Luxury and Fashion

 

Sometimes this is a hard hobby to love. My hands hurt, my creativity feels dead, and there’s no place to go all dressed up. After a long, unpleasant spring, I finally feel like sewing and playing. Drunk Tailor and I definitely missed some things we very much wanted to do, but now we’re reinspired, we could take baby steps back to our normal semi-hectic pace– except of course, we are plunging back in with three events in August after a whirlwind trip to Ticonderoga.

Wedding dress in cotton muslin ca. 1797. Nationalmuseet Danmark.

With the summer heat in mind, I ordered batiste and voile, thinking I would make the Tidens Toj gown, but when the fabric arrived, it seemed that the purveyor had confused the two fabric types, so a new plan was required. Alas, the trials of costume research and falling down the fashion magazine rabbit hole for hours at a time…

1798 Gown, watercolor by Ann Frankland Lewis, 1798. LACMA, Costume Council Fund (AC1999.154.1-.32)

Next up: an open robe or wrap-front gown over a matching petticoat, trimmed in blue-and-white Greek key trim, with a pair of pointy-toed ribbon-tied slippers and a sleeveless blue silk waistcoat, in three weeks or so.

The waistcoat construction is finished, scaled up from the original garment patterned in the DAR’s “An Agreeable Tyrant” catalog. I chose to line mine, possibly from pure habit of making men’s clothing, possibly because I’m not that great a teeny-tiny hemming and require a lining to hide my sins. With gold silk cord trim and covered buttons, I think it will have a pleasantly military vibe.

For the gown and petticoat, cotton in Virginia’s August heat seems like a solid choice, though by the time the layers are on and the sun is up, it’s possible that nothing will be really cool. (The majority of the day will be spent in air conditioning, so really, anything would be okay.) The trim arrived last night, and has a body that will need batiste (and not voile) for support. The combination causes me to entertain fears that this aesthetic is a little too boat-shoes-and-belts-with-embroidered-whales for 1797-1799, but when topped with something not unlike Drunk Tailor’s militia cap, the aesthetic will tilt from yachting to the Good Ship Lollipop.

Mending: Check

My poor old apron. It’s almost– but not quite– the firstarticle of historical clothing I made. (The first was a shift. Infrastructure and fundamentals, people.) It acquired some new wear (actual holes!) in New Jersey, and required mending.

First, it needed to be washed. I hadn’t taken a objective look at my apron in a while, but after we got home from Salem, I knew I had to mend it, which meant washing.

Reader, it smelled.

You get used to smells, and even enjoy them: wet wool, gunpowder, wood smoke. And then there’s tallow. I’ve never gotten used to the smell of tallow, and I don’t remember when this apron encountered hard fat, but the odor is unmistakable.

So is the water.

This past weekend, I had a chance to mend this favorite apron while I peddled luxury goods at Fort Dobbs’ War for Empire event.

Although I have a sturdy plain linen apron, I’m fond of checks, and of the hand this apron has achieved after much wearing and some washing.

It will never be really clean again, but for now, the apron is mended and back in rotation.

Black and White World

Isn’t she grand? She’s on offer elsewhere; I came across her while narrwing down a date for a very different portrait.

She reminds me of a Tamara de Lempicka, if Tamara and Ammi Phillips had set up easels next to each other. From her forthright, slightly sulky gaze to the exuberant folds of her gown bodice to the hints of style in the details, we can learn a lot from this painting. There’s a kind of provincial Hepplewhite sideboard behind her, set with a colorful garniture; the copper hot water or tea urn places us in a parlor. The painting frame has a shell in the center of the bottom rail, the chair a turned knob on the back upright– we are on the edge of fancy, the moment when neoclassicism really gives way to exuberance (think canary yellow rose-painted china, big puffy sleeves on printed gowns, and fancy-painted chairs).

Below, an earlier entry in the black and white world. This lady was sold at auction recently. She’s earlier than our near-Tamara above, plainer in dress, sulkier. She is certainly more academic, and somewhat better painted, in addition to being set in a vaguely classic scene, in a very neoclassical chair, draped with a fine shawl.The artists is definitely showing off some skill in the “painting transparency” department.

The lady in black is firmly set in the neoclassical period. Restraint and moderation are watchwords– despite what you may think of that hair, which is recalling Greco-Roman precedents–much the way certain factions in the Revolutionary period were driven by piety and discipline. Politics and national ethos or mood are embedded visual culture then as now, and even in these portraits, simple as they seem.

Wrap it up, I’ll take it

To be honest, I would love to wrap my self up and take this silk, but it is for a museum to display, so instead the box is wrapped and ready to ship.

I was lucky to be included in a message group started by a friend asking if any of us had a banyan or wrapping gown to loan. Well, no… but I can make one!

So I did.

My version is based on this 1750-1760 example at the Victoria and Albert Museum, of silk designed by Anna Maria Garthwaite ca. 1740-1750. To be honest, this is one of my favorite gowns, despite the fact that it bears no practical relationship to any part of my daily or living history life. A girl can dream, though…

Just a little bit scary, despite being able to get more silk if I really messed up.

In particular, I like the way the style combines the t-shape of a basic banyan with the pleats used to shape European women’s gowns. Tricky, right?

Ann Shippen Willing, oil on canvas by Robert Feke, 1746. Winterthur Museum Museum purchase with funds provided by Alfred E. Bissell in memory of Henry Francis du Pont. 1969.0134 A

I made a pattern in muslin (it took two) primarily by draping, reading the V&A description, and looking at the original images as large as I could get them. By the time I had a pattern, I was mostly convinced, but still intimidated by the silk. I’ve had my eye on this ever since I saw at the local store, for it reminded me strongly of the Anna Maria Garthwaite silk worn by Ann Shippen Willing (Mrs. Charles Willing) of Philadelphia in this portrait by Robert Feke.

In the interest of economy, I machine sewed the long seams and the interior (lining) pleats, though I would not if I wear to make this for myself. Once the main seams were done, I pleated and pinned again.

Then it was time for my one of my favorite activities, hand-stitching pleats. It’s impressive how the look of a garment changes (and improves) as you continue to work on it. The fullness of the gown with the inserted pleats is pretty impressive and very satisfying to wear. It sounds fabulous as it moves with your body.

Once the gown is fully dressed on a mannequin (that is, over a shift and petticoat), I know it will assume the more correct shape of the green gown at the V&A– it looks better even on me, although it is too small, being made for a mannequin representing an 18th century woman.

Portrait of a Woman Artist, c. 1735
Oil on canvas
40 x 32 5/16 in. (101.7 x 82 cm)
Restricted gift of Mrs. Harold T. Martin in honor of Patrice Marandel, 1981.66
Art Institute of Chicago

Along the way, I found another green silk wrapping gown or banyan, this time worn by a French artist.I can guarantee you I would never wear silk to paint in, but your mileage may vary, and if I had a maidservant and unlimited cash in 1760, perhaps I would emulate the Mademoiselle at left.