material girl

these are my new comfy Do Everything work clothes. they've been worn trekking to the subway five o'clock in the morning, at the ballet barre five o'clock at night, and the home bar straight after. happy work, all, deserving of something more than beat up jeans and pilly yoga pants.

although i already had leggings on the brain, i must place the 80s vibe of said leggings squarely on the shoulders of mood. hits from that pop-piest of eras were blasting the day i strolled in, and i gave in completely to the invitations from a-ha! and duran duran. there was no other choice. the object of my desire was a pair of forever 21 ikat leggings, bought years ago before they were trendy (i have a knack for picking up the one non-trendy thing in stores before it is trendy. TASTEMAKER WALKING, YO). but screw shopping for RTW. i had the maniacal serger and a city block worth of jersey, what was stopping me from knocking them off?

elastic, mostly. the f21 leggings had the usual band of elastic 'round the waist, producing the ever pleasing muffintop effect we women love so dearly. good lord. more on that later. i consoled myself with the inevitably lumpy result by picking out three of the craziest prints i could find, with the invaluable help of my good friend marlon, a gent who works (quite hard, i might add) in stock. it was hotter than a bananarama summer in the joint, the sheer amount of shoppers increasing the degrees, but marlon was happy to wrangle bolt upon bolt of goodness down while waiting for a free cutting crew. marlon, i said, so my idea is to photoshop myself in five pairs of leggings like I'm hanging out with myself, punctuating my words with a doofy pose here and there. he gave me a fist bump and we were off.

we were having a hard time finding five patterns that wanted to play in the same photoshoot, stalling at three. marlon! i yelled, the tunes sinking ever deeper into my brain, i need a flashdance sweatshirt to tie it all together! he nodded solemnly. yes. yes you DO. Magic Marlon deposited the bolts on a cutting table and we marched up to knits. the obvious and immediate choice was this grey sweatshirt knit complete with purple sparkle sheen. i'm sorry eighties throwback, did you just hop into a deLorean and pop into existence while we were in jerseys? i think you did.

as marlon bid me adieu and left me in the capable hands of michael, we discussed the tunes. you should be here when the Snoop Dogg / NWA station is on, michael breathed, not without some horror. i raised my eyebrows. for real? uncensored? i wonder what I'd gravitate to in that scenario....

while we're on the subject of horror, hell, while we're on the subject of the Doggfather, can we talk about the booty on the ikat pair? not my best pattern placement. the front, she is not much better:

EGADS. long slouchy sweater on this pair.

returning home with my bounty, i didn't give myself time to think, i just laid my RTW leggings down on a piece of paper and traced my one (ONE! HALLELUJAH FOR LEGGINGS!) pattern piece. it took a muslin to get the waist height right, and by "muslin" i mean the red and blue pair. my neverending refusal to do the safety dance that is a toile actually helped me in this case: i had to finish the pair, as it was part of the project. but the waist was too low, and my overflowing stash of elastic apparently existed only in my brain...so i used the excess yardage to create a tall fold over band, thinking it would make them somewhat wearable...

and holy animotion! a comfy waistband! WITH NO MUFFINTOP!! my obsession growing, i lunged for the rest of the jersey and finished all three pairs in mere hours. the midnight oil was already burning, no bed in sight for me, so i grabbed an RTW sweatshirt, traced that too, and clacked away on the serger.

i've worn the animal printish pair so much i'm in danger of becoming a one hit wonder. the costume department at work is in love with them, especially the waistband, and i'm actually going to attempt to make some for them. GET ME. i can see sewing for others in jersey, it's just so easy. (she said blithely. don't you be asking me for no leggings, Hot Mama. oh all right but you have to give me your hip measurement.)

have you worked with jersey? how do you feel about the stuff? if you haven't yet, run, don't walk, yah mo be there for you, this wonder stuff is nothing to be afraid of. it is the don henley of fabrics giving you forgiveness all OVER the place.

this romp through the 80s was made using my monthly fabric "allowance" as part of the Mood Sewing Network.

three dimensions

 

i fell asleep last night thinking about texture. the dress languishing in pieces on my ironing board ordered me to go to bed: oona, don't COMPLETELY ruin me, at this point you've emerged victorious. quit while you're ahead. tomorrow is another day. insert more cliched phrases here, but really, just go your ass to sleep.

Rational Dress was right, i had done an ABYSMAL job of pattern placement, and all the best parts of her print were lost in the remnants or on the back. not that folks don't get a kick outta gazing at le boo-tay, but i would have liked some orange and purple sharing the wealth between face and behind. but! i had an a-ha moment and started some fancy (cotes du rhone) cutting, layering some texture on the neckline. it reminded me just how much i love texture, and how little i use it in sewing.

 

 

these shots were taken in seattle's sculpture park. for real, i saw inspiration everywhere i walked in that sunny town. ruggy has learned not to give me the side eye when i'm taking twelve macro shots of a panel of rust, god, yoda and yaweh bless 'im. often, i will exclaim I WANT TO SEW THAT!!! while my man nods calmly and whatever friends we might happen to be with step quietly and carefully away, eyes widening as i take it down to a dull roar iwanttosewthatiwanttosewthatiwanttosewthat...

 

but, i can't say that i do sew that. i'm inspired by craggy textures and mossy growths and sweeping architecture, stuff that physically reaches out to you, but i think my makes are mostly one dimensional. i'd like to get more 3-D with it. make a dress that one requires special glasses for (besides the mandatory cocktail glass). tasia's latest jacket and the peplum craze come to mind, both beauties i'd like to try.

 

 
as for Rational Dress, we went for round two today. she may tell me it's time for bed again soon.
 
do you sew dimensionally?
 

that's not a star, that's a satellite

 

ruggy told me to be ready to leave by 5:45 last evening. destination unclear. on such occassions i am instructed only on dress and departure. we got on a subway and then a bus across the river, separated by an aisle on the second leg of our trip. i tried to tune in to the general noise of the bus, rather than a specific conversation: are you checking in?-- i hope we hear that-- i want some cornbread--. at various points, i thought we were going to 1) a college basketball game. 2) a wine expo. 3) neil diamond. but then, as we pulled up to the izod center, i heard a piercing soprano tone in the back pipe out so how many daves does this make for you?

 

WE'RE GOING TO SEE DAVE MATTHEWS i yelled smiling across the aisle. my knight grinned.

 

we watched a sixty-four year old jimmy cliff roundhouse kick and stomp and spin his way though an amazing opening set, over hot dogs and dave matthews' wine. (no, seriously. dreaming tree wines. click on the link to be whisked to an appropriately dreamy shot of dave enjoying a bottle in the backyard of the vineyard. i'd like to be in that picture, i breathed just moments ago. ruggy shook his head. yeeeeeaaaaah, i think i'd lose that battle. no, ruggy. no you would not. not for all the dave in china.) our reggae enjoyment was only marred once, as i stopped to lean back and chastise the extremely drunk couple just arriving behind us please baby PLEASE i'm begging you i love ya lemme hear the song. the smoke piled higher as dave and crew took the stage.

 

the thing that i love most about dave matthews: he sings like he's going to die. DIE RIGHT HERE AND NOW. he is actually going to pass out, keel over, expire from a consuming desire for whatever he is singing about. that subject is often a woman. as a member of that gender, i'm all for it. to me, there are a handful of people who sing that way: ray lamontagne, otis redding, thom yorke, john legend, bjork (though her subjects of passion are varied as the fabrics at mood). i simply cannot get enough of that kind of singing. can you call it singing? it's closer to wailing. not that riffalata wailing that drives me screaming for the eject button-- a wail that comes straight from the center of your body and shreds you and everyone lucky enough to be in earshot.

 

near the end of the concert, the band (who had jammed for over three hours) quieted, as he breathed one line again and again: that's not a star, that's a saaaaaatellite, a soft smile on his face. and although my lungs were pretty full up from the general exhaling of the surrounding vicinity, my heart was clear and happy.