Tag Archives: wool

Upgrading Reenactor Mouse

19 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by in Fail, Making Things, personal

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When all else fails, sew. And if that fails, sew something else. After a mad rush to get the gents into their new clothes for Saturday’s Battle Road business, I found myself at loose ends Sunday morning. I toyed with sleeves on the Space Invaders gown, and stitched a shoulder seam on the coat Mr B gave me last weekend. (It does not fit his shoulders, but his guess that it might work for the Young Mr was correct: somehow, Mr B cut a man’s coat to a boy’s frame.)

Original mouse and upgraded mouse (now with whiskers!)

mouse parts

mouse parts

The bonus of this, aside from my amazed gratitude at a lovely coat well on its way for the boy, was an upgrade to reenactor mouse. Poor reenactor mouse was made at the farm from clumps of wool and scraps of check linen. New reenactor mouse is far fancier, being made of cleaned wool batting, catnip, and a scrap of broadcloth that is probably the $65/yard mixed grey wool I think it is. Lucky kitty, no?

The pieces are simple: two mousey-shaped backs, a roughly oval pasteboard base, a strippy scrap for a tail, wool batting, and catnip. Linen thread for stotting, whipstitching, and whiskers. Stitch the backs together (I had to piece the base from a scrap, so stotted bits to look like a mouse hide. Why not?)

Nearly stitched up mouse

Nearly stitched up mouse

When the backs are stitched, turn and press. Pin the base to the body on one side. Stitch to near the center back seam.

Whip stitch the tail to the inside of the mouse base. At this point, you’re ready to stuff the mouse. I rolled the wool batting in the catnip and stuffed the back, poured a little more straight catnip in, and then finished off with another bit of catnip-rolled batting.

This is where the little pasteboard or chipboard base comes in. You slide this in to the mouse sandwich before closing the last base seam. (It helps stabilize the mouse, so that it skitters across the floor more satisfactorily when batted.)

nearly there. full of wool & catnip.

nearly there. full of wool & catnip.

Stitch the final seam. Make sure the seams are sturdy, as they’ll be going up against claws. I like to thread doubled linen thread through a large-eye needle to make whiskers; be sure to knot on both sides of the mouse’s nose.

All you need to do now is hand the mouse over and back away. Kitty requests some privacy with her new mouse. There’s a flickr album if you want to see the progress photos of a quick and silly project and make your own Wooly Mouse for Progressive Pussy Cats.

a little privacy, please?

a little privacy, please?

The Very Specific Spencer, Finished!

11 Tuesday Nov 2014

Posted by in Clothing, Fail, Living History, Making Things, Reenacting

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Ta da!
JDK_8197_1

Yes, finished! And just in time, too! The braid arrived in the mail three days before the Spencer was wanted, and fortunately I had finished the garment by then, and the baking could take care of itself after a while, and I managed not to get eggs beaten with sugar on any lovely wool or mohair.

JDK_8210_1

I think it looks well enough with the gown and bonnet, though I am fairly certain the darts are too far to the sides in this iteration. How that happens when you use the same pattern twice I do not know.

You may recall that this is the Spencer where I demonstrated an uncanny ability to sew a collar on upside down. The braid went on pretty quickly, again proving that good materials make good sewing.

As mentioned previously, the cuffs are pieced, but this is a perfectly accurate way to deal with a shortage of material and/or cuffs.

I’m fairly pleased with how it turned out, and very pleased with how warm it is.  Over the cotton gown, the Spencer was plenty warm– and I certainly wished I had it after we left the house and went down to the river!

On the whole, I suppose I’m pleased…as pleased as I ever am …which means you can expect pattern revisions in the future!

 

 

A Cloak for the Cold

04 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by in Clothing, Living History, Making Things

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January 11

January 11, 1777. Providence Gazette

We’ve had a bit of snow and cold, which kept me at home (when there’s a parking ban, most businesses have to close, as most parking is on the street here). We have plans in another century this evening, so I thought a second cloak would be in order. The first cloak I made was based on one in the collection at work as well as on a Rhode Island runaway advertisement.

Long blue cloak, in 2012

Although I’m not displeased with the cloak, the length can be annoying and I knew that the blue cloak for a runaway was not what I wanted to wear with the sacque. So I sacrificed some yardage from the Strategic Fabric Reserve, read up on cloaks, and got out my scissors. A cloak is a fairly simple thing to make, so I don’t know why it took all day, beyond getting distracted, making dinner, shoveling, re-learning high school geometry, and trying to do a very careful job.

Hood, with lining, pinned to the body of the cloak

Because I’m tall and have long arms, I made the new cloak a little longer than I would have for a true short cloak: it is easier to trim than to add, though this is pieced on the fronts and on the hood and on the hood lining.

Pieced across the front.

The front piecing is more noticeable than I really like, but that’s how this came out and how cloaks often work out. I won’t really care, as long as I am warm and able to move my arms. When it’s really cold, as it is today, I can wear both red and the blue cloaks with a wool gown and petticoats and wool kerchief. Or perhaps I should just wear a sheep.

Back pleats. By a third cloak, I might get them really right.

I found the trick to getting the pleats/gathers on the hood to flip correctly was to work from the outside, or right side, once the back seam had been sewn up partway. It took three tries to figure that out, but somehow working the pleats/gathers from the right side worked. I did backstitch the pleats/gathers on the inside to hold them in place.

Inside the hood. with lining in place.

In all, this took less than a yard of yellow silk Persian, about half a yard of red wool twill tape, and two yards of crimson broadcloth, all from Wm Booth, and all but the Persian purchased as remnants. There’s a fair amount of broadcloth left, so a yard and a half with aggressive piecing might work, especially if you want a shorter cloak, and are not as tall as I am.

HSF # 26: Celebration Spencer

30 Monday Dec 2013

Posted by in Clothing, Historical Sew Fortnightly, Making Things, Research

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Cassandra in her new Spender.

Cassandra in her new Spencer.

This was supposed to be for #25: One Metre (yard) but things went awry. now it’s cause or #26, Celebration.

Make something that is celebration worthy, make something that celebrates the new skills you have learned this year, or just make something simple that celebrates the fact that you survived HSF ’13!

Heck, I survived the last two weeks of 2013, and that’s reason enough to celebrate. Water at work, relatives at home, high-stress holidays: if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything. So on to those pesky facts!

The Challenge: #26, Celebration! with a backward glance at #25, One Metre

Fabric: 34 inches of double-faced Italian wool, bought at Apple Annie Fabrics as a 50% off remnant after she found it in a pile. The collar is lined with black silk taffeta and interfaced with buckram. The sleeves are lined with black silk Persian from Wm Booth Draper, but I used taffeta on the bodice to give it more body. Technically, that’s almost two yards because it’s two kinds of fabric. Initially I didn’t plan to line this, but the edge did not hold as well as expected so I ended up breaking the rules in order to make a better garment. Celebrate rule breaking! Also, better sewing skills!

The pattern pieces on 34 inches of fabric. One cuff is pieced.

Pattern: My own, mostly. I started with the Sense & Sensibility pattern, and then modified it to make the first Spencer, working my way towards the double-breasted broadcloth of the Swedish Spencer. I first modified the lapels, and then, in order to match the arm scye to the sleeve correctly, modified the bodice at the side, and at the shoulder point. I used the Janet Arnold Spencer/riding habit as a reference, and then measured up the Leloir pattern to check my work. The two-part sleeves are borrowed from Henry Cooke’s 1770s man’s frock coat pattern taken from that extant suit; the collar and cuffs came from the same place.

Once I reshaped the sleeves from the elbow to the wrist (as I do not have a gentleman’s forearms of steel), I concentrated on adapting the bodice to make the seam sit properly on the shoulder line. Watching Mr Cooke manipulate Mr S’s garments made this a lot easier to do.

Inside view in progress.

Inside view in progress.

My theory was that if you thought of a Spencer as a miniature frock coat, starting with a man’s pattern might be the way to go. I played with that in a theoretical way, but did not pursue it fully, as I was committed to the double-breasted look.

Year: 1797, if you take the Amazon as the inspiration and marker, which I do. This style, and even the revers, persists for a while, at least in fashion plates. 1797-1800 seems about right. (See the expanded Pinterest board for examples)

Notions: Thread counts, right? Also button molds. But that was it.

How historically accurate is it? This is always the toughest part! I have verified the revers, the style, the fit, and the pattern pieces. The garment is entirely hand-sewn of the most period-appropriate materials I could find. I found reference to a very similar example in a Danish museum; if I had possessed enough fabric for a cape, I would have made one. The inaccuracies will be in details of techniques and the lining materials, which were chosen to ameliorate the very snug fit. Is it 90%, with points off for not being able to time-travel back to buy my fabrics from Providence merchants in 1797? Aside from the Andes Candies coat, I think this is the most accurate and nicest thing I’ve made yet.

The shaped back piece.

The shaped back piece.

Hours to complete: 12 to 18 for the pattern and muslins. Each sleeve took 30 minutes to pin and stitch into the armscye, but the long seams were more time consuming. 12 hours of sewing, perhaps? It seems like more than 30 hours, but once the pattern was done, parts of this moved quickly. (Personally, I love setting sleeves and sewing curvy back pieces.)

First worn: Not yet. As soon as I can talk Mr S into taking photos, I’ll wear it, but right now I have no firm plans for wearing it, which makes me sad. Wouldn’t it be a fun thing to ice skate in? Except for the very authentic way it pulls your shoulders back, which could compromise your balance.

Total cost: $15 for the wool, $6.50 for thread, and $2.80 for button molds; $8 for the amount of silk Persian for the sleeves, the taffeta was in the stash, so $24.30.

To (Ft) Lee or Not to (Ft) Lee?

19 Tuesday Nov 2013

Posted by in Events, Living History

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A Market Girl with a Mallard Duck, pastel by John Russell, 1787. (Sold by Christie's)

A Market Girl with a Mallard Duck, pastel by John Russell, 1787. (Sold by Christie’s)

I like Fort Lee: after all, I like big guns, and Fort Lee has a 32 pound gun.

It’s always cold, though, and I could use a day sewing various projects or vacuuming. But it’s also the last event of the season. Of course, in the slack time, I always stand on the NJ shore wondering how feasible it would be to run over to Manhattan for trim, fabric, or a trip to a museum. In kit. Because…. why not?

But Mr S wants me to come, so I’ve stirred myself to cutting and pressing and starting to hem a wool kerchief. This is made from some crossed-barred wool found in Somerville on the shopping expedition with Sew 18th Century.

She kindly sent me the image above, which is a good thing because I get distracted and think, “you know, that image with the duck and the girl and the bonnet,” which will give you 71,000,000 results in Google, but fortunately includes this one.

Three hems: I should be done by now.

It’s an easy project, but sometimes those are the hardest because you’re not learning anything. That, of course, is what Netflix is for: ghastly murders or sophisticated dramas keep you going on repetitive hems.  (I do my best backstitching to BBC crime dramas– go figure.)

So, a November Saturday up on the Palisades means wool, in fact, requires wool, and for the first time I think I have enough wool to stay reasonably comfortable. That’s a cloak, kerchief, gown and two wool petticoats, plus wool stockings and, if they fit, sheepskin insoles for my shoes. We have a wool shift at work, but at about 50 years later than the Fall of Fort Lee, it provides no justification for a wool flannel shift. Still, a wool shift is a tempting thought, and suddenly that kerchief hem gets more interesting, as I start to think about where to look for documentation of wool or flannel shifts.