Author Archives: kittycalash

Haversack Stashable Lunch Bag

11 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by in Food

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Found in the clearance aisle at Home Goods.

Mr S destroyed his lunch bag (zipper failure) and since I sew in a pre-zipper era, I declined to hunt up a new zipper and set it into the weird amalgamation that is the modern insulated lunch bag. I can’t even remember how old that lunch bag was, but it might have been six years old. So out we went for cat food (which happens a lot) and a lunch bag.

Just don’t get caught with tinfoil and plastic baggies if you’re eating in breeches.

This one seemed like it would be too small, but it does hold his entire lunch. And then I realized it would fit nicely into a haversack if one needed to pack a cold lunch on a hot day. You just have to be stealthy when opening the thing, at least until the velcro gets linty and quieter. This bag is lined with freezable something that serves as the ice pack, which does save space and should be more efficient and safer on a super-hot summer day (I’m looking at you, Cambridge in July.)

And, as ever, if you wrap your meal in tinfoil and baggies, hide it from the public. The best way to use it at an event would be to pull paper- or linen-wrapped period food from its hidden, chilled (shallow) depths. If you are not in the army, it goes in your market wallet, linen bag, or basket, not your haversack. Now, perhaps those cats can help me silence the velcro.

Bust darts from Hell

05 Tuesday Nov 2013

Posted by in Clothing, History, Making Things, Research

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Spencer ca. 1800. MMS 1991.239.2

It all started out so well, in the muslin, but in the wool, not so much. I cut up a remnant, proving that a yard and a quarter of 60” fabric is enough for a Spencer, even for my arm length (but not less, thanks to that arm length and a respect for the grain).

The pattern I’m using has bust darts, which I haven’t sewn in years. They took some tweaking with the steam iron.

In 18th century clothing, one doesn’t see bust darts; there are some above the bust, shaping gowns at the robings, but for the most part they aren’t needed. Think cones, thanks to the stays. And later in the 18th century, a lot of work is done by gathers and drawstrings, as in the white and black  ca. 1800 French spencer at the Met.

Spencer ca. 1818-1819. MMA 1982.132.3

Spencer ca. 1818-1819. MMA 1982.132.3

But if you’ve got an endowment of the non-fiscal kind, and you want your military-inspired garment to fit smoothly over your endowment, what do you do?

In this example, you hide the bust dart under braid and buttons. Check out that diagonal seam—and that the fabric appears to have been cut on the bias.
Brilliant, right? Gain ease by using the stretchy quality of the bias and hide the shaping under decorative elements.

Here’s an extreme detail.

Spencer, 1813. MMA C.I.39.13.48

Spencer, 1813. MMA C.I.39.13.48

In the garment below, of wool, three bust darts of the same length help shape the front. And again, decorative braid hides the shaping. 

It’s only cataloged as “wool,” with no weave given. There is a detail image of the darts and braid as well; I think that might be serge, and not superfine broadcloth. Still, three bust darts help achieve a smooth fit.

The Swedish Spencer at the museum in Lund has but one grainy photo: it’s hard to imagine that it doesn’t have bust darts, but the photo leaves much to the imagination.

Miniature Miniatures

31 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by in Living History, Making Things, Museums, Reenacting

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Images arranged in Illustrator

Images arranged in Illustrator

I admired the Pragmatic Costumer’s post on painting miniatures, but recognized that my desire for immediate gratification was going to run headlong into the small workspace formerly known as our dining room, where it would crash into my lack of practice at painting and result in unhappiness for all.

In recognition of my family’s right to peace in our time,  I made like an ’80s artist and appropriated images.

Separated and ready for trimming

Separated and ready for trimming

After selecting gentlemen and an infant from 1761-1776, I downloaded the files and placed them in Illustrator where I could size them to one inch diameter circles. Why so small? Because to test this plan, I used rawther cheap little cabochon kits from Michael’s, and they were only to be found in the one inch size.

After cutting the images out generally, I trimmed them to the black line I created in Illustrator. (I don’t yet have a non-Illustrator answer to this process; I am lucky enough to have an ancient copy of CS Dawn-of-Time; let me think about a workaround.)

Henry Knox, the first trial

Henry Knox, the first trial

Here’s Henry Knox, my first trial. I was willing to ‘sacrifice’ him because although I admire his fortitude in dragging artillery across Massachusetts, he was a beast to Joseph Plumb Martin about post-war bounty land in Maine. I’m Knox-conflicted.

Some squishing and fiddling with the self-adhesive fronts later, here are three of the four miniature miniatures.

Three sandwiched images

Three sandwiched images

Finished tiny miniatures

Finished tiny miniatures

Yes, this is so ridiculously easy as to be evil.

What would I do differently next time?

I’d order proper cabochons and fronts in a larger size (I may convert these to bracelets).

I’d give painting a try, perhaps over the winter break at work. I’ll need time to get that right.

I’d string them on actual silk, and not polyester, ribbon. (It was handy, and the proper size).

But for a cheater’s way to miniature jewelry in under an hour, I suppose they could be worse.

Whatever you do, if you follow this example and “appropriate” images, don’t sell them. The Met may have millions in revenue, but it’s still wrong.

Pouting over Putnam

30 Wednesday Oct 2013

Posted by in Events, Fail, Reenacting

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James Malton, 1761-1803, A Military Encampment in Hyde Park, 1785, Watercolor with pen in black ink, with traces of graphite on moderately thick, moderately textured, beige, laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

James Malton, 1761-1803, A Military Encampment in Hyde Park, 1785, Watercolor with pen in black ink, with traces of graphite on moderately thick, moderately textured, beige, laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

This Saturday is the BAR event at Putnam Park in Redding, CT. This is an event with an early set-up time, one of those “early enough to be worth packing the car Friday night” events, as Mr S will need to depart at the time he usually gets up. I’m pouting not because of the early departure time, but because I won’t be going.

The Young Mr has his first swim meet Sunday, so Saturday he’ll have to get his homework done. That means someone has to stay home, or he’ll sleep till noon and spend the rest of the day eating meat and playing video games, all normal for a 15-year-old, but not helpful when most of Sunday will be spent marinating in chlorine.

I did a strange and awful thing to my back in an altercation with the face plate of an UPS unit for a server, and find that two weeks on, I still have a mis-aligned rib and occasional searing pain when reaching for Amelia Simmons’ cookbook to find something for Mr S to take with him to Putnam Park. At first, it seemed that it would be like Fort Lee, where one does not cook.

However, it seems that a camp kitchen is planned and there could be cooking, if only someone could tend the fire during the tactical, but no. I will not be there to stir meat of any kind, in any way, and the gentlemen, if one can call them that, will have to scrounge in the corners of their haversacks, take pot luck from the Boy Scouts, or find other means of nourishing themselves. I’ve also been told that it might be as well for me not to lace up my stays and push my ribs around, though on the whole, I think I might be better off wearing them more often. No matter what, home I shall I be, and the gentlemen will have to shift for themselves. Having seen them in action, I have no doubt that they will do well for themselves, and I might still bake them a pie.

Still More Sacques

29 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by in A Silk Sacque

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1770-1780, Colonial Williamsburh 1999-247,A-C
ca. 1770 Colonial Williamsburg, 1993-330,A
ca. 1755 (Silk), dress remodeled ca. 1770. Colonial Williamsburg 1990-12,1
ca. 1750, altered ca. 1775, Colonial Williamsburg 1989-330,1
ca. 1775, remade late 19th century, Colonial Williamsburg, 1955-428,1
1770-1780, Colonial Williamsburg CW 1991-472, A-C

I’m particularly interested in remodeled gowns, not that I have the patience to make a ca. 1750 or 1760 gown and then re-make it, even though I suppose it would be the path to the greatest authenticity. In figuring out “what next” now that the pleats are stitched down and secured to the lining, and the front panels cut, and one even pinned, awaiting a seam, I looked at the sack/sacque in Costume Close Up. It’s both tiny and a polonaise, so it’s not the best example for me to follow, but when you’re trying to understand construction before you totally screw up  take the next steps, you look at whatever details you can.

That led me back to Colonial Williamsburg’s collections database, which I try to avoid because they don’t have stable permalinks to their records. However, they have good cataloging and an amazing collection, so it’s hard not to end up back there.

I feel a little more confident in thinking of a ca. 1770- 1775 gown with a compère front. A compère front is a false stomacher, where there are two halves sewn to either side of the opening in the bodice. The sides then button closed. Button, and not pin, people: sweet. I will gladly trade you a week of sewing buttonholes for a wardrobe failure today (Of course, I’m not sure whether a compère front is accurate for a ball gown, but I very much want to avoid a pin explosion at a public gathering.)

Trim is another tricky area: in my regular, 21st century life, I am not someone who wears ruffles and lace or even many colors other than black, brown, grey and red. When I chose the cross-barred fabric, it was a choice really grounded in who I am, and in my love of things architectural, bold, and elegant. (Thanks to my Dad and my education, I now wonder, can one make a Miesian sacque? Let’s find out.)

Serpentine trim, no matter how appropriate and accurate, is not for me. I like the simple trim on the purple gown (padded furbelows), and will probably replicate linear, and not serpentine, trim.