The King, Aged 7

04 Thursday Oct 2012

Posted by in Making Things

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At least the King enjoyed 2nd Grade.

All this sewing nonsense started in earnest the year the Young Mr wanted to be Aragorn for Halloween.

You could argue about whether or not we should have allowed him to watch The Lord of the Rings at the tender age of 7, and perhaps we should not have. But we did, and it all fit within his obsessions with dragons and swords–fully developed by age 4–so when he wanted to be Aragorn, a trip to Lorraine Fabrics was in order.

The boots are rubber riding boots from the Salvation Army, and the sword came from the party supply house next to the craft store in Warwick. It’s the toothless sneer that gets me.

If I were to do this again, what would I change? Probably the cloak fabric and cloak design, but not much else: it’s a costume. Yes, those are stretch velvet leggings from the $2 a yard fabric loft at Lorraine’s, or else their remnant table. In the dark, who notices? They worked well for a kid who needed ease and speed in dressing.

The Young Mr wore this to play in until he outgrew it–and even a little beyond that. He still runs around with a sword if he thinks you’re not watching. Teen age cool cracks sometimes.

No more Halloween costumes, though. Last year he stayed home to hand out candy. When the little kids said, “Thank you,” Mr Cool replied, “No problem.”

Remembrance of Transit Past

02 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by in History, Museums

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Yesterday was staff day at work.  We went, by donated careening bus ride, to the Essex Steam Train & Riverboat. We did not get a ride in a steam-powered seaplane, but the combination of bus, train and boat was pretty entertaining. More sitting than most of us care for; one member of our party said, “This is an old person’s tour–it’s all sitting.” She’s practically a professional shopper, so she’s good on her feet in fairly high heels.

But what struck me, standing by the platform at the station is Essex, was that we were in a museum of transport past, and that it was somehow very strange to be in a place that historicized a means of getting around that many people still use every day. Except for the 6 tons of coal part, my husband takes the train to Boston every day, and has for more than 10 years. And when we first moved back East, I rode the train, too. In the dark ages of grad school, I commuted by rail. The last year at RISD, I had a job in Natick, MA, teaching at a boarding school as a visiting artist, and the question was, how to get there?

The answer was easy, the MBTA of course. I took the commuter rail to Back Bay or South Station, caught the Framingham line out to Natick and walked up the hill from the station to school. Sometimes I’d get there early enough for lunch, and pack extra grilled cheese sandwiches into my tool bag.

I liked the train commute and some of my favorite memories of pulling into Providence are from that year. The conductors were more lax, then, and would let me ride in the vestibule with them while the car door was open, watching the sunset over the west side of town. This was pre-Home Depot and Providence Place Mall and the 6-10 connector, pre-development along Royal Little Drive, pre-development in Pawtucket, so the view was a lot better. The Citizens Bank building was still under construction, it was just a steel frame that the sun would shine through at the end of the day.

All through school, I took the train to New York and then to Philly, enjoying the view of the CT coastline, its loneliness and isolation, the kind of romantic juxtaposition of the marshes and wetlands with the harsh rocks and cold grey skies of the coast. There was a little house the train passed, and every time I saw it I would think, “Someday I’d like to live in that house.”

That never happened, but when I got the job in RI, and we moved east from St. Louis, my father was working in Boston and New York, but living in Noank, CT,  just down the road from the little house. Providence was 45 minutes away by car, but Mr S and the Young Mr (then known as the Monkey) needed the car to get anywhere outside of Noank. The grocery wasn’t very big there and they needed to be able to get into Groton and Mystic, so how was I to get to work? On the train.

I took Amtrak from New London to Providence, and the train would get in around 9:10 (supposedly) and end up back in New London around 6. There were schedule changes, and the bridge at Old Saybrook tended to freeze, and there were coworkers who  didn’t get me to the station on time, and evenings spent at the RISD Library on the laptop waiting for the next train. It worked out, though, since I was writing a book at the time.

The monthly pass that was definitely cheaper than driving, and I walked around Providence when I needed anything. The conductors all knew me, and were very kind. Here’s a tip: be nice to the conductors, and you can ride free if you forget your pass. I’ve even gotten free trips to Boston when they were on duty. The view from the window was pretty much the same, though now there were McMansions and condos in Stonington. The wetlands were still there, and the coves, the nesting raptors and the shore birds. One morning I even saw a harbor seal swimming in a cove, whiskers poking up above the surface. That is definitely the coolest thing I’ve ever seen on a commute.

And then there was a museum to set all that in the past, as if to say that way of life is over. The train we were on was truly steam-powered, and that is a thing of the past. The car was from 1914, with seats that switched direction, though I remember riding on seats like that either on the MBTA back in the dawn of time, or else in Chicago.

What will I do next? Why, make a 1914-1919 traveling costume and go back to Essex to ride the train again, of course. Might as well be a museum exhibit if you’re going to travel temporally.

Housekeeping!

27 Thursday Sep 2012

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Dana wisely stands back while I pull the cork on 18th century cleaner

Hey, there’s a maid in my parlor, or, tidying up the belated thank-yous.

In chronological order, this blog was nominated for a Super Sweet Blogging award, which is a tricky thing for me, because folks, I am not sweet. I’m not even Truvia. It is not a nice thing to have to decline an award, but I cannot list 13 blogs, and really, I am not sweet, and I don’t eat sweets much, either. More savory…or salty… Vinegar and lavender… But to take the sort of weasel-y, non-sucrose way out, many, many thanks to Thoughts from an American Woman for the generous nomination and for following my blog. I’m always astonished by, and grateful for, the variety of readers and hope people enjoy the ride.

Then I found out about the Liebster Award, from Sabine at Kleidung um 1800. Thank you! 5 blogs with fewer than 200 followers I can manage.

An American Seamstress, sewing costumes and sharing her process

The Pragmatic Costumer, real-life sewing

Tracy Loves History, history I never knew

Kim-ing, sewing from this century and the last

Letters of Note, correspondence that deserves a wider audience

I don’t know if all of these blogs qualify as having fewer than 200 followers, but I do know there’s some interesting writing out there. It’s good to know other people are trying the same things, or different things, taking some risks trying to learn to skills, and sharing their experiences. Thanks to all who read and write.

And now, I’m off to find money for boilers and an event, finish a new shift, send my kid to school on time, and generally hope I muddle through this day with openness and as much joy as I can manage.

Images and Ideas

27 Thursday Sep 2012

Posted by in Clothing, History

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If the museum date is mutable, what to do? How to take non-illustrated Vogue for the Lower Sorts and turn it into an actual plan for a garment? By using period images.

Anne Carrowle runs away in 1774 in “an India red and black and white calicoe long gown,” but what does that mean?

Start with the negatives: It means she is not wearing a short gown or a bed gown or a jacket. She’s probably wearing what we most commonly think of women wearing, an ankle- or near-ankle length dress, open in the front (remember that the petticoat is described!) that pins to a stomacher or is fastened with bands or a band over a handkerchief.  (Excellent info on the topic At the Sign of the Golden Scissors blog.)

 When I start thinking about a gown for 1774, I start looking for earlier images. Not too much earlier, but a range. In this case, Anne left England in 1769, so 1769-1774 seems like a reasonable time frame. I made a Pinterest board for 1765-1774 ideas, which is easier than posting them all here.

To the left is a robe that’s clearly open: it’s hanging open. Laundry-work, women washing at Sandpit Gate, Paul Sandby, 1765; watercolor. Royal Collection.

1765 gets us closer to the time period, and it is before Anne left England, and it’s likely from the class she was born into. But it is early.

The two prints above are both from 1774; on the left, note the maid’s gown, which hangs open and has robings. On the left, the old woman asleep wears a gown laced over a stomacher.

But best of all perhaps is this image, of Thomas Mifflin and his wife, Sarah Morris Mifflin, painted by Copley in 1773. Thomas Mifflin (1744-1800) and his wife, Sarah Morris Mifflin (1747?-1790), were the only Philadelphians painted by John Singleton Copley. Mifflin was an ardent patriot and by the time this portrait was made, had established himself as a successful merchant; later he rose to the rank of major general in the Continental Army, and was elected the first governor of Pennsylvania after the United States achieved independence.

Why does this work for me? Because these are Philadelphians, and my woman ran away from the Philadelphia area. The detail really shows that Mrs. Mifflin is wearing an open robe with robings and stomacher over a quilted petticoat with a filmy white apron. This is multiple tiers above Anne Carrowle, but the style is what I’m aping, not the materials (obviously silk).

Another Copley portrait, of Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Winslow, depicts a woman in a gown with robings and a stomacher. Jemima Winslow is 41 in the painting, putting the style into my ballpark, and better still, the gown is of a patterned fabric.

Below is a detail of the fabric and stomacher. Though it will be a vastly simplified version, I think I have a model for my dress.

Support Your Local Museum

26 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by in Museums

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I have the sense of two groundswells about to converge: one about museums, libraries and archives limiting access by closing or charging fees, and one about museums spending money on things they shouldn’t. There has been a lively conversation among fellow former-employees about a midwestern museum’s purchase of a piece of real estate. It is a tawdry tale, and seems a grand waste of money and goodwill.

Then there are the libraries that have closed, and the state archive that is closing to the public. And the small historical organization that charges per hour for research visits. And the place that charges a daily research fee for non-member, out-of-state residents.

ETA: New York Times coverage today of the upcoming closing in Georgia.

Folks, when you hear the word culture, you need to take out your checkbooks.

If you can “do a google,”  you can figure out who I am. But what do you think I do all day? Do you think I pattern dresses, or catalog muskets, or research painters, or study the stylistic changes in mahogany tea tables over a 30-year span?

I wish.

Do you think I wet-vac basements, change HOBO or PEM batteries, monitor and adjust air handling unit fan speeds, read boiler specs and warranty info, or keep on eye on carpenters?

Each day, I do some of those things, and some of the content-related things.

But mostly I think about money. If I don’t think about money at work, it wakes me up at night. What if I don’t get that green buildings grant? Where will I get that $78,000 for well drilling? How much does it actually cost to page each item requested in the Library? Will we ever be able to microfilm newspapers again? What do we do when the money for boxes runs out–there isn’t any more grant money after we spend this. Is there another grant I can write? How much of that $100,000 budget cut has to come out of my budgets? What will we have to stop doing?

I wake up every day at about 4:00AM, and get up by 5:00; vertical is less panicky than horizontal.

The answer to most of this is money. There’s another groundswell out there to kill the NEH, and what the heck, if places can’t make it on what they can raise, let ’em die.

Really? This is what our history has come to?

Do you know how you can help? The single most important thing you can do to make sure your history is accessible, your favorite museum stays open, your favorite objects are up online?

Join. JOIN your favorite museum. It’s probably pretty cheap. You can join mine for $40. This is such a deal. You get free admission, a magazine, a newsletter, email updates, and the knowledge that you’re helping us, we know, and we appreciate it. Want better catalog records? Become a member, and donate to an annual campaign. Write a check for a museum to buy a better camera. To buy an external hard drive for image back up. Write a check to support archival supplies. Or insurance. Or a new carpet for a gallery. Or to replace a battered book.

Every dollar counts. So does every member.

If you want to know how your museum spends its money ETA: and where it gets its money, in the US you can look them up on Guidestar. There you’ll find the 990s for most 501(c)3’s in the states. This is how I know which place in my state has a budget ten times as large as my museum’s, and which place has one 10% the size of mine. Guess which one I joined.