I call the shelter-in-cloth robe Inhabit, and I call this one Flourish. This one, made from the Sew Liberated Lichen Duster pattern, is more suited for showing off, going out, being seen.
I challenge anyone to resist twirling in this duster.
May still have the stay-at-home face, but I’m working on that.
While I love to wear a big huge square or rectangular garment, there is something to be said (in this my home culture), for the slightly more fitted and tailored look. I mean, here’s a beautiful huipil that I wear an awful lot. I got it at the weaving guild auction, knowing it was handspun cotton, and later found out from Charlotte Kwon at Maiwa that it’s from Oaxaca, Mexico.
The Oaxaca huipil stack, Maiwa collection, Vancouver, B.C.
Backstrap woven cloth, being normally not very wide, is suited to big huipils, ponchos, and mantas made of panels joined together. This one is three panels wide. It feels so secure to be completely swathed in handspun cotton, giving away no hint of actual body shape. I dream of hanging out with these women in Chicahuaxtla, and trying out the floor-length huipil. (Instagram link, because otherwise I’m only getting Pinterest, and I’d rather send you to Ana Paula Fuentes.)
But the Lichen Duster! It’s a completely different approach, very distinctively shaped pattern pieces, meticulous and fascinating construction. It’s kind of the opposite of the Cut my Cote zero waste method - however, I did discover that the pieces are narrow enough (apart from sleeves and upper back) that one could use handwoven fabric of 14” wide to make most of them. Exciting! Food for thought!
And since I intended to use fabric I already owned for this first duster, it was a process of matching fabric to pattern piece, based on size. I started by printing and cutting out the pattern pieces (size 12, for roominess,) so that I could see exactly what was needed. I rummaged around in my bins, prioritizing some Indian khadi (handspun cotton) first. I have a large but dwindling amount of this, but individual pieces are not all that big. At the time of collection, I was buying a meter or so of each, just going for variety not quantity. I actually had to piece the two front khadi panels to get long enough sections - those center front pattern pieces wrap behind the neck to form the collar, so they’re long.
Close up of two khadi fabrics. The upper left piece is used in my duster (from the pockets to the hem, side front.) The other one plays a bit part in the Inhabit robe.
As soon as I saw the dark brown Thai sarong in my bin, I knew it had to be used for the gores, at least. Since living in Thailand in 2004, I’ve used, worn, and given away a number of different sarongs, but this one I always held onto as fabric, because it’s so striking. The audacious color combination - deep chocolate, with a rusty dark cinnamon brown, and bright fuchsia, black, white, and taupe - it had to be featured someday. Letting those flowers peek out at the base of the skirt sounded perfect, and as it happened, I needed this for the center back skirt as well, since other fabric pieces were not big enough.
A little more rummaging produced a very large piece of cloth, one I’d dyed myself during the year I studied with Stanley Pinckney at SMFA in Boston. I want to link you, but Stanley is not an online-presence kind of man. Utterly brilliant as a teacher, he created an ideal space for cooking up far-ranging ideas, through the medium of Adire, resist dye techniques as practiced by the Yoruba of western Nigeria.
Triptych made in Stanley’s class, using the eleko technique of wax resist. The wax was applied with wood blocks, which I cut and made myself. Stanley convinced me to make a “negative space” block, with the pattern removed from the block, to add depth and texture to the resist dyed design. The middle panel has an underdye of elo, the technique of binding and wrapping.
I could go on indefinitely about Stanley and his class, and his shipshape studio, and the slides he showed weekly of all his former students’ work, and the way he asked, “Are you plotting and scheming??” with a wicked grin on his face. Rarely have I encountered such unequivocal support and such systematic, organized teaching by someone passionate, focused and full of love for the work. So when I put this eleko fabric into this robe, it speaks all of that. It reminds me of how much I loved that studio, and how hard I worked that year. This piece was not ‘finished,’ but in its current state of pale lavender with sage green and the blush of pink, it somehow harmonizes with the fabrics I’d chosen. And it was plenty big enough for sleeves and (almost) upper back, so that brought me to here.
I laid the fabrics out, mimicking the robe shape, and was satisfied that this would work, visually. After that came the focused effort. It was remarkable how this project fit my needs at this stage of pandemic, isolation, mourning, outrage, and so on. Earlier, I needed the amorphous pulling together of cloth that was the Inhabit robe - no plan, just basting and adding stitches, solving problems in a loose, musing, stream-of-consciousness way, knowing I could always backtrack and take stitches out. At this point, I was ready for some step-by-step, intricate puzzle work. I’d read the pattern, looked at the tutorials, and even sampled all the different seams that might be used, so I was fluent and prepared. There was something appealing about doing everything just right, honing skills and being meticulous. It engaged my mind in an all-consuming way, which was a different sort of productive ‘escape,’ or let’s say alternative to the spiral of worry, despair or frustration that daily threatens. Because I don’t think making clothes is running away from anything - more of a running towards the priorities I wish to see reinforced. This project made me learn, think, and do in a very satisfying way.
Intersection of khadi and sarong, at pocket and front gore. The pocket construction is so cool.
And a secret, hidden fabric on the inside of the pockets - a good way to stretch the featured ones, since this part is folded in. I used a lighter weight fabric, to reduce the bulk of pocket seams.
I used FOUR different seams on this baby: flat felled for the back of the skirt, bound seams on the front, French seam to join back skirt and upper back, and faux-French for the sleeve join. Only a small amount of hand-sewing, on those sleeve seams, otherwise my trusty machine was a trooper.
And as I was saying at the beginning, a more tailored look. This pattern is so classy. I was pretty sure it would allow me to use a variety of fabrics while avoiding a radically eccentric, motley effect. I wanted it all to hang together and be convincing, and the structure helps with that. The collar, for example. With interfacing, the collar and front edge are nice and crisp. I didn’t even mess with the collar during this photo shoot - it behaved itself without intervention. Belted, this is a functional dress, suited for working with my hands and puttering around, which is key. I don’t need garments I can’t work in. A scarf was handy for immediate belting, and I’m working on a backstrap woven belt, using some sock yarn as warp.
Well, that’s about it. I may have forgotten things I wanted to say, and please ask questions in the comments if you have any. I’m quite sure I’ll be making this again - there are so many possibilities. Oh, the front facing cloth was over-dyed with walnuts, back in May. I collected them last fall and let them steep all winter long (the neglect-on-the-deck technique.) Shown below is my little Dye All the Things Walnut fest. The deflected double weave is a scarf made by Pauline Verbeek-Cowart, an esteemed weaver, teacher, and good friend. It was a snowy white, which was beautiful but I’d never wear it. Now it’s ready-to-wear, and will go with my Flourish duster! And hey, it’s almost time to gather more walnuts….
One more thing: if you live in the United States, please check that you’re registered to vote, please vote, and if you want to help ensure the process, here’s a website called Power the Polls.
