Though I’d forgive you for thinking I was. What it means though, is I’ve got a whole backlog of creativity that I should have posted about ages ago, but didn’t get around to doing it. Usually because the minute I had a second (… or the second I had a minute? Wibbly wobbly timey wimey…) that’s either when I’d get a text from a friend going “Tea?” or remember urgent washing that needed doing, or be so tired that it was all I could do to put on Outlaw Star/Fullmetal Alchemist/Chobits/Hellsing (stop judging me) and then zone out over a full pot of tea.
Today is the watershed. Most notably because I am sick, and so have forced myself to stay home, desperately trying to recover before my awesome teacher arrives tomorrow (hahahaha, even I laugh at this vain optimism. I’ve used about a hundred tissues in the past 24 hours, and sustained a burn when I sneezed in front of a friend’s log stove).
The Girl Who Sneezed at Fire.
Secondly, although the weather is balmy and sunny, I don’t have enough dirty clothes to make it worth taking out whoever’s washing was left abandoned in the machine this morning. If they want to waste this glorious drying weather, that’s their problem.
Thirdly, and most distressingly, THE KETTLE IS BROKEN! My beloved kettle! Boiler of water, genesis of tea-based beverages! On account of my self-imposed housebound-ness, I refuse to go and purchase a new one until tomorrow, so I’m boiling water in a saucepan in the meantime. I’ve only had one pot of tea today. I know, I can’t believe I’m surviving either. Only by the powers of distraction – also known as writing a blog post – will I get through this, until the time when I can go to Big W and purchase a new kettle without snotting all over the sales assistants.
So down to business. As usual, I have started more things than I have finished, so I’ll chronicle things in this order: Finished things, Paused things and Started things.
As far as finished things go, the list is short but awesome. I made a shirt!
I salvaged the fabric from a manky, rather yellowed dress the Adorable Folkey fished out of the Theatre garage sale last year, which I suspect is a poly-cotton, given its dislike of high iron heat. I also used – dun dun duuuuunnnnnn!!!! – a commercial pattern!
Ok, so it’s a bit like attack of the frump, but the essential bits are there.
The pattern came from an op shop where I also found the most magnificent old dresser, which should have been in an antique shop, but it had a big ding on the front of it (nothing a bit of oil couldn’t fix) and also needs a screw to reattach one of the drawer handles. Just proof that if you sift through enough suburban op shops you really do find gloriously under-priced gems.
Ten points if you can spot the ding.
But back to the shirt. Since it was only ever meant to be a toile, seeing I haven’t used a commercial pattern since about 2009,I hadn’t thought about how yellow the fabric was in places. But it was really rather noticeable, and it looked like what it was: gross.
Once it was finished I gave it a tea bath (oh how I lament the loss of my kettle!) in an attempt to counteract the unevenness of the yellowing and some big blue stains which I only found afterwards. It worked a treat on the blue stains, and it’s got it to the point where the faded colour is more peach than yellow (you can’t really see it in photos, but in real life it was a huge difference), and it looks nice enough under a jumper. Being my first attempt at a shirt I was terrified of how it would turn out, and whether I’d encounter issues with the collar stand, but I guess reading lots of Male Pattern Boldness has sunk in, because it went together calmly and with no swearing. Thanks, Peter! I now feel emboldened (hur hur) to make shirts for my friend Brave Sir Robin, who has the classic problem of Veuve Cliquot taste on a Toohey’s budget. I’m thinking of finding some vintage shirt patterns and then grading them to fit.
I also starched some lace to my window, so that I can have natural sunlight without feeling like a zoo exhibit. I got the recipe for the starch mix from Manhattan Nest, after having used other, weaker recipes that resulted in much, much swearing. I cut the lace to size, dipped it in the goop, ensuring it was all soaked, and then squeezed out the excess goop and applied it to the window. It was like being midwife to Cthulu, and I was pretty glad I had elected to protect whatever dignity remains in the ancient sharehouse carpet with a large flattened cardboard box. Then I let it dry, and when I one day break my lease and move on, it’ll come off a treat with some warm water, and the window will probably be cleaner than how I found it.
Behold the offspring of Cthulu.
As far as the Paused/In Progress things go, I started adding some pinked pleated trim to my robe a l’Anglaise just for funsies, I keep meaning to fix/finish the cuirass dress but keep not getting around to it (I did end up wearing it at Liederfest, probably looking a right mess with pins holding it together. Damn my stubbornness), and I gleefully butchered the green soprano gown with the intention of making something else out of it. My last sketch stands thusly:
Whoops, I accidentally drew a giraffe.
The unfinished cuirass dress and the trim on the Anglaise.
In the Started corner, we have ‘teaching my workmates how to sew’, and gowns for Death. My workmates are fast learners and picked a nice easy first project, even though it’s a dress, so they’re rocking along well. I’ll need to pick up the pace once I’m better though. It’s good for me to lug the sewing machine to work and back, and combined with the serious attempt I’ve been making at building some upper body strength, I am proud to announce that I can no longer do the zipper the whole way up on the zodiac dress. Seriously, watch out Arnie, I’m taking you down in our next arm-wrestling match.
Though I’ll probably be too busy using my guns to smash the patriarchy to arm wrestle Arnie.
I’ve been jogging too, and steadily. I know. Me? Jogging? You better believe it. Nothing has ever motivated me to keep at exercise before, I guess because I’ve got genes that conform to the modern ideal of stupidly-skinny without any effort, and fitness wasn’t enough of an end in itself. But a while back I invented a character in one of the dumb little stories I write as a sidekick to the main character, and I’ve come to realise that she’s pretty much me. Hell, even my hair has started copying her, doing the side-fringe-one-side-with-a-weird-sticky-outy-flyaway-on-the-other thing. I didn’t make it, it did it by itself. However, the biceps I need to work for.
If I was allowed to have violet hair and a sword.
The gowns for Death are a little easier seeing I can work on them whenever, and seeing she’s more of an hourglass than I am, her dress block looks more like a dress block and not like bacon the way mine does. Her preference for circle skirts also means that the skirt drafting is just going to be all maths and none of that stupid faffing around with skirt blocks. The first design is a sci-fi influenced, colourblocked number, to be done in a beautiful ivory duchess satin and a lovely heavy rayon-nylon. I’m thinking of cording the shoulders for added oomph, especially seeing Death loves Star Trek and Blake’s 7, and the more sci-fi references we can cram into a gown the better. And what says sci-fi like strong angular shoulders?
I’ve started patterning, and just need a heap of cheap stuff to make some toiles. Unfortunately Lincraft is closed for renovations, so my usual 10+ metres of disgusting $2.00/m polypop is out of the question. Oh well, Sydney Rd it is.
So I have a very very busy month of sewing planned. I seriously doubt I’ll get through it all, but I’ll give it a shot. I’m getting better at drawing up my patterns meticulously, and I’ve started adding on the seam allowances and notches. They look a lot better now and the garments go together more quickly and accurately, so who knows, I might actually save some time.
Now I have to go eat some toast before OQ rehearsal. That’s the opera quartet a few friends put together a few months back to do corporate gigs and shamelessly make money. We’re called Operation Quartet. Check us out. I know, I know, I said I was housebound, but I won’t be singing. Promise.