Tag Archives: classes

Gathering Thoughts

25 Saturday Nov 2017

Posted by in Clothing, Living History, Making Things, Research

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Someone must watch the baggage.

You only live once, as they say, so you might as well enjoy yourself, and have a nice apron while you’re at it.

At last I have finished the one I made to serve as a demonstration model for the apron class I taught for Crossroads of the American Revolution. Plain, unbleached linen (osnaburg), it will be a good, serviceable garment well suited to getting dirty through use. There’s a lot to be said for filth, and my first-ever apron has acquired a fine patina of stains and wear.

Paul Sandby RA, 1731–1809, British, London Cries: A Girl with a Basket on Her Head (“Lights for the Cats, Liver for the Dogs”), ca. 1759, Watercolor, pen and brown ink, and graphite on medium, cream, slightly textured laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
Paul Sandby RA, 1731–1809, British, London Cries: “Do You Want any Spoons…”, ca. 1759, Watercolor, pen and brown ink and graphite on medium, cream, slightly textured laid paper, Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection

So why make a new one, aside from needing a teaching aid? Especially when you already HAVE a checked apron that’s looking used, and you have others in your wardrobe: why? One reason was the sheer cussedness of making the plainest, dullest, least-pretty item as finely and carefully as I could. Another was that the more I looked for apron data and examples, the more I noticed plain linen aprons. Yes: the preponderance of aprons are check, but looking at Sandby again made me realize that plain was documented, and under-represented in living history.

Sandby shows working women in checked and in blue aprons, but he also seems to depict women in plain, unbleached linen aprons, particularly the women in the street scenes. All the more reason to make up a plain apron, when your preference is portraying the urban underclass.

It’s also a good chance to hone one’s skills and keep in practice when you’re avoiding sewing the things that need sewing, like new shifts. And a basic project is meditative in a way that a new pattern is not: making stitches small and even is to sewing what scales are to piano playing or singing.

The first supervised apron I ever made is described here, and I’m pleased that my skills have improved since.

Stroke gathers are worth practicing, since they’re used on shifts and shirts as well as aprons; I’ve even used them on early 19th century garments to evenly distribute fine cotton lawn across the back of a gown. Sharon Burnston explains them here. I don’t know that there’s any one “trick” to them aside from patience and even stitches, but that “trick” will take you far in assembling pretty much every hand-made garment.

The Report: Sorry, No Pictures.

03 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by in Events

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We came, we saw, we sewed. Next year, if we go, I would teach (lead?) one class only. It was just too busy to enjoy other classes and prep for my own, so it’s a rational decision.

 It was fun to see the same people again, to meet friends made a year ago. And it was really fun to see costumes and costumers. It’s a different world. And while I’m not saying that re-enactors don’t have fun, or a sense of humor, one finds that the sense of humor is a little…different…and that sometimes, a weekend of all women is a fine thing to have. In two weeks, I will be part of a weekend of mostly men, and I will look back at the air-conditioned hotel nights and hot showers with real longing. (Having just realized that I am about to spend two hot sweaty nights camping and then drive home to New England from New Jersey with a load of stinking kit in the car, I am seriously questioning my sanity. But, onward, to Happy Father’s Day in the miasma of New Jersey.)

So. The conference was smaller this year, but still busy. We skipped the crepes (prep!) and the tea, as my friend cannot eat wheat, and that was OK. I made significant progress on some required overalls, and that was amazing. (PDF files of the classes I taught are on the Dress U Handouts page above.)

On Saturday, my mother took us to dinner at a Thai restaurant in Haverford, which was delicious, and such good company! Ever evangelistic about her hobby, my mother gave us both plants to take home.

Before dinner, we had tried to go swimming in the hotel’s silly pool (it is a curious shape). The pool was nearly at its capacity by volume of guest with an exuberant extended family playing hotel pool volleyball with three inflatable beach balls. After my friend was hit on the head the third time and glared at, we decided to leave.

Glaring and staring continued on Sunday when the Golf Guys arrived. We rode the elevator down with a possible father-and-son duo after dropping off the iPad and projector so we could get some dinner before we donned tiaras. Golf Guy the Younger stared hard: that was the filthiest look I’ve gotten in a long time, and I have a sarcastic teenager at home. He seemed offended by my green silk bonnet (I know, I used almost slub-less dupioni and not taffeta for my Anne Carrowle bonnet) and the notion that I was hoping to get it rained on. Golf Guy the Younger stormed out of the elevator ahead of us, while Golf Guy the Elder held the door, smiled, and said, “After you.” He was the original owner of the thick white leather belt that held up his mint condition mint-blue polyester trousers, possibly purchased with the leather belt. The meatiness of the leather belt reminded me of the thickness of the bayonet belts worn by the Second Helping Regiment, belts which are probably of an age with Golf Guy the Elder’s belt.

Golf Guy the Younger found costumed women so horrifying that he would not even take the door we held for him, though GGtheE attempted to speed up to catch the door. At the Outback Steakhouse (ugh, but handy and with a gluten-free menu and cold beer), more staring happened. It was full of tables of Golf Guys, as weird as the day we drove home from Philly when there was an Eagles-Giants game at the Meadowlands and were surrounded on all sides by cars full of men. Not until we saw men with painted faces did I realize we were headed for a football game, and up on the skyway part of the NJTP, small sedans crammed with large men with blue faces were a sight to behold. We weren’t re-enactors then, but if we had been, I would have put on every uniform hat in our car.

So we had the usual conference mix of meeting people, learning things, and shocking the locals, interspersed with a trip to the Exton Mall for a power cord lost from the projector case by an errant colleague and a couple of tiaras. We were sparkly this year, but had to announce that we had stolen our mistress’s jewels, as the excuse for wearing paste with peasant clothes.

Next year, CSA is in Baltimore at the same time…time to look into train tickets. But now, packing and loading the car for a drive back in the rain. And just like last year, we’ll take 287 instead of 95.