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.