The New Year's Eve dress.

I've noticed I tend to claim that whatever my most recent project is, it's my favorite. But this one really is my favorite. Right now.

This project represented a whole passel of challenges and techniques I'd never used before. But why make something if I can't make it just how I want?

Step One:
Think about a style/design.

The party flyer stated "black tie optional, but suggested." I thought of a nice straight silhouette in black with some white detail, or interesting embellishment. Out of my 157 owned patterns, 24 of which are dresses, not one struck me as appropriate. Shocking. I settled on Vogue 8313, View A. The body of the dress would be snug black stretch vinyl, the upper would be sheer white (probably), and along the bottom, red flames, preferably in a reverse applique.

Step Two:
Get supplies.

Wearable vinyl is not easy to come by. In metro Detroit, there are really only two options for fabric: Joann on the low end or Haberman Fabrics on the high. Neither had a suitable vinyl. Online, there are many fabric sellers specializing in stretch/costume fabrics. I made an order from Spandex House, for both black and red stretch pleather. It came quickly, but smelled horrible. The nasty petroleum smell was almost unbearable. The pleather is washable, though, so I ran both pieces through the wash. Still smelled. I left the large uncut pieces flattened out in my sewing area for a couple of days, hoping they would off-gas. It improved the smell a bit, but there seemed to be no getting rid of it. I know my sense of smell is a bit more acute than usual, and that I would ultimately be in a smoky nightclub, so I decided to go ahead with it.

For once, Joann was not having a pattern sale right when I needed it, so I actually paid full price for a Vogue pattern (which is to say, 50% off the MSRP). Yet another element of this project I'd never done before.

Step Three:
Test dress.

Vinyl is unforgiving; you cannot sew it and tear it back apart. Also, no matter how carefully I take my own measurements, pattern measurements seem a crapshoot. I decided to make a test dress out of a large piece of woven I had in scrap. It came together quickly and fit so well that I omitted the zipper. I actually finished that dress and it's entirely wearable. (And, as always, less weird/lumpy than it looks when I hastily cram it on the dummy for photos.)

Step Four:
What about this applique nonsense?

I got enough vinyl that I could cut some pieces off for experimentation. I've never really done any applique, reverse or otherwise, but I understand it in concept. I did a quick test and decided I liked the effect, but realized how difficult it was going to be following drawn lines on black vinyl. Then I remembered the freehand embroidery (aka stippling) foot I bought months ago, which I couldn't live without and then forgot I had. One of the methods for using this foot is to affix the artwork you want to "trace" to the fabric using a tear-away stabilizer. Or in my case, plain craft tissue.

Finding the right artwork was easy for me. I'm not an illustrator, but as a graphic designer/production artist, finding the right illustration is often a part of the job. Found something I liked, made the adjustments needed in Photoshop, and printed the strip of flames on plain paper, splicing together where needed. I taped that down to my cutting table, taped craft tissue over that, and traced in pencil.

Then I made a sandwich on the cutting table of a wide strip of red vinyl, the full piece of 2.5 yards of black vinyl, and the tracing. I did not want to cut out the dress pieces before doing the applique because the screw-up factor was so high. I left it in one piece so I could whack off the 8 or 10 inches at the bottom if needed, and try again higher up.

Again, you really can't pin vinyl, so I used masking tape on the front and the back to try to keep the layers together. Especially challenging since I was maneuvering this giant piece around my sewing machine. But I threw it on and managed.

The stitching was far from perfect, but in cases like these, once your pattern is gone, no one really knows how much you strayed. Plus, good cutting can make a real difference. After only one go, I was satisfied with my flame border. I tore away the tissue and, using my favorite pair of little sharps, I cut the black away in one piece. (Gotta be able to do something with that.)

Step Five:
Cut out the dress.

This involved binder clips and careful edge pinning. Cutting the basic dress shape was crucial to deciding whether the placement and scale of the applique really worked. It worked.

Step Five and a Half:

Choose fabric for upper.

I hadn't bought any fabric for the upper yet, but knew I could get that locally. Once I knew the thing was actually going to work, I headed back to the fabric store. The first two I narrowed in on were a white sheer with snowflakes (contrast, you know) and a variegated red with little shimmery spots. I couldn't use a plain sheer, that just wouldn't work. I decided the snowflakes (fire + ice) was a little too precious, and went with the red.

Step Six:
Build the dress.

The lower part of the dress could not be simpler. Additionally, I was omitting the zipper (stretch vinyl!) and the hem, so it meant four darts and three seams. Done.

The upper turned out to be more of a challenge than I anticipated, as the pattern calls for facings, which would show through the sheer fabric. Sheer is a PITA in a bunch of ways. I tested some narrow hems and the rolled-hem foot... then went back to one of my old standbys, bias binding. I had some in a color that matched very well, and it turns out, I actually really liked the way it looked at the neck. Bonus.

The two pieces went together without a hitch.

Step Seven:
Refit and finish.

I was actually initially concerned that this pattern would be too small for me, because of the whole dumb measurements thing. The vinyl dress actually fit more loosely than the test dress because of the stretch. Plus, it was really intended to be a bit more snug. Trying it on once it was all built together I decided to take a good 2" out of the waist.

After that, all that was left was stitching down the rear vent, trimming the bottom edge straight (no hemming needed) and topstitching where the top and body met. And choosing a pair of shoes.

While I'm talking about the site...

There's another feature I use here that some people may not have noticed.

I use Google's RSS reader regularly. When I come across items of particular interest that I want to either share or remember for myself, I share through the public aggregator. The most recent 10 items appear here, on the RH navigation, along with a link to a whole big fat list of other crap I've shared over the decades.

Hey, no one can ever say I don't share.

A word about the calendar.

At the bottom of my blog is a calendar. It's always down there at the bottom, no matter which of my pages you're looking at. It's the calendar I use to keep track of things that might be interesting to me, so it is updated faithfully. Specifically, the green items (and the purple, which are out of town/rodeo events) are things I myself have placed on the calendar -- other colors come from some of the other local calendars I subscribe to. Click on any entry and details will pop up.

If you see something on the calendar you might want to do, and you know me (heck, even if you don't -- as if people who know me read my blog ;) ), call me! Or email me, txt me, something. If I haven't mentioned it or asked you to go, it isn't because I don't want to go with you!

I do a lot of things at local galleries and music venues and craft fairs, random stuff around town, and sometimes surrounding states. When I invite people out, 95 or 97 times out of 100 they say no. Like most people, I'm sure, I'm doing a couple of things a week, so that adds up to a lot of being told no. This may be absolutely common in most people's lives, but I admit, it's gotten to me.

So, if you see it on the calendar, chances are I put it there because it's something I might want to do. And if you think you wanna go, and maybe even with me? Call me!

Proof of Concept

Here's a tease.

I spent the last couple of weeks conceptualizing a dress for a New Year's Eve party. Nothing major, just utilizing about 6 different techniques I've never used before. Well, I finished it today (since I plan on wearing it tonight -- why finish it two weeks ago when I could wait until today?). That's all I'm going to say at the moment. ;)

A quicky for the sewing nerds.

I bought my first pair of Gingher shears the other day. Now, ain't I a grownup? Sure, they're just the lightweight aluminum model, but I feel so much more ssssserious now.

Animal omens.

Whenever critters unexpectedly cross my path, I always consider it a good omen. Always.

Last night when I got home from work, it was after dark and about 12F actual degrees (windchill unreasonable). The first thing I noticed was Sevie acting weirder than usual, which is saying something. His meow was a little deeper and he was extra-twitchy. Then I noticed something had fallen off the TV, a small figurine. I thought I'd probably brushed the table on my way out that morning. When I saw some things knocked off my kitchen windowsill as well, though, I knew something was up. So I hunted around the house, finding nothing. Whatever it was, it must have found its way back out again.

After I had dinner and cleaned up, I finally sat down to watch TV at around 10pm. Within a couple of minutes, I thought I saw some movement in the periphery -- which, I hesitate to admit, I actually experience quite a lot in that house. (Oh the hauntings, the hauntings.) I got up to stick my head in my dressing room at which point a small bird flew straight at me. I was kind of expecting that, but it's funny how even knowing it's coming, I ducked down with a panic as though I were being shot at. The bird flew around the corner and straight into my work studio. At least that room has a door.

I closed him in and thought, hm, how does one catch a wild bird? I sat down on the sofa for a moment to consider my options. Within a minute, the bird simply walked out of the work studio and into the living room as if to say, "Okay, this has been fun, but could you just open a window now?" Of course as soon as I moved, it started flying around the house again. I grabbed a fleece jacket figuring maybe I could throw that on it, but before I even tried, I opened my front door and the big glass doorwall. When I followed the bird back into my dressing room, it whizzed past me and out the big door.

I'm a little disappointed I didn't get a chance to take a picture of it. I wanted to, and would have gotten my camera before opening the work studio door, but the bird thwarted the plan. (And obviously I don't know how to close doors.) It was small, but probably bigger than a common sparrow, in earthy colors with a blue band behind its eye.

After everyone was safe (where was Sevie through all of this?) and the house warmed back up, I started thinking about bird omens.

A scan through online searches always seems to come up with nothing but bad bad bad omens, for everything. I don't buy it. Since it's all myth and symbolism anyway, why not make up something good? So, here's the omen I made up, which I've decided this little bird in my home was to mean.


When surprised to find a bird in your dwelling
Pay heed to the omen this sign is foretelling.

No doom, no gloom, no luckless portent;
No reaper lurking with wicked intent.

Take heart that lost friendship will blossom anew,
For writ on its wings are a friend's thoughts of you.

Price Reductions in Effect

Loads of great jewelry still available at my store, and as of today, ALL the prices have been marked down. Come take a look, and buy handmade for whatever holidays you celebrate.

Brocade Lion

A minor sigh of relief.

I paid my motorcycle off today.

This is a Big Deal for two reasons. First of all, I never keep anything long enough to actually pay it off (and keep it). I think this is the first vehicle (out of the 2-dozen or so I've owned) I've ever done that with. It's always nice to have a debt removed from over one's head.

Second, when I got divorced, I'd really only just bought the bike. And, of course, we bought it as part of an entire household. When I left that household, I was so sure that I was going to have to sell the bike; there was no way I could maintain not only the payment, but the insurance, registration, all that other nonsense. But this bike makes me happy, so I made my adjustments and held on to it. It's been worth it.

Evening of fire.

Last night was unseasonably warm in Detroit, and we knew this ahead of time. Or, more to the point, I did -- if it's not motorcycle season, I don't usually really pay much attention to weather forecasts. But I knew Wednesday was going to be nice, so I intended to rush home from work and start a fire in my almost-unused firepit.

It was dug for me this past summer, but it sat there, full of wood but forlorn and neglected, until a couple of weeks ago. That was when I started to have to deal with leaves, which brought home the fact that I had several feet of branches stacked up next to my house. (Feet is the official unit of measurement for branches, right?) They obviously weren't going to burn themselves -- well, hopefully -- and leaving them to rot over the winter seemed so unappealing. So I made a fire. It almost cost me my eyebrows, but I managed. Twice. That got me through a good portion of my pre-cut detritus from the summer. (Typically I throw manageable branches down the ravine, and leave the BIG stuff at the curb for the city chipping crew.)

I still contend I suck at fire, but I'm improving. So I had big hopes when I got started last night. With the addition of some now well-dried leaves, it actually got going pretty well without too much effort. I got started at about 6 and didn't come in until midnight, tending and feeding the fire continually nearly the whole time.

At about 9.30, the fire was going quite nicely, and it was still warm enough out that I was wearing just a long-sleeved jersey with no jacket. I'd even taken my hat off by then, but, naturally, still had my earbuds in, listening to some podcast or other. Standing for a moment just enjoying the burn, in the extreme north east corner of my yard, I heard the *beepbeepbeep* of reversing heavy equipment from the street behind me. With the size of my yard, that street is, oh, I'm going to say, 600 feet away. I turned around, popped out my earbuds, and watched a full-size hook and ladder backing across the end of my driveway.

It seemed like the thing to do at that point was to walk down to the street to see what was up, so I grabbed my jacket and made my way. There are no street lights in my neighborhood, and loads of trees on large lots. So I was very near the end of my driveway before the two firemen even noticed me there, acknowledging my presence with about 50,000 candlepower in my general direction.

"Hi there!" I squinted and waved.

"Oh hello. Sorry about that."

"That's okay. Everything all right?"

"Well, we saw some smoke around the neighborhood and wanted to make sure no one's house was on fire..."

Oh good. No one had called -- I'd have been very shocked by that. Because there were still some damp leaves in the burn, there definitely were some smoky periods. And because the air was cooler, the smoke was staying dense and low.

I smiled and told them, "Yeah, that's me. I've got a little firepit in the back. I figured this was my last nice night to really enjoy burning some leftovers from the summer. You wanna come check it out?"

So the two firemen -- and why are firemen always, like, 6'6" anyway? -- followed me back across my yard. "You're not in any trouble or anything, we just saw--"

"Oh, I know, I know. I'm glad you came; I appreciate it."

"Wow, this is nice back here, huh? Got all this to yourself?"

"Yep. I like it, but it's a pain sometimes. Watch your footing, the ground's soft."

When we finally got close enough, the fire was looking healthy and manageable, with my little lawn chair keeping an eye.

"Oh yeah, there it is," the smaller fireman said. (He was only 6'4".) "The open burn is totally fine. Not close to any houses... Have a hose or a bucket nearby and don't burn any leaves."

"All right, I'll do that."

"Sorry to have interrupted. Have a nice night!"

And off they went into the smoky darkness.

Featuring special guest star...

The store is OPEN.

The first group of my convertible necklace/bracelets have made their way to my etsy store. There are more to come (along with other random bits when they come about).

BrocadeLion.etsy.com

The twins from my kitchen window.

Had to come to work early this morning. As a consolation, I got to watch the doe and her twins from my kitchen window for a good 10 minutes. They're getting so big!

Okay then.

I've given it a couple of days now, and based on the combined experiences of my first art festival and the previous blog post here, I at least have an iron-clad response when people squee at me "you should SELL your stuff!" -- not only can I not sell anything, I can't give the shit away.

Heart It Forward

Now that I'm almost caught up after the last couple of weeks, I can finally post about this.

A couple of weeks ago, awesome plexi artist Tonia Davenport made a Heart It Forward post on her blog. This is her take on feeding a circle of kindness and giving, wherein she makes available an object she has made, free for the taking to the first person who pledges to do the same. My near-obsessive RSSing paid off, and I was the first to lay claim to this fantastic "bliss" bracelet.

In less than a week, it arrived at my door, packaged almost as beautifully as the bracelet itself. I am always taken by such great attention to detail. I've worn the bracelet a few times already, and it's absolutely weightless. It's already become one of my favorite things.

Now it's my turn to play my part in this hopeful little cycle. I initially wanted to make something as beautiful as Tonia's, but I'm just a person without all that much pretty in her. So instead, I'll go the SFLAG way.

This bracelet is a duplicate of one I made for myself during the (slightly frazzled) weeks I was producing necklaces for my first-ever attempt at selling. I put mine on more than a week ago and haven't removed it once since. It's clunky, contrasty, a bit noisy, and seemingly indestructible -- in other words... me.

I will happily pass along the spotless and new rendition of this bracelet to the first person who comments -- publicly, as if -- on this post and agrees to heart something forward him- or herself. That would be, of course, anything your little heart desires.

The PAF has been postponed...

The People's Art Festival at the Russell has been postponed due to weather. The new date is Sunday September 21 -- that's next week, people. Another week for me to stress out. Woo!

More deets on the People's Art Festival.

I was at work from 9am to 2.30am yesterday, then I got right back at it at 9am this morning. It wasn't until just now that I could finally eat a sammich and relax for a second... which gave me the opportunity, of course, to stress out again about the art festival this Saturday. Well, stress probably isn't exactly the right term. Let's just say nerve up. I'm a little nervous, just because I've never done this before. But I've been to thousands of similar events and I have no doubt that the people I'm sharing space with are going to be fun and friendly and excellent and all that good stuff.

Here's the official website for the People's Art Fair.

We are going to be in booth 74, which looks like a pretty good location, if anyone wants to come say hello. I'm planning on getting there at set up time (10am), but I am probably going to leave by 2pm (or whenever I sell out, whichever happens first -- lookit me, I'm an optimist!). I'm very happy to say I just got a pair of tickets for the big PBR event in Grand Rapids, which is also on Saturday, including VIP party passes. Yes, I'm serious, stop laughing! Unfortunately, I don't have time to make a dress out of this fabric. Wait, maybe that's a good thing.

People's Art Festival

I'm abnormally busy lately, but if I don't post this now, I won't do it until after the Festival.

I was invited to participate in the People's Art Festival at the Russell Industrial Center this Saturday. This Saturday! The 13th!

I've never participated in anything like this. I never sell my stuff. But really, it was an offer I'd be stupid to refuse. So I did something else I almost never do -- I produced en masse. That's not entirely accurate because ultimately almost every one of these necklaces is different in some way, but there is an undeniable theme. A theme that doesn't photograph well, clearly. They are large, colorful, chunky necklaces that I really like -- the whole series started off as a green and black deal I made for myself. I've test driven a couple of them and have gotten very positive (unsolicited) responses to them every time.

I wish I had time to take more/better photographs, and hopefully I will before I go to the festival itself. If nothing else, anything that doesn't sell will, I'm sure, get a loving photo session on its own (to go straight to etsy). There is one other picture in my flickr stream that I can't fiddle with to post right now. More later.

On love, connectedness and the skull cha-cha.

I saw my grandma this weekend and was the happy recipient of some Grandma Stash.

Gram is a stitcher/quilter/beader/crafter from way back. I'm sure when she started learning these things from her momma, my Granny Daisy, it wasn't "crafting," the leisurely activity as we think of it today. It was Women's Work. It was necessary and important. And normal. I don't know my father's family, and it's easy to credit my grandmother -- the Taylor bloodline -- for any bit of creativity in me. Any drive to make. In any case, if there's a genetic component, it seems to have skipped my mother. And all my siblings. I do have a maternal aunt, though, who is never ever without some fiddly project in her lap.

Grandma has given me some nice fabric recently which has integrated into my own stash, but this trip was all about beads. Using small beads can be a challenge in the best of times, and along with the creativity, I'm quite certain I've inherited my grandma's arthritis. The fingers of my right hand have never been straight, and they certainly aren't getting any better. (At least I don't need my knees for beadweaving.) When Gram let me at her bead supplies cabinet, I was hoping to find some more of the old glass that she'd held on to since Daisy's time. There was some of that, but also, wonderfully, dozens of tubes of beautifully varied seed beads.

Seed beads are either the love or the bane of your beading hobbyist. Working with seed beads is actually what started me "crafting" in earnest. I love large square stitched pieces, with the geometric precision of woven cloth and the sheen and endless color options of glass. In my early beadweaving days -- already in my 30s -- I would sit in bead guild gatherings with my little tackle box of colors, doing my OCD best to get the cheap and sloppy Czech 11/0s to align properly, unable to justify the expense of the hyper-precise Japanese beauties. The other guild members, almost uniformly over 60, would peek across my work and gawp, "How can you WORK with those teeny things!" "It's not easy," I'd tell them, "but I'm going to keep doing it while I can."

I still can, but haven't lately. I've fallen to the allure of the quicker gratification of the stringing project. Or, actually, I've become more focused on apparel sewing for the past couple of years. That may seem a strange choice seeing as I have, at this moment, more than 300 linear feet of mostly ready-to-wear clothing currently hanging in my house. (Yes, I did just measure.) The bigger joke there is that I refer to my dressing room as the Monument to My Self-Loathing.

After getting home Sunday night with my scooter trunk filled to the brim with beads and findings and fabric swatches and sewing widgets and books, I spent a good couple of hours sifting through one of Gram's old tackle boxes, filled with semi-sorted beads of all types. And what a great way to spend a Sunday night, so close to Zen. Shall I sort by color? Size? Shape? Material? Ultimately I stuck with the system Grandma had already started and went by color, moving the groupings from their little plastic cells into the small clear zipper bags that I prefer (a fistful of which she had also sent home with me).

As a rule, I don't feel connected to much. I don't think, in my life, I've ever really understood the concept of home. On those rare occasions when I can talk to my grandma, though, in a room full of people who are related to all of us, and we can speak in words and terms and concepts that no one else really seems to understand (or care to), I get a little bit of a notion of what it's like to "belong" to something. And when she tells me that I'm a good granddaughter -- which I'm not -- and that she's proud of me -- which I have no reason to disbelieve, but still manage to -- I kind of get that this is what it feels like to be loved.

Anyway. One of the things Grandma gave me was a cha-cha bracelet blank. I was surprised she had one at all; it just seemed anachronistically modern, especially when I thought of the one bracelet I've made with the same blank. She, of course, said, "Take it, take it!" I tried describing to her the version I made, a few years ago now, and she just made faces at me.

What can I say. Of all the things I inherited from the Taylor bloodline, my fascination with skulls was apparently not among them.

A moment.

I had a long walk through my neighborhood tonight, under the threat of very large and flashing storm clouds. I knew there was a high chance that I'd wind up under a downpour, but it seemed worth it to meander through the cool but heavy darkness, surrounded by the flicker of fireflies and the booms of toads. I never exactly forget how beautiful my neighborhood is, but there are definitely times I ... feel it more than others. Those times when I'm a little awed that this is my neighborhood. I live here. I made this happen. It makes me simultaneously proud and lonely in a way I can't describe.

After (silently but literally) counting off the 150 paces from my driveway entrance to my doorstep, I made straight for my bath without turning on any lights. When I started the water, I realized it was probably going to be a long one, so I launched a playlist I hadn't listened to in a long while. I settled in and, thanks to the iPhone Remote application, kept a casual eye on what was playing. You know it's a good playlist when every song makes you think "ooh I should play this whole album. I'll wait to see what's next. Ooh I should play this whole album!"

I was several songs in when a long, low intro started to spool out. I knew it was something I liked, something I hadn't heard in a long time. The very moment my mind was grasping the tune -- "Tinseltown in the Rain" by the Blue Nile -- fat raindrops started plinking down on the metal awning over my back porch, next to my open bathroom window, as if the word "rain" in my head had invoked the waiting shower. I laughed, really taken by the moment in a rare and wonderful way.

Blueberry Bomb, or Why I Didn't Miss My Prom

On Saturday, my friend Michelle threw a 1980s prom at Small's. It was a star-studded, gala affair. Well, some of us were more gala than others.

I'm always up for a good costuming, but believe it or not, I did NOT make myself a full formal in the 24 hours leading up to the big dance. I managed to find a choice number at a local resale store -- bright blue, floor-length, puff sleeves, sweetheart neckline, that weird pointy-bottom bodice... A true relic. With the addition of a 20-foot long strand of faux pearls (yes, literally 20 feet; I know because I strung the whole damned thing), I was a thing to behold -- a Disney Princess, as Michelle described, only perhaps slightly debauched.

It's funny how much dressing out of one's norm can alter one's behavior. Normally I don't dance. Normally. But the combination of bubblegum music, vodka and irony was overwhelming to all but the most stoic. There was much joyful jumping about. And sweating. Ohhh the polyester.

Very near the end of the night, a couple of friends and I decided to hit last call at another joint nearby -- a joint that just happens to be a fairly scruffy gay bar on Michigan Ave. As our contingent included me in all my melting blueberry glory, our glittering prom queen (who incidentally was a 6-foot man in drag) and a former-Marine on a half-pint of absinthe, who could imagine a better place?

I'm not sure I was the only woman there (probably), but I was certainly the most visible. Right away I found myself in conversation with a couple of young men who were quite envious of my finery. "THAT is what I need for OUR prom!" one fella told me.

"Oh I think you'd look smashing in it!" I told him. And after a quick sizing by eye, refined by years of resale (no fitting room) shopping, I made him the offer. "In fact, I'll trade you for it."

"Trade me what?"

"Your clothes!"

"You wanna trade me outfits? Really? Where? How would we do that? When?"

"Oh come on, there's a bathroom here..."

So off we traipsed. In exchange for my only slight beer-soaked poofy wonder, I received an old t-shirt and paint-spattered cargo shorts. Oh, and a belt that looked like it had been used to pull a trailer. "I think I got the better end of this deal!" he said. "Well, obviously!" I responded. And it was totally worth it.

I didn't get a picture of myself in the dress -- I always forget to do that. However, I think this photo is even more precious... and sums the night up quite nicely.