Becoming an Exhibit Prop

We all have those Hamlet-like moments, don’t we?
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable | Seem to me all the uses of this world!

But in this case, I can attest to being and not merely feeling flat: lo, I am cutout exhibition furniture.

Thanks to Mr B’s casting call on behalf of the New-York Historical Society, a number of friends and acquaintances and I are now part of the scenery of the new exhibition, Saving Washington, up through July 30.

The behind the scenes of being a prop is pretty entertaining.

The changeable green-red sari gown was made for this photo shoot; we were asked to wear strong colors, and since the exhibit was meant to represent one of Dolley Madison’s “squeezes,” dressing up was in order– and hard for me to do, since most of my gowns are day dresses at best.

I started this November 22, and carried it on airplanes several times.

The sleeves appeared to be a complete failure at first, until I figured out I could pleat the design to form a smaller, graphic band at the bottom. Sometimes I start without knowing how a thing will turn out…including most days when I get out of bed.

December 9 completion level: wearable.

At least it was finished enough to wear to the photoshoot, and it appeared again, with a real hem and a ribbon to keep it on, in Salem last month. I’m pleased enough with the color, and how well it doesn’t go with most things to call this a success– and finished!

In situ.

A Saturday in Salem : Jane Austen Ball

Closure: green silk satin ribbon.
Closure: green silk satin ribbon.

With many thanks to the Quintessential Clothes Pen, I was not dancing with myself Saturday last at the Jane Austen Ball in Salem. I was there on a bit of a whim, knowing that the ball happened in February and looking for something to do on a winter weekend– and, as it happened, I actually had a dress to wear. Of course, it wasn’t finished until Friday night, although I had worn it in December for a photoshoot.

Dressed for the weather: I only seem to wear this pelisse in February.
Dressed for the weather: I only seem to wear this pelisse in February.

In the past year+, I’ve been trying to do more and regret less, which seems a bit contradictory: if you do more, might you regret more of what you do? The trick for me, especially in dealing with my baseline high-anxiety self, is to do more things that seem scary but are actually fun.* That’s how I found myself traveling up to Salem between snowstorms to stay in a tiny little room in a historic hotel. It’s a pretty quick ninety-minute trip on a good day, but I know myself well enough now that staying overnight is the safer, less-stressful option for an excursion like this.

Salem on a snowy Saturday was busy, streets crowded with people as I walked to the old Town Hall, feeling very much like a character in a novel. (Having just finished Remarkable Creatures, the scenes of Elizabeth Philpot walking in alone London came to mind as I did attract some attention in my pelisse and bonnet.)

The Town Hall was crowded; I arrived a little late, as dancing was beginning under patient and direct tutelage, so I had the pleasure of watching several dances before I joined in. While not everyone was wearing early-Federal/Regency clothing, the crowd still provided an excellent sense of the social mixing and festivity of a scene from the past.

Unforgivable hotel room selfie to record the dress
Unforgivable hotel room selfie to record the dress

Joining in was even better, to be in the swirl of people and skirts, to pay attention to my feet– my shoes were a little slicker than I would like– and to count the rhythm of the music. While I spent years in ballet class, it is true that those years were surpassed by years in mosh pits and on dance floors of questionable clubs. Country dances made me think of four-dimensional math, with the patterns made by the combinations of active and helper couples, the reversals of direction, and the changing positions of partners: it was like being a living fractal.

*With some exceptions including rollercoasters and sky diving.

Whimsical Wednesday: Shoes.

If you are a historic costumer, living history interpreter or enactor and tell me you don’t have a problem with shoes, and I will laugh at you. Even if you don’t have way too many shoes, chances are good you look at them in museum collections, even if you don’t order them. Shoes are basic to any impression.

I have history with shoes, myself. Not only have my feet always been generously proportioned, but my Grandmother possessed a singular fondness for, and an expansive collection of, shoes.

Shoes. Slippers.

Pair of slippers. 1825-1849. Paul Hase, Paris. V&A 1153&A-1901
Pair of slippers. 1825-1849. Paul Hase, Paris. V&A
1153&A-1901

Call them what you will, when you hanker to dance, you need them. So, I find myself in the happily distracting position of needing (wanting) dance slippers for April. I thought my search might be fruitless, what with my pedal extremities, but reader: I was delighted and surprised. dscn4592

Yes: they fit! Now the tricky bit is to dye and decorate these slippers to achieve maximum eye-watering potential. There’s a length of silk headed my way that should provide plenty of inspiration.

For tamer times, classic black will always do. Whilst replacing my worn-out sneakers, I came upon a pair of slippers that seemed ready for alteration, so I bought them as a backup, in case the Brontes didn’t fit.

dscn4595

They were inexpensive enough that I didn’t mind taking them apart for modifications.

A grosgrain rosette and ribbon ties later, these will do well enough to extend the life of my irreplaceable Robert Land slippers. I looked at shoes last night, and drew inspiration from some examples through the first half of the 19th century. With the pointy toe, these clearly skew first decade of the 19th century, which is just right for most of what I do. The Brontes will work for later impressions– and I have those as well. All in all, a pleasant mid-week distraction.

Pair of women's shoes, 1801. Gift of Fred Taggart, 1986.31.1a-b. RIHS
Pair of women’s shoes, 1801. Gift of Fred Taggart, 1986.31.1a-b. RIHS
Women's slippers, 1790-1810. American. MFA Boston. 99.664.12a-b
Women’s slippers, 1790-1810. American. MFA Boston. 99.664.12a-b
Slippers, 1835-1850. American, wool, silk. Metropolitan Museum of Art. 66-20-1a-b
Slippers, 1835-1850. American, wool, silk. Metropolitan Museum of Art. 66-20-1a-b

Mrs Pabodie, I presume?

Mrs William (Jane) Pabodie. oil on canvas, 1813. RIHS 1970.60.2
Mrs William (Jane) Pabodie. oil on canvas, 1813. RIHS 1970.60.2

Remember Mrs Pabodie? She appeared a week ago today in Providence after an intense sewing effort left your author with numb fingers. The process was as straightforward as these things ever are, manipulating fabrics to do your bidding once you think you have the right materials.

It took more rounds of white muslins from Burnley and Trowbridge than I care to count, and a variety of book muslins from Wm Booth Draper, just for the chemisette and cap. The laces came from Farmhouse Fabrics in the most expensive small package I’ve yet ordered that did not contain antique jewelry.

Mrs Pabodie attempts to remember when she was born (1771). Photo by J. D. Kay
Mrs Pabodie attempts to remember when she was born (1771). Photo by J. D. Kay

The gown is a wool and silk blend remnant from Wm Booth Draper, just enough to make a gown (even at my height) though I admit the front hem will need some piecing or a ruffle to give it the proper length. Still, the thing more or less works, though as I compare the details to the original painting, I admit we’re still in beta.

I was joined by three friends from different eras (because you know me: if it’s not didactic, we’re not doing it): a sailor who on the run from a Newport press gang in 1765; Reverend Enos Hitchcock of the Beneficient Congregational Church in 1785; and Sissieretta Jones, soprano of Providence, around 1880. Each of the characters described their lives and their clothing, and I will admit that the Annual Meeting audience may not have been fully prepared for some of what they heard– I’m not certain they had ever considered how apt “balancing a sheep on my head” might be in describing Reverend Hitchcock’s wig.

Mrs Pabodie points out East Side landmarks to a visitor examining the theatre curtain backdrop painted around 1810. Photo by J. D. Kay
Mrs Pabodie points out East Side landmarks to a visitor examining the theatre curtain backdrop painted around 1810. Photo by J. D. Kay

In the end, they were entertained, and may even have learned something, as we celebrated 2016’s interpretive theme, Fashioning Rhode Island.