One of the things the fierce and formidable women of yesteryear knew how to do was sew.
My mother was a master seamstress who taught me basic sewing skills as a child. I wish I had learned more. I am working on an essay about some of my fondest childhood memories, sitting and sewing with my mother.
It took me many years to come back to sewing; not surprisingly my inspiration came from literature, and the wonderful Lucia Sartori, fashion apprentice at B. Altman, in Adriana Trigiani’s, Lucia, Lucia.
It began with a purchase of some beautiful straight pins that came in a box. I had no idea where I was going with this as I didn’t even own a sewing machine and had to borrow one from my daughter, who wasn’t using hers. Several years and many missteps later, I am the proud owner of a sewing machine I love dearly and have created a mock-up practice, where I buy a basic pattern and cut and sew the garment from muslin. If there is one thing my mother would have scorned, it would be the waste of good fabric. So, far, I’ve made a circle skirt and a simple dress. I tried a Vintage Vogue 1950s dress, which was something of a disaster. Story for another day.
Recently I’ve learned to make masks, from a pattern in The New York Times. Luckily I had tons of muslin that I was going to make a mock ball gown with for a fancy affair this spring. Needless to say, that got cancelled.
The act of sewing, whether by hand or machine is grounding. I have to focus, otherwise mistakes will be made. It is also soothing. There is nothing I find more comforting than a Sunday afternoon, getting lost in the world of tissue paper patterns, bobbins and spools of thread. And I love the sound of scissors cutting across a table.