Back in April (insert joke about how long ago that was), Jude Hill had this concept of ‘shelter in cloth as place.’ A compelling idea. I haven’t been hand-stitching much lately, but was drawn to the project of finding some cloth and living with and in it. I have plenty of cloth worthy of that task. I thought of the word inhabit.
This is the robe, Inhabit
This is a Lichen duster - will post more soon!
Jude’s paper doll measuring method and rectangle base provided an easy way to get started.
This post, where Jude plays with the plain rectangle as robe base, and all its many possibilities, gave me a way in. My own lifelong fabric stash provided the rest.
The robe was built from the inside out, because the first cloth I knew I wanted to live in was silk charmeuse dyed by Laura Mayotte, aka indigonightowl. It was in a gift packet years ago, and I’d always wanted to wear it close, but hadn’t come up with the right garment. So this piece became the inner lining, embracing my shoulders and back, full of the good energy of indigo and friendship.
You’d need to feel this - it’s like water, so soft.
A robe! A cloth with neck opening, tra-la…
The main outer rectangle is more silk. I know, so indulgent, all this silk. But I owned it already, this time from my art school dyeing course with Stanley Pinckney, who required us to work huge, practicing resist dye techniques on 5 x 8 foot pieces of cloth, in order to immerse and become proficient. I had a large piece of silk shantung that was dyed with a wonderful color - Procion MX “Pearl Grey”, which turns mauve on this silk, overlaid with a couple of long stripes. Like Laura’s indigo piece, this cloth was already soft as if worn for years, mellowed by the dyeing process. I took Jude’s advice and tried it on from the earliest stages.
I immediately basted these fabrics together, and they let me know right away that this was good.
Cutting open the front from the neck down.
The next thing I knew for sure was that the front would cross over in the Asian style, and Hmong batik hemp would be the collar. The extra piece for the front was again silk, from a dye workshop at the first fiber festival I ever attended, in Sedalia, Missouri. We used resist and stamping techniques with natural dye extracts (I forgot the teacher’s name but she used to own Table Rock Llamas in Colorado Springs.) These precious and unique fabrics had rested in my storage bins for years, awaiting their time. The Hmong batik came from the night market in Chiang Mai, Thailand, around 1998. Well-worn and still pleated from its life as a skirt, this cloth is not only soft and strong, but full of the skill of ages.
I stitched the long seams with the machine, but for the collar I worked by hand. Dwelling with this robe meant slowing down, which was part of the appeal. Of course the world in general was slowed by the stay-at-home orders, but my mind still buzzed, and I was not inclined to sit still. Once I started the robe, I found that it gave me pleasant problems to solve, questions and puzzles to occupy my mind deep in the night, a welcome change from random worrying and wondering about questions with no answers. I’d lie there and think about how to attach a button, or what fabrics might be best for the next step. Basting and hand sewing also gave me the chance to admire these fabrics which had been dormant for so long, like the glorious Japanese printed silk I used for the lower half of the lining.
I put a button on both sides, so it can be worn inside out.
The stitching and patchwork has gone slowly, after the initial rush of choosing and assembling the large pieces. I’ve added pockets (obviously essential, as soon as I started wearing it), and select bits of special fabric, even thoughts and hopes.
Another sample of Laura Mayotte’s indigo work became a medallion on my shoulder.
Embroidering a word makes you think about it more.
For the back of my neck, a place of vulnerability I want to transform.
This one is certainly not yet “done”, and I don’t know if it will be, ever. I’m sure there will always be something else to stitch. It’s also unrefined - very little of the stitching is as precise or tidy as this embroidered label. Some of it feels almost desperate - but such are the moods flowing through and around me lately. The main guiding idea is still to inhabit the cloth, and the robe is serving that purpose, welcoming me to wrap up on a cool morning. I reinforced the lower back lining with Japanese cotton, wanting some strength in there for outdoor sitting.
This robe may be silk, but it’s not meant for disengaging from the world. I wear it like anything else, for wandering in the wooded garden, for spinning and general household puttering. It is a stay-at-home garment, but that’s not the same as stagnant. It’s a reminder that the skill of my own hands can keep me company and guide a troubled mind, while reinforcing a supportive place in which to dwell. In my wanderings I have gathered and made these fabrics, and now that I’m staying home for a while, I inhabit them.
Basting the layers allowed me to keep wearing the robe as it was made. Sleeves of handspun cotton khadi from India, which are shaped because the fabric was cut for pant legs.
And yes, I did say two robes. I made a Lichen Duster - and it’s done, too! Shown up at the top of the post. But it deserves its own post with lots of photos. Coming soon….