You’ll recognize this fabric methinks.
Project #2, finished October 4. Burda WOF 6/08, shirt 105.
Sorry it’s not ON me, or on a human anyway; I always find these dressform pics really hard to parse. What does the item actually LOOK like? And you really can’t understand the sleeves of this baby until there are arms inside. But this is the twin sister of a seersucker version I did last year. Differences? A few; the fit has been a bit fine-tuned (the 1″ shortening trick between shoulder and bust is absolutely NOT OPTIONAL for me with this shirt – which is a little odd; you’d think I could just sew the side up higher, but no, it made a drastic fit difference.) Lessened the flare at hem, and left off the collar for a mandarin look.
And the contrast inner collar. I love doing things like that.
Buttons are vintage, mostly shell and all slightly mismatched, from the Knittn’ Kitten fabric thrift store. Yeah baby, a fabric thrift store! Only in Portland hmmm? Srsly we have the best fabric stores in P-town … but I digress. Anything else? The fabric is, if memory serves, Katie Jump Rope by Denyse Schmidt.
Sewing. Of late I’ve been more-or-less seething over things political — well, less political, frankly, than cultural. Sometimes over this summer it seemed the country had gone mad. Dangerous, feral. Death threats and – oh, I don’t want to go into it, but so very ugly. Not the world, not the country I thought I lived in. I am not much prone to depression; if anything, I have a strong case of whatever the opposite is (a persistent sense of irrational, buoyant cheerfulness … you’re right, I must bug the CRAP out of people!) But that’s not at all the same as not feeling sad. Because, the whole tag end of summer, did I ever feel sad. Sad isn’t like depressed. The color didn’t seep out of anything, I didn’t sleep more or less, food didn’t taste less delicious, gray fog settled over absolutely nothing. I just felt an aching, fresh sadness, as if over a death. Sadness over the malignant forces still alive and virulent in our society. But sewing – and gardening, and making art, and tickling my little bug Echo – ah, words do me no good here. But working with my hands, and feeling confidence in an earned skill, and watching some THING come together under my hands: that is the best medicine I know for my sadness.