhanced the development of a new sort of patience, as I just have to sit back, take a deep breath, and remember where I'm going.  I picture the dress, that moment.  And I remember the process of all creative endeavors--slow, sometimes all wrong, at times far from your ultimate vision.

The artist becomes a master when he learns the medium. I suppose everyone can picture a beautiful landscape, a portrait with light falling all around features.  But the artist recreates, makes these scenes tangible.  Acrylics, oils, and watercolors all have a life and presence, each distinct and separate. Paint brushes and palette knives are unfamiliar tools, atleast until you've spent late nights alone with them in an upstairs studio.

So, I'm very much a novice, but I'm learning this sewing business.  The machine and I are learning our dance, and I'm promising to stop stepping on so many toes.

P.S. This is a great song that has kept me company. Enjoy Brandi Carlile's "Have You Ever".

The Dress that Started It All...

So, here it is.  The dress of my dreams.  Dresses have actual names in worlds far separated from mine.  And this dress' name is Lucien.  It's by Claire Pettibone, and there were only seven made. 

This bride is my inspiration.  Seriously.  It's these warm sun-drenched photos that float around in my brain when I think about my wedding day.  Lucien comes from the Latin, meaning "light".  Ofcourse.  

 

And here it is on the runway...

Breakthough Weekend!

Major things happened this weekend.  There are a LOT of new developments with the Wright Dress.


The truth is, I think about this dress ALOT.  It keeps me up at night, I drift away to "seam" land at work, it's with me in the car at stoplights. Of all the art projects I had in school, none ever consumed me like this one. The two areas of preoccupation as of late have been the technique of gathering fabric at the waistline and how to solve the great bodice dilemma.  For the latter, I decided, yes, I'm going to "cheat" a bit.  Yet I'd prefer to call it ingenuity.


Friday I made the drive to Quail Springs  to...Forever 21 (my favorite!).  With some French rock band playing overhead, I started my usual systematic combing of the overloaded clothes racks--beginning at the front left of the store, zigzagging to the back and up again.  And this time, I set my eyes to the color white.


Near the back of the store, I found three shirts that were possibilities.  While standing near the wall, I even uttered a small prayer that God would give me the perfect material--a far shot, I know, but I've come to enjoy making those sorts of requests.  And, it just so happened, that I found it...

 The shirt is a little big through the bust, but I knew I could take it in.  And the interfacing fabric was almost the exact same type of knit as the fabric I had bought originally.  The color didn't match perfectly, but it was close. In fact, the contrast of the ivory fabric and the off white of the shirt might be nice.  The top is the strapless empire-waist I had envisioned, complete with a ruched midriff.


When I got home, I studied the make of the shirt intently.   I had to have a plan, because I was about to dismantle the thing.  Here is a pic of the inside.

I got to work taking out the seam that connected the midriff to the “skirt”.

And voila!  I had the perfect "pre-made" bodice to my dress.  No patterns, measuring, or seam allowances required.  Success!

So, here is my analogy:  

Once, I thought that love was something we would construct completely for ourselves from ideals.  Sure, I'm very aware of the standards of perfection that literature and film present to us, and for a long time, I sought to make my story conform to a movie-worthy plot.  My intent here is not to criticize human expression through these avenues; I believe very strongly in the human capacity to manifest meaning.  Perhaps what we wish it could have been is just as important as what it turned out to be, and the linear progression of time and life are strongly manifested in these human narratives.

But for making sense of life:  I've come to value embracing those details (large or seemingly small) that did not conform to the way we would have had it.  And maybe that is the heart of faith and the sister of optimism, this full integration of knowing that God is continually working ALL things together for our good.  And this time, I just happened find it hanging on a back rack at Forever 21. 

The Potential of 39' of Unconventionality

I'm the new proud owner of 13.167 yards of fabric.  That's over 39 feet of fabric that has major potential.

This idea reminds me of the concept of potential energy: energy stored up for work to be done.  I think about the machinery that once knitted the small fibers together to become cloth--the work that went into the creation of the fabric.  It was stored up briefly while resting on a cardboard bolt in a fabric store, and now transferred into my possession.  Maybe this only makes sense to me, but I've become aware of this energy. And I'm no scientist, but a helpless sentimentalist.    

Purchase price?  $28.46. 

Two coupons and a two-day sale could possibly mean I get down the aisle in a dress worth less than I paid for my last pair of jeans.  My thriftiness has even surprised myself.

So, the top fabric is unconventional.  Seriously.  It's a "jet knit" that feels like a dream, and drapes beautifully.  Some research might indicate what the fabric is made of, but I won't admit it.  Let's just say this bride won't be wearing silk, satin, or chiffon.  Not even faille.

But when it came down to it:  I want to feel comfortable on my wedding day.  I know that the memory of the fabric on my skin on my wedding day will last for the rest of my life. And while I can accept many of the wedding traditions imposed on us, I'm feeling confident in breaking some fabric rules.

Afterall, perhaps processing life and making decisions is like shopping in a fabric store.  We take in the possibilities, consider prices, potentially fall in love with some things we can't have, but then find treasure in unexpected places.

And I'm content to be sentimental about it.

Fingers made of Faille

I have a wedding dress pattern in the floor.

I pulled out the instructions, printed on paper that reminds me of penmanship paper from the third grade.  The smell and feel of the brown paper brings back memories of heavy concentration, a pencil in my hand, and the awareness of the rewards for a job well-done.

Except this time, it's not a scratch and sniff sticker.

I've got to be honest:  I'm overwhelmed.  I'm wondering if I'll do the easier thing:  walk into a boutique, deal with an overly eager salesperson, pull on dress after dress in a hall full of mirrors.  Yes, it would be easier.

It rained most of the day on Saturday, alternating between drizzle and heavy fog.  I watched the drops off the overhang outside my kitchen windows.  And then I decided to go.  I went to an expensive fabric store on the south side, where I met an overly eager salesperson.

I recited the list of possible fabric options:  georgette, lightweight crepe, and poorly pronounced "faille".  She lead me around the store, pulling them out.  It was good to finally get fabric in my hands, to feel the texture of each.  I had to imagine it gathered up around my waist, how it would fall near the ground in a hem.

Like I said:  I'm overwhelmed.

The saleslady (Helen?) asked me what pattern--and I quickly answered "McCalls 5806".  I surprised myself.  How often does someone quickly provide a four digit pattern number?  Especially someone that mispronounces faille?

We pulled it out of the tall metal file cabinet.  To my relief, she said the pattern wouldn't be difficult.  "Especially if your grandma helps you".  Of course.

Several mannequins in the store modeled beautiful, handmade dresses.  I circled them like a sculpture, taking in all of the details.  Handmade!  The lady in the corner was giving a consultation, and Helen told me she made the dresses.

The lady had the aura of creation, of confidence, of experience.  Her blonde hair fell around her like a veil.  How fitting.

So, here's to weekends.  Here's to rainy Saturdays, and dreams of dresses yet to be made.

The Modern Dowery

I have little sewing experience.  I've sewn crooked hems into curtains and a few pants.  But I'm undertaking something that probably makes me crazy, an indication of my usual inclination to the beginnings of impossible, huge, projects.

I'm going to sew my own wedding dress.

I bought a pattern online and it arrived in my mailbox on Dec. 31, 2009.  I have Brother sewing machine, and my precious grandma bought me a serger for Christmas.

It's a simple dress, and it's based on a Claire Pettibone dress for which I have developed a moderate preoccupation (well, obsession).  Since I could never afford a Claire Pettibone dress, I decided to tap into my inner-child, the little girl drawing dress designs in church.

 
We may bring to marriage only what we have created or collected for ourselves up until the moment the foot approaches the aisle.  For me, it's a nice collection of memories, way too many books, and idealizations of the life yet to come.  And hopefully, it will be a handmade wedding dress.

I've imagined that walk down the aisle, the grass beneath my foot, the faces of people standing to the left and right.  I see him standing there, waiting at the end, and with all of the emotions that could consume, I know seeing his face will mean the calmness and peace he has always brought me.  I know, in that moment, I won't be afraid.  Like life, it's always one foot in front of the other.

A good friend of mine told me that we must embrace change.  She said that means reflecting on the time that I've spent single (all my life!).  Reflecting means celebrating, and sometimes grieving, all that is gained or lost. 

Maybe making a wedding dress is a very utilitarian thing to do.  But, I'm seeing it as a journey.  I'm seeing it as an extension of the preparation for marriage that I need.  This preparation will come in waves of journal writing, hikes up mountains, afternoons in coffeeshops and bookstores, but hopefully, in the hum of a sewing machine in my small kitchen.