sewing lessons
Mar. 12th, 2007 05:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7So, because I had all this spare time just kicking around, you know, and nothing to do, and all that (heh heh), I decided to learn to sew.
For reals this time.
With semi-professional (retired) help.
Now, a few weeks ago, Z and his mom and I were over at his aunt's house [I'll call her Auntie, this being the Internet, but that's not at all how anyone calls her], and got talking about sewing. (Actually I think it was that Z's cousin was in town, and had asked Z's mom's help on a sewing project. Yes, that's what it was.) And I said, "I want to learn to sew, I just don't know where to start." And Z's aunt said, "I would not mind teaching you."
And I, unlike my usual reaction of "Gosh that would be nice," followed by never doing anything about it, actually took her up on it. And so I went over there this morning, carrying a pattern and some fabric I bought over a year ago, and said, "Ok, where do I start?"
Auntie, for reference, is in her sixties, was born in Latvia [and, fascinatingly, remembers her family's flight from the Soviets after WWII, remembers coming to the US, and still has an active social life among the Latvian community here {she is the youngest by far of the first generation} and also corresponds with her relatives back in the old country], and has worked in a number of jobs, including at Jo-Ann Fabrics. One of her major pastimes now is quilting, and she does a great deal of quilting work both for charity and for art auctions. She is both creative and thrifty in her craft. For example one of her most fascinating pieces was done on a scrap bit of batting that she had salvaged from a fabric store-- this piece of batting had been the tester that people had used to try out an elaborate embroidery machine, and so it was covered in swirls and stars and people's names. Auntie cleverly noted the differing textures of the pattern, and adapted it into the background of a quilt consisting of a tree by the side of water, and above the water's surface line she quilted in scraps of fabric to look like birds, while below she quilted in fish she had cut out from patterned fabric.
The description doesn't do it justice: it was not hokey or cutesy or crafty, but truly stunningly clever.
Today across her sewing-room floor, shoved to one side so we could work at the sewing machine, there was a long panoramic wall quilt made from vibrantly-colored rectangles pieced together in a sort of spectrum. Along the bottom she had tacked down what I realized, after squinting for a moment, was a horizon line, with gradually-rising mountains coming up to the right. To the left, the pieces were oranger; to the right, bluer. "Is it a sunset?" I asked in a moment.
"Oh good," she said, "you could tell," and pointed to the reference photo she had been using: a pair of pictures printed off from a computer, taped together. "It's the view from [Z's sister]'s west windows at sunset. But I think it's too orange, so I might have to rip it out."
"I think it's beautiful," I said, a little stunned.
"The difficulty," she mused, "lies in making God's sky from man's fabric."
So we spent seven hours on this "easy" pattern that I brought over (in fact this one), and I learned how to lay out a pattern on fabric, how to properly pin it to cut it out, how to cut holes to mark darts, how to sew darts, how to hand-baste something, how to easily put a knot in thread for hand-sewing (this was a major thing for me, as I've always had such trouble tying off ends), how to sew a straight seam on the sewing machine, and the such.
Of course the "easy" pattern needed heavy alterations: it's for a cute summery top with a fitted bodice, an empire waist, and a flowy low-hip-length skirty part, and if it was going to fit in the bust, well... We had to add two inches vertically to the front, which involved slicing the front pattern piece and taping in a two-inch segment, and redrawing the bust dart. And then we had to put in a second dart between the underarm and breast, which took in a good inch and a half of fabric at its widest point. "I don't know," Auntie said, "how anyone can expect anything to fit with just one underbust dart. Even a small-busted woman-- you buy these 'tailored' garments in the store, and they're just flat at that side seam, and it doesn't look good on anyone."
At least the back panel didn't need alterations. Except it did-- it was an inch or so too low under the arm, so I had to redraw that part of the pattern. We made a muslin for the back panel just to see how it would fit, as there is a pattern we wanted to match, and if we'd cut the back from the fabric, we'd've run out of the pattern. (There was a heavy band across one end of the pattern, which we've made into a band that goes around the fullest part of the bust. It looks better than it sounds.)
But the garment isn't finished: it's meant to be self-lined, but the fabric I bought has embroidery in it and so would be too irregular as a lining. Also the alterations we've done to the bust and underarm areas mean that the pattern won't work as a liner for itself, so we're going to have to draw a pattern separately for the lining-- having two layers of heavy darts would be far too bulky. We might just put in facings instead.
So much for "easy".
It feels like I should've been able to figure all that out on my own, but I know I couldn't have. I would never have known to baste the bust darts in for the first try-on before pinning it to determine their final position, for example. And little things, like when Auntie pointed at the underarm as I was pinning the back down to cut the piece out from the real fabric, and said, "Add an inch and a quarter here," and I measured from her finger to the pattern and determined that she'd gestured at precisely an inch and a quarter.
Also things like drawing on the fabric with soap. She had some fancy disappearing marker she'd bought for quilting, but I couldn't see the marks it made on the dark, patterned fabric. Her mother always used soap, and I found it much more effective-- also, if you mark something and then on your second measurement notice you marked it in the wrong place, you can erase the soap marking with your thumbnail and not get confused. Soap comes off if you handle it much, but I need to make notes for myself constantly, which I will erase as soon as that very simple step is over, so it worked perfectly for me.
It's too bad Z has become so picky about his soap and won't use anything but all-natural, somewhat-expensive-and-kind-of-soft soap now. I'm going to have to buy some Ivory soap and sharpen it into crayons myself.
I don't feel silly making it myself rather than buying a ready-made one, even though this "easy" top will probably take me ten hours [and if you figure I'm worth at least $7/hr, that's a $70 top, completely ignoring that two people worked on it and the pattern cost $5 and the material cost $15], because a store-bought one would either hang down to my waist at the armholes, or have the waist seam directly across my boobs.
Anyhow, I learned a lot today and it was nicer than sitting around the house thinking of how terrible everything is.
I'll totally post pics once all is done, but I don't have anything to show for my efforts yet. Next Monday maybe.
For reals this time.
With semi-professional (retired) help.
Now, a few weeks ago, Z and his mom and I were over at his aunt's house [I'll call her Auntie, this being the Internet, but that's not at all how anyone calls her], and got talking about sewing. (Actually I think it was that Z's cousin was in town, and had asked Z's mom's help on a sewing project. Yes, that's what it was.) And I said, "I want to learn to sew, I just don't know where to start." And Z's aunt said, "I would not mind teaching you."
And I, unlike my usual reaction of "Gosh that would be nice," followed by never doing anything about it, actually took her up on it. And so I went over there this morning, carrying a pattern and some fabric I bought over a year ago, and said, "Ok, where do I start?"
Auntie, for reference, is in her sixties, was born in Latvia [and, fascinatingly, remembers her family's flight from the Soviets after WWII, remembers coming to the US, and still has an active social life among the Latvian community here {she is the youngest by far of the first generation} and also corresponds with her relatives back in the old country], and has worked in a number of jobs, including at Jo-Ann Fabrics. One of her major pastimes now is quilting, and she does a great deal of quilting work both for charity and for art auctions. She is both creative and thrifty in her craft. For example one of her most fascinating pieces was done on a scrap bit of batting that she had salvaged from a fabric store-- this piece of batting had been the tester that people had used to try out an elaborate embroidery machine, and so it was covered in swirls and stars and people's names. Auntie cleverly noted the differing textures of the pattern, and adapted it into the background of a quilt consisting of a tree by the side of water, and above the water's surface line she quilted in scraps of fabric to look like birds, while below she quilted in fish she had cut out from patterned fabric.
The description doesn't do it justice: it was not hokey or cutesy or crafty, but truly stunningly clever.
Today across her sewing-room floor, shoved to one side so we could work at the sewing machine, there was a long panoramic wall quilt made from vibrantly-colored rectangles pieced together in a sort of spectrum. Along the bottom she had tacked down what I realized, after squinting for a moment, was a horizon line, with gradually-rising mountains coming up to the right. To the left, the pieces were oranger; to the right, bluer. "Is it a sunset?" I asked in a moment.
"Oh good," she said, "you could tell," and pointed to the reference photo she had been using: a pair of pictures printed off from a computer, taped together. "It's the view from [Z's sister]'s west windows at sunset. But I think it's too orange, so I might have to rip it out."
"I think it's beautiful," I said, a little stunned.
"The difficulty," she mused, "lies in making God's sky from man's fabric."
So we spent seven hours on this "easy" pattern that I brought over (in fact this one), and I learned how to lay out a pattern on fabric, how to properly pin it to cut it out, how to cut holes to mark darts, how to sew darts, how to hand-baste something, how to easily put a knot in thread for hand-sewing (this was a major thing for me, as I've always had such trouble tying off ends), how to sew a straight seam on the sewing machine, and the such.
Of course the "easy" pattern needed heavy alterations: it's for a cute summery top with a fitted bodice, an empire waist, and a flowy low-hip-length skirty part, and if it was going to fit in the bust, well... We had to add two inches vertically to the front, which involved slicing the front pattern piece and taping in a two-inch segment, and redrawing the bust dart. And then we had to put in a second dart between the underarm and breast, which took in a good inch and a half of fabric at its widest point. "I don't know," Auntie said, "how anyone can expect anything to fit with just one underbust dart. Even a small-busted woman-- you buy these 'tailored' garments in the store, and they're just flat at that side seam, and it doesn't look good on anyone."
At least the back panel didn't need alterations. Except it did-- it was an inch or so too low under the arm, so I had to redraw that part of the pattern. We made a muslin for the back panel just to see how it would fit, as there is a pattern we wanted to match, and if we'd cut the back from the fabric, we'd've run out of the pattern. (There was a heavy band across one end of the pattern, which we've made into a band that goes around the fullest part of the bust. It looks better than it sounds.)
But the garment isn't finished: it's meant to be self-lined, but the fabric I bought has embroidery in it and so would be too irregular as a lining. Also the alterations we've done to the bust and underarm areas mean that the pattern won't work as a liner for itself, so we're going to have to draw a pattern separately for the lining-- having two layers of heavy darts would be far too bulky. We might just put in facings instead.
So much for "easy".
It feels like I should've been able to figure all that out on my own, but I know I couldn't have. I would never have known to baste the bust darts in for the first try-on before pinning it to determine their final position, for example. And little things, like when Auntie pointed at the underarm as I was pinning the back down to cut the piece out from the real fabric, and said, "Add an inch and a quarter here," and I measured from her finger to the pattern and determined that she'd gestured at precisely an inch and a quarter.
Also things like drawing on the fabric with soap. She had some fancy disappearing marker she'd bought for quilting, but I couldn't see the marks it made on the dark, patterned fabric. Her mother always used soap, and I found it much more effective-- also, if you mark something and then on your second measurement notice you marked it in the wrong place, you can erase the soap marking with your thumbnail and not get confused. Soap comes off if you handle it much, but I need to make notes for myself constantly, which I will erase as soon as that very simple step is over, so it worked perfectly for me.
It's too bad Z has become so picky about his soap and won't use anything but all-natural, somewhat-expensive-and-kind-of-soft soap now. I'm going to have to buy some Ivory soap and sharpen it into crayons myself.
I don't feel silly making it myself rather than buying a ready-made one, even though this "easy" top will probably take me ten hours [and if you figure I'm worth at least $7/hr, that's a $70 top, completely ignoring that two people worked on it and the pattern cost $5 and the material cost $15], because a store-bought one would either hang down to my waist at the armholes, or have the waist seam directly across my boobs.
Anyhow, I learned a lot today and it was nicer than sitting around the house thinking of how terrible everything is.
I'll totally post pics once all is done, but I don't have anything to show for my efforts yet. Next Monday maybe.
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-13 04:28 pm (UTC)Awesome!
Wish I was there. I totally want to learn to sew.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-13 07:27 pm (UTC)When I went to school all the girls were taught sewing and knitting, and mending things. (the boys, in the mean time, did things with cardboard , wood, metal...) Nowadays both sexes are taught sewing, so there will be no more "helpless" men who can't even sew on a button. *g* on the other hand, also the girls are taught to handle hammer and saw etc.
I also remember when I worked as an Au Pair in an American family: the wife considered it almost a miracle that I could mend the children's clothes!
Anyhow, I wish you fun and success with your sewing project!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 03:30 am (UTC)From asking around my roller derby league, I'd say about 25% of the women involved in it have *some* idea of sewing, and perhaps 10% are good enough seamstresses to do complex projects. (
My mother is an accomplished seamstress but she lives quite far away and also I have never been good at getting along with her through any complicated situations, so it just wasn't very good. Auntie has taught dressmaking and quilting classes, so she's quite good at demonstrating and then having you do it yourself, and the like.
I am really excited about sewing-- I think perhaps if I do it regularly for a little while, I'll actually get the hang of it. So I hope I can get into the habit of doing a couple hours a week of it.
Thanks for the good wishes.