Stay Thy Hand

IMG_6784

Stays. They’re infrastructure: absolutely necessary, a major time commitment, and decidedly unsexy. I am in dire need to two new pairs, one for late 18th century use and one for early 19th century, and each with deadlines looming.

I can manage 19th century attire and Genesee with the chopped-and-dropped corded stays I already have, but New Jersey will not happen at all unless new stays are made. It was like a weekend of penance chez Calash, two straight days of stay mocking up and making.

Of course I bled on them. That’s how I know they’re mine.

IMG_6786

And let’s get this out of the way: I thought backstitching the back seam was a little more difficult on this side, but ascribed it to sore fingers. Wrong! I failed to notice that I was stitching through all the layers, and not leaving one free to fold over and finish.

IMG_0806

A glass of cider and an hour later, I’d rectified the error. These are now fully bound along the bottom edge, and ready for the top edge binding. Somewhere there’s coutil for the straps, and then numerous hand-sewn eyelets later, I will have a finished pair of hand-sewn stays.

New stays deserve a new gown, and since I found this lovely image, I know what that new gown should look like (as well as a portfolio).  Happily, there’s a dress in Cassidy’s book that will serve as a reasonable basis for recreating this image. I’m still pondering the portfolio, and what it might be made of: paper or leather covered pasteboard? As the clock ticks down to June, I suspect I will be using a portfolio I already have on hand.

And then there are the the 18th century stays, with their history of woe.

File_000

I’ve gotten this far with the new 18th century pair, and an interesting business it is. I altered the front side pieces and the stomacher, but cannot see the back well enough (even with a camera and a mirror) to adjust it by myself, so further changes will have to wait until I have some assistance.

The tabs aren’t right in the back, and while the advice is to shorten the stays when the tabs flare this way, I found the fronts were still too low, once again riding at nipple-cutting height. Finally it occurred to me that the problem– slippage–might actually be one of waist. I lengthened the fronts half an inch and nipped the waist in, and found the fit more pleasing.  I suspect the back pieces need to be trimmed a bit before they’ll fit (they’re stitched closed in this version, so you know they’re too big).

Another weekend of work awaits– with focus, those early 19th century stays may be done by then, if there are no more finger injuries.

Spring Spencers

Spencers are not unlike bonnets, in my mind. They’re more work than a bonnet, sure, but compared to the layer cake that is an English gown, a Spencer is a batch of cupcakes.

I’ve fondled more silks than I may care to admit (oh, remnant table, how I love thee), and often picked up and put down a small length because it was patterned. Not enough for a gown, just enough for a Spencer. But Spencers are always solid.

No, they’re not.

Allegorical Wood-Cut, with Patterns of British Manufactures. May, 1815. Ackermans's Repository of Arts, etc. Volume 13.
Allegorical Wood-Cut, with Patterns of British Manufactures. May, 1815. Ackermans’s Repository of Arts, etc. Volume 13.

It’s a Homer-quality forehead-slapping moment.

Caption, Allegorical Wood-Cut of British Manufactures. Ackermans's Repository of Arts, etc. Volume 13, May, 1815. page 298
Caption, Allegorical Wood-Cut of British Manufactures. Ackermans’s Repository of Arts, etc. Volume 13, May, 1815. page 298

Not only are there extant cotton roller-print Spencers, and wild printed cotton Spencer ensembles in North American collections, there’s print evidence of patterned silks for Spencers. Somehow, until I came across this plate and the description in Ackermann’s, I could not make the leap from cotton to silk.

Despite the existence of this.

My sole defense is that one patterned Spencer is still a zebra among horses.

But additional evidence, in the form of recommendations for spring in Ackermann’s? The zebra’s looking a little more like a horse.

Want more Ackermann’s? You know you do. The links are better sorted here.

Many, many thanks to Mr B for the tip!

Frivolous Friday: Checkin’ it Out

Costume Parisien 1808 Cornette et Robe de Marcelline
Costume Parisien 1808
Cornette et Robe de Marcelline

One gets ideas. I often get ideas about checks. In particular, I get ideas about loud checks. The gown in the fashion plate is appealing, when you’re looking for checks, and all the more so when you know how similar it is to an extant garment in your actual location.  The cornette I can do without– that’s the headgear, which looks like she’s crammed a sugar Easter egg on her head– but at least it could hide a short hair cut or the melting pomade of humid summer.

Costume Parisien 1808 Chapeaux et Capotes en Paille Blanche et Rubans
Costume Parisien 1808
Chapeaux et Capotes en Paille Blanche et Rubans

But wait! What check through yonder tastefulness breaks? It is the fashion plate, and  the checked bonnet is my sun. My goodness, that bonnet on the lower left is satisfying. It appeals to me the most because it is by far the most check-heavy bonnet I’ve seen, and making it would not involve plaiting straw, which I know nothing about. It’s a direct trip to obnoxious via silk taffeta, and that’s a trip I’ll buy a ticket for.

Top: check silk taffeta, Artee Fabrics Bottom: check cotton, Mood Fabrics
Top: check silk taffeta, Artee Fabrics
Bottom: check cotton, Mood Fabrics

Actually, as the result of a train ticket last August, I am the proud possessor of some delightfully bright lightweight cotton check in search of a fashion plate. The year I’m targeting (which is not 1808, but 1818) hasn’t yet provided published inspiration, but there are more places to search. In any case, an orange check gown with a blue check bonnet is pretty much crying out to be made. Bring your hanky, in case your eyes water, but make sure it’s check, too.

Small Obsessions

IMG_5625Some of you may recall that I am a recovering artist with a fairly constant need to keep my hands busy. To encourage industry and the domestic arts, and to keep me out of trouble generally, a thoughtful friend provided me with a start to furnishing an early nineteenth century-style paint box. They’re hard to come by, these paint boxes, and extant examples fetch far more than we can afford chez Calash, being in somewhat reduced circumstances of late.

Thomas Reeves & Son Artists watercolor paint box c. 1784 to 1794. Whimsie Virtual Museum of Watercolor Materials
Thomas Reeves & Son
Artists watercolor paint box c. 1784 to 1794. Whimsie Virtual Museum of Watercolor Materials

Researching paint boxes and miniature painting in the early Federal era has been a happy fall down a deep rabbit hole. It’s clear that Reeves watercolors were being sold in Providence in the early 19th century; Peter Grinnell & Sons include “Reeves watercolor boxes” among the extensive list of items for sale in an 1809 newspaper ad. Frames and cases were also to be had; John Jenckes, gold and silver-smith and jeweler, advertised gold miniature cases in 1800.

Distraction is always easy to come by, tunnels leading from main entrance to the warren. Painting manuals, scholarly articles, and extant examples, which prove most distracting of all. SO shiny.

George Catlin Artist: John Wood Dodge (1807–1893) Date: 1835 Medium: Watercolor on ivory Dimensions: 2 3/16 x 1 13/16 in. (5.6 x 4.6 cm) Classification: Paintings Credit Line: Rogers Fund, 1926 Accession Number: 26.47
George Catlin byJohn Wood Dodge, 1835, MMA 26.47

Searching the Met’s collection, I found a portrait of George Catlin, remarkably similar in pose to an image of a friend I considered copying, but had thought too modern. My assumption has been proved wrong, and I am delighted. And then I found the HIDEOUS checked neck wear, always distracting. Historic New England provided super-tiny-bowtie man, and then I really had to focus, since I’m only enabling, not making, neck wear.

My real focus, of course, is on female miniaturists, especially in Rhode Island (gallery of RI miniatures can be found here.) From the scant number of women I’ve found advertising in the local papers, (okay, two: Miss Mary R. Smith, in 1820, and Mrs Partridge in 1829) I’ll have to expand my search geographically. Nantucket Historical Association had an image attributed to Anna Swain, and ten attributed to Sally Gardner.

Eye

The Met, repository of so many wonders, has works by six women miniaturists, including Sarah “Wowza” Goodridge and Anna Claypoole Peale. For all we know, some of the works by unidentified makers might be the work of female painters. The extant miniatures in all collections, range in quality from excellent to amateur, giving hope to those of us unpracticed in portraiture, and regaining our hand.