While in England I’ve sewn very little; I haven’t even constructed clothing I cut out before we moved. Partially, I’m busy. Partially, we’re not going to events and so my family doesn’t need new clothing. Partially, I’m still thinking about what I want to sew and how I want to sew it.
Even my biggest project — the circa 1500 gable style English woman’s bonnet — hasn’t been touched with a needle. Although I’ve measured many effigies and taken more photos than I know what to do with, I haven’t tried to construct a hat. (Not even a cardboard and tape mock-up…I really should at least do that.) I have supplies: thread, buckram, linen, wool, velvet, wire. I have wheat starch, should I gain the confidence to try starching something myself. If I need supplies, I’m in LONDON, for goodness sake — I can get what I need. But I’m still not sewing.
Why?
I think it is because I’m learning too fast for my scissors, much less my needle, to keep up. I am haunted by the familiar disappointment of cutting out a garment and then being sure that I either patterned, fit, or stitched it wrong — a realization that usually arrives before it is finished enough to wear. I will eventually design, cut, and sew again — but for now, I’m learning in my mind, not with my fingers.
I have seen effigies and tombs, over fifty of them dated between 1485 and 1555, many including figures of weepers on the sides of the tomb. Each figure gave me one more chance to see how the hat and veil might sit, even how they might be adapted for a young child. Each helped cement in my mind how the outer gown fashion changed, and how to properly accessorize. The carvings of children are more useful than one might imagine, because their simplified veil-less headgear lets you see what sits underneath the adult bonnet. Sometimes they wear a different style from their parent, confirming that two fashions overlap.
I have seen paintings, up close where I could finally see the details that require a high-resolution image to see on a screen. Sometimes the play of light over the three-dimensional surface of the painting clues you into important bumps and lines that you don’t notice even in a good printed or digital image. The difference between the black veil and the black background appears. The tiny dots on the collar stand out, and then you have a clue where to put the button closure. Even when the work of art is one that I have stared at for years, seeing it in person gives me a chance to see it differently.
I have seen, even handled, extant 15th and 16th century fabrics. There are pieces on display at the V&A and the Globe Theatre, and the School of Historical Dress is making its own collection. I don’t approach these samples with any solid research question, but the more fabrics and patterns I see, including the bits mended or cut or re-purposed or faded, the better my concept of historical fabrics grows. Hopefully my ability to shop for modern facsimiles will improve through this experience.
I have seen excellently-researched modern interpretations of sixteenth century clothing. I went to the Tudor Child exhibit, fondled their fabric samples, studied the costume next to the painting that inspired it. I sat down in front of the boy’s school gown (the only garment there I was ever likely to try to produce for my own children) and stared at it. Sitting made it easier to just let go of the hurried pace of life and allow myself just to contemplate the object at hand. I can’t say that I had any ah-hah! moment about fit or materials or construction, but I suspect that when I look at the pattern, it will seem more familiar and less daunting.
The recreation groups, both professional and amateur, seem to have fairly good clothing. I appreciate what I see done well — like so much nice wool, in fine colors! and silk gowns actually made of silk! — and bite my tongue about the less than accurate aspects, like the entire camp of women all wearing identically patterned (first problem) short sleeved gowns with princess seams (second problem), and not one of them with a proper hood on for being outdoors (third problem). Seeing whole companies in clothing of a consistent era makes my heart sing; the SCA will never, ever look anything like this.
I have gone to talks that blew my mind, met incredible authors and researchers and bloggers and enthusiasts like myself. Seeing a presentation about the underclothes found at Lengenburg castle? Wonderful! Spending the next day in the company of Beatrice Nutz? Fabulous. She has a wicked sense of humor, loves to spin, and gave me an “archaeologist’s point of view” on the recreated goods at the Reenactor Market. One that really stuck with me is that the excavated pins she has seen had wire wrapped heads of just two twists, and the ones for sale at the market were usually wrapped three times. Minor detail? Yeah! But I love it.
This past weekend I attended my second MEDATS conference, where the first speaker got everyone talking excitedly about the patterned hose she reconstructed with sprang. (I have a how-to book in the mail already.) Eventually these ideas and articles would filter across the ocean, but here I am getting them sooner, often getting them straight from the source, and sometimes getting chances to touch and turn and experience the experimental recreations, giving me a tactile knowledge that photos just fail to capture.
I think the biggest game-changer for me has been taking a class with Jenny Tiramani. Although I asked, and she answered, as many questions as I could formulate over those two days in her house, I am still processing the larger questions that she planted in my mind. I’m starting to look at sewing and patterning differently, and when I can figure out how to explain what I mean, I’ll blog about that, too!
So while I sit, and think, and see more and hear more and read more, I am fermenting. There are some interesting and potent ingredients in this batch, and I have high hopes about the outcome, but we shall have to wait and see. Not every brew is fit to drink, not every pattern fit to wear, not every theory correct once tested. Let’s see how this project turns out. But for now, don’t rush me. I’m fermenting.