greenstorm (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenstorm) wrote2022-11-28 08:21 am
greenstorm) wrote2022-11-28 08:21 am
The art in crafts
So. Sewing and aesthetics.
If you knew me in my teens through early thirties I suspect my current sewing list would be surprising. I bought very little clothing new at that time. For awhile I had a work uniform. Every summer at the folk fest I'd dive into the pile of $10 silky wrap skirts and recycled sari dresses and get at least one or two. I sewed some. Interesting and lovely clothing still came to me, frequently gifted or swapped. I braved thrift stores sometimes but they tended to make me woozy and sick; I now understand why. I did sewing, but mostly alterations: cut off these black army pants to make a skirt, add a ruffle of silk brocade to this other pair of pants, honestly I can't remember a lot of it now.
Each piece of clothing I owned had a story and I celebrated it in curation of outfits. My collection was eclectic so for me the joy was in curation, in figuring out how to make the orange-and-green corset play nicely with the army pants or the silk skirts look like they fit with a long sweater and the men's undershirts that actually fit around my arms. I say joy, and sometimes it was that, but it was also always a challenge. I worked in uniform and that was given to me by my company, but when I had to do something in a role I had to work pretty hard to draw from my collection in a way that would let people take me seriously.
I remember one partner was thrilled and also shocked when I folded a silk scarf into a triangle and wore it as a top to his Christmas dinner with a couple sweaters, but, I didn't have a nice top to wear to that kind of thing. It complicated things to have a bunch of clothing sensory issues but not as much as you'd think; my outfits were already pretty eccentric so it was just another parameter to work with.
This background is probably why I don't think of making clothing as an art. That is to say, I see people make amazing things and I revel in seeing those, but for me a piece of clothing is just a building block. The outfit is the art. And when I feel like it I can mostly make that art out of anything.
...anything except what I've had lately, which is buying several pairs of the same pants, and several of the same shirt, every couple years, in one or two colours. Plus apparently buying a round of fun printed tees every seven years or so. Layering several of the exact same garment doesn't do much for comfort or for fashion. It's harder to do my old style of dressing in the north, too, where basically shredded clothing at the end of its life was a fashion statement that let a lot of cold air in, and bits safety pinned on or huge and hanging open didn't add too much to the warmth. Everything needs underlayers, and I need non-constraining underlayers.
I approached the sew from a utilitarian place but now my aesthetic sense is kicking in. A lot of the cheapest seconds fabrics I got were military surplus stuff, so it's in shades of khaki and olive and that family of greens and midbrowns and brown-greys with some navy thrown in. There are a couple different camos. I tend to buy everything in green, brown, and mid-to-dark blues anyhow since then it all matches; I have several shades and textures in that family to work with. I added a couple pieces that seemed like they'd get along: a deep dark rusty pink, a rose brown, a couple of mixed-colour fancy prints in stretch fabric for waistbands. I'm waiting for a sale or second on some safety orange. I got one sky-blue piece, in a pretty stain-resistant fabric. I stayed away from black; it shows cat hair and breaks the woodsy feel I like best. It's pretty fair to say that most of these fabrics will match most of the rest of them, and I like having several colours in the same family layered on me.
So I'm pretty happy with the colour, and with having a pool of different colours to draw from when dressing in the future.
But. Given that all the colours are acceptable (I skipped the reds, magentas and yellows even when they were on sale)--
I am thrilled with the textures. These are technical fabrics so the textures are functional, there to serve a purpose. But. There are so many textures. I can make clothes to layer, carefully and non-constrictingly. I can add a different texture to a waistband or a cuff. I can take something fluffy and put a deeply utilitarian smooth yoke over the shoulder and patch on the elbow and forearm. I can have a base layer in one texture, an open zip-front in another, a neck tube and fingerless gloves in two more and maybe even different cuffs on the outer layer or, if it's really cold, on a third. I can have slightly shiny slouchy drapey or crisp pants, a matte-but-patterned waistband, and a form-fitting slightly-stripey shirt with a poofy sweater or neck poof.
I am not at all describing this well but I'm starting to be excited about it. I know enough that I don't entirely need to clone one or two shirts and one or two pants in all fabrics. I can vary lengths, necklines, front openings, snugness (as long as nothing is too snug) to make myself a palette. Everything from that palette should mostly work with itself if I don't want to think about it, but it should allow me to have fun getting dressed again.
There's a pale olive green fabric that has a foofy grid pattern on the inside. The outside is slightly shiny and shows a raised subtle square texture through from the inner grid. It's super drapey and stretchy and moves water before you know it's there.
There's a deep olive fabric that is so fluffy and fleecy that it's basically fun fur. I worry it's not super practical here because it'll pick up straw, but I need to use it carefully with smoother fabrics overtop when I'm outdoors.
There's a smooth-but-not-shiny sweatshirt stiff-ish material in a deep teal, and a similar bluer very drapey, subtly sweater-knit breathtakingly soft fabric.
There's a plump smoke-warm-grey fleece, fluffy on the inside but very smooth on the outside, with practically no texture at all. It's very stretchy and deeply water resistant.
There's a stretchy navy blue jersey, a thinner fabric that pours over any curve and bounces to the ground. It moves water and, unlike so many of these synthetics, doesn't turn its wearer into a human torch at bonfires.
There are two different kinds of what they call fabric, but which appears to be a casual gathering of lightweight poof, of down or underfur that is so light it can't possibly be woven into a fabric but just happens to have alighted there all at the same time. Both are mildly stretchy. One is grey-blue with wool in it and must never be worn in the house without a straw-resistant layer but will make fabulous work clothing for when I need to sit in that cold office since it's designed for packable warmth; the other is a sandy tan colour and was designed to keep soldiers in Afghanistan from overheating during heavy physical work and then developing hypothermia from their own sweat at night. A neck tube made from it lets breath through without capturing the moisture at all and it is delightfully fuzzy.
My stretchy fancy waistband fabrics are mostly matte, the prints picking up as many colours as possible so I can pop them on any pair of pants as a waistband or every sweatshirt as cuffs and collar without worrying. One is pinks, mild blues, and tans in paisley print. One is swirls of tan, blue, green, and a little pink that look like they were dropped into water and spread in roundish swirls. The third is what you get when you dry-brush stipple blues, pinks, greens, and a hint of tans together.
There is a slightly-smoother-than-classic polar fleece, they call this velour face but it's a little denser than what I think of as velour. It's plush and very, very matte. I have a touch of navy fabric, some deeper ivy green, and a piece of this in that pinky rust colour.
There's just a touch of a very smooth stretchy material with a slight sheen, it's in a pinky-purply grey and a brownish pink and it rejects static electricity even with no humidity and tumbled in a dryer with a ton of plastic clothing.
There are two woven fabrics that look like classic workpants, one with a slightly stippled surface texture and the other with a subtle twill weave. The patterning on fabric like this is very subtle but it's definitely different than a totally smooth surface. These fabrics hold their lines more crisply and they will resist water, cat hair, and straw as an outer layer.
There's a light windbreaker-style fabric with a bit of woven texture on it. It's crisp, excellent as an outer layer or as a rub layer on shoulders and elbows, and spans a couple colours from tan, midblue, and pale green to an experimental orangey-pink.
There's a bit of a slightly-lighter-than-midbrown ("coyote") relatively stiff but stretchy fleece with an outer face that looks like it has strands of thread running in a grid pattern across it, and is waterproof breathable.
There's a ton of a dark green-black watercolour camo fairly stretchy, water resistant, very lightweight fleecy windproof fabric with a just off-matte ripstop grid on the outside.
And then finally I have a bit of a deep bright blue softshell that could make a jacket, pants, or two vests and sit on top of everything else as a very very smooth but substantial pop of colour.
If you knew me in my teens through early thirties I suspect my current sewing list would be surprising. I bought very little clothing new at that time. For awhile I had a work uniform. Every summer at the folk fest I'd dive into the pile of $10 silky wrap skirts and recycled sari dresses and get at least one or two. I sewed some. Interesting and lovely clothing still came to me, frequently gifted or swapped. I braved thrift stores sometimes but they tended to make me woozy and sick; I now understand why. I did sewing, but mostly alterations: cut off these black army pants to make a skirt, add a ruffle of silk brocade to this other pair of pants, honestly I can't remember a lot of it now.
Each piece of clothing I owned had a story and I celebrated it in curation of outfits. My collection was eclectic so for me the joy was in curation, in figuring out how to make the orange-and-green corset play nicely with the army pants or the silk skirts look like they fit with a long sweater and the men's undershirts that actually fit around my arms. I say joy, and sometimes it was that, but it was also always a challenge. I worked in uniform and that was given to me by my company, but when I had to do something in a role I had to work pretty hard to draw from my collection in a way that would let people take me seriously.
I remember one partner was thrilled and also shocked when I folded a silk scarf into a triangle and wore it as a top to his Christmas dinner with a couple sweaters, but, I didn't have a nice top to wear to that kind of thing. It complicated things to have a bunch of clothing sensory issues but not as much as you'd think; my outfits were already pretty eccentric so it was just another parameter to work with.
This background is probably why I don't think of making clothing as an art. That is to say, I see people make amazing things and I revel in seeing those, but for me a piece of clothing is just a building block. The outfit is the art. And when I feel like it I can mostly make that art out of anything.
...anything except what I've had lately, which is buying several pairs of the same pants, and several of the same shirt, every couple years, in one or two colours. Plus apparently buying a round of fun printed tees every seven years or so. Layering several of the exact same garment doesn't do much for comfort or for fashion. It's harder to do my old style of dressing in the north, too, where basically shredded clothing at the end of its life was a fashion statement that let a lot of cold air in, and bits safety pinned on or huge and hanging open didn't add too much to the warmth. Everything needs underlayers, and I need non-constraining underlayers.
I approached the sew from a utilitarian place but now my aesthetic sense is kicking in. A lot of the cheapest seconds fabrics I got were military surplus stuff, so it's in shades of khaki and olive and that family of greens and midbrowns and brown-greys with some navy thrown in. There are a couple different camos. I tend to buy everything in green, brown, and mid-to-dark blues anyhow since then it all matches; I have several shades and textures in that family to work with. I added a couple pieces that seemed like they'd get along: a deep dark rusty pink, a rose brown, a couple of mixed-colour fancy prints in stretch fabric for waistbands. I'm waiting for a sale or second on some safety orange. I got one sky-blue piece, in a pretty stain-resistant fabric. I stayed away from black; it shows cat hair and breaks the woodsy feel I like best. It's pretty fair to say that most of these fabrics will match most of the rest of them, and I like having several colours in the same family layered on me.
So I'm pretty happy with the colour, and with having a pool of different colours to draw from when dressing in the future.
But. Given that all the colours are acceptable (I skipped the reds, magentas and yellows even when they were on sale)--
I am thrilled with the textures. These are technical fabrics so the textures are functional, there to serve a purpose. But. There are so many textures. I can make clothes to layer, carefully and non-constrictingly. I can add a different texture to a waistband or a cuff. I can take something fluffy and put a deeply utilitarian smooth yoke over the shoulder and patch on the elbow and forearm. I can have a base layer in one texture, an open zip-front in another, a neck tube and fingerless gloves in two more and maybe even different cuffs on the outer layer or, if it's really cold, on a third. I can have slightly shiny slouchy drapey or crisp pants, a matte-but-patterned waistband, and a form-fitting slightly-stripey shirt with a poofy sweater or neck poof.
I am not at all describing this well but I'm starting to be excited about it. I know enough that I don't entirely need to clone one or two shirts and one or two pants in all fabrics. I can vary lengths, necklines, front openings, snugness (as long as nothing is too snug) to make myself a palette. Everything from that palette should mostly work with itself if I don't want to think about it, but it should allow me to have fun getting dressed again.
There's a pale olive green fabric that has a foofy grid pattern on the inside. The outside is slightly shiny and shows a raised subtle square texture through from the inner grid. It's super drapey and stretchy and moves water before you know it's there.
There's a deep olive fabric that is so fluffy and fleecy that it's basically fun fur. I worry it's not super practical here because it'll pick up straw, but I need to use it carefully with smoother fabrics overtop when I'm outdoors.
There's a smooth-but-not-shiny sweatshirt stiff-ish material in a deep teal, and a similar bluer very drapey, subtly sweater-knit breathtakingly soft fabric.
There's a plump smoke-warm-grey fleece, fluffy on the inside but very smooth on the outside, with practically no texture at all. It's very stretchy and deeply water resistant.
There's a stretchy navy blue jersey, a thinner fabric that pours over any curve and bounces to the ground. It moves water and, unlike so many of these synthetics, doesn't turn its wearer into a human torch at bonfires.
There are two different kinds of what they call fabric, but which appears to be a casual gathering of lightweight poof, of down or underfur that is so light it can't possibly be woven into a fabric but just happens to have alighted there all at the same time. Both are mildly stretchy. One is grey-blue with wool in it and must never be worn in the house without a straw-resistant layer but will make fabulous work clothing for when I need to sit in that cold office since it's designed for packable warmth; the other is a sandy tan colour and was designed to keep soldiers in Afghanistan from overheating during heavy physical work and then developing hypothermia from their own sweat at night. A neck tube made from it lets breath through without capturing the moisture at all and it is delightfully fuzzy.
My stretchy fancy waistband fabrics are mostly matte, the prints picking up as many colours as possible so I can pop them on any pair of pants as a waistband or every sweatshirt as cuffs and collar without worrying. One is pinks, mild blues, and tans in paisley print. One is swirls of tan, blue, green, and a little pink that look like they were dropped into water and spread in roundish swirls. The third is what you get when you dry-brush stipple blues, pinks, greens, and a hint of tans together.
There is a slightly-smoother-than-classic polar fleece, they call this velour face but it's a little denser than what I think of as velour. It's plush and very, very matte. I have a touch of navy fabric, some deeper ivy green, and a piece of this in that pinky rust colour.
There's just a touch of a very smooth stretchy material with a slight sheen, it's in a pinky-purply grey and a brownish pink and it rejects static electricity even with no humidity and tumbled in a dryer with a ton of plastic clothing.
There are two woven fabrics that look like classic workpants, one with a slightly stippled surface texture and the other with a subtle twill weave. The patterning on fabric like this is very subtle but it's definitely different than a totally smooth surface. These fabrics hold their lines more crisply and they will resist water, cat hair, and straw as an outer layer.
There's a light windbreaker-style fabric with a bit of woven texture on it. It's crisp, excellent as an outer layer or as a rub layer on shoulders and elbows, and spans a couple colours from tan, midblue, and pale green to an experimental orangey-pink.
There's a bit of a slightly-lighter-than-midbrown ("coyote") relatively stiff but stretchy fleece with an outer face that looks like it has strands of thread running in a grid pattern across it, and is waterproof breathable.
There's a ton of a dark green-black watercolour camo fairly stretchy, water resistant, very lightweight fleecy windproof fabric with a just off-matte ripstop grid on the outside.
And then finally I have a bit of a deep bright blue softshell that could make a jacket, pants, or two vests and sit on top of everything else as a very very smooth but substantial pop of colour.