(Not) Spencer Closure

Jacob Issacs by Ralph Earl, 1788. Dayton Art Institute

No, I still haven’t written to the museum in Sweden– I had fabric shopping to do. Well, not had to, but when someone offers to take you to a new den of iniquity crack house fabric store you haven’t seen before, you go.

Reader, I scored. Mr S will have a new fabulous and toasty waistcoat thanks to a 5/8 of a yard remnant of the coziest Italian double faced wool I have ever petted. It should be a kitten! Mr Isaacs here has a lovely black waistcoat and while I cannot achieve that fabulousness without a new pattern (sigh) and I think that waistcoat is silk, you get the general green-and-black idea. Mr S totally has that hat.

Coat, French, 1790s. MMA 1999.105.2

But in thinking about the Spencer issue (and yes, I scored some on-sale broadcloth so I can make another one on the way to cutting into that K&P wool), I asked Mr Cooke about clasps, since the Spencers I’m interested in are so very clearly grounded in menswear generally, and uniforms particularly. The answer was what I’d expected: buttons and buttonholes or braid loops on dragoons’ and hussars’ coats, hooks and eyes sandwiched between shell and lining on center-front closing uniform coats.

So I went back to look at menswear, because somewhere the phrase “miniature frock coat” rattled in my head, and I knew I wanted to re-draft the pattern for the front anyway, to get closer to the high stand and fall collar of the Swedish original.

The other collection that’s extremely useful is the LACMA collection, because they have patterns up on their website.

Man's Banyan Textile: China; robe: the Netherlands, Textile: 1700–50; robe: 1750–60 (M.2007.211.797)
Man’s Banyan
Textile: 1700–50; robe: 1750–60 (M.2007.211.797)

I’ve already started to crib a new two-part sleeve pattern from a frock coat pattern, so now I think the next step to getting the look I want is to crib from the LACMA banyan pattern. It’s earlier than the Spencer by some 30 years or more, but the neckline looks like a better place to start.

And, bonus, along the way I’ll learn more about menswear to the ultimate benefit of those guys I sew for.

About that Spencer…

It's better on a human than on a hanger.
It’s better on a human than on a hanger.

Take my Spencer, please.

I’m close to being finished– all that remains are closures, but the sewing is done. It fits, though I haven’t yet tried it on over stays.  It looks less wretched in the mirror than it does on a hanger, I will give it that.

The wool is a yard and a quarter worsted remnant, and while it has a nice hand, it was sometimes annoying to press. It may have been the fault of the silk, though; I used a very light weight silk–even lighter than Booth’s “persians”– and that was probably a mistake.

DSC_0405
Last-minute peplum and button additions.

The Swedish Spencer closes with clasps, and while hooks and eyes are pretty common for center-closing garments (men’s and women’s) “clasps” was new to me. The double-breasted riding habit coat in Janet Arnold (from the Salisbury Museum, no photos online) closes with covered buttons. That seems reasonable for this worsted trial garment. I’m beginning to wonder if the Swedish Spencer is really finished, or if the clasps might be a later addition. Time to write a letter, I think…

Bust darts from Hell

Spencer ca. 1800. MMS 1991.239.2

It all started out so well, in the muslin, but in the wool, not so much. I cut up a remnant, proving that a yard and a quarter of 60” fabric is enough for a Spencer, even for my arm length (but not less, thanks to that arm length and a respect for the grain).

The pattern I’m using has bust darts, which I haven’t sewn in years. They took some tweaking with the steam iron.

In 18th century clothing, one doesn’t see bust darts; there are some above the bust, shaping gowns at the robings, but for the most part they aren’t needed. Think cones, thanks to the stays. And later in the 18th century, a lot of work is done by gathers and drawstrings, as in the white and black  ca. 1800 French spencer at the Met.

Spencer ca. 1818-1819. MMA 1982.132.3
Spencer ca. 1818-1819. MMA 1982.132.3

But if you’ve got an endowment of the non-fiscal kind, and you want your military-inspired garment to fit smoothly over your endowment, what do you do?

In this example, you hide the bust dart under braid and buttons. Check out that diagonal seam—and that the fabric appears to have been cut on the bias.
Brilliant, right? Gain ease by using the stretchy quality of the bias and hide the shaping under decorative elements.

Here’s an extreme detail.

Spencer, 1813. MMA C.I.39.13.48
Spencer, 1813. MMA C.I.39.13.48

In the garment below, of wool, three bust darts of the same length help shape the front. And again, decorative braid hides the shaping. 

It’s only cataloged as “wool,” with no weave given. There is a detail image of the darts and braid as well; I think that might be serge, and not superfine broadcloth. Still, three bust darts help achieve a smooth fit.

The Swedish Spencer at the museum in Lund has but one grainy photo: it’s hard to imagine that it doesn’t have bust darts, but the photo leaves much to the imagination.

Miniature Miniatures

Images arranged in Illustrator
Images arranged in Illustrator

I admired the Pragmatic Costumer’s post on painting miniatures, but recognized that my desire for immediate gratification was going to run headlong into the small workspace formerly known as our dining room, where it would crash into my lack of practice at painting and result in unhappiness for all.

In recognition of my family’s right to peace in our time,  I made like an ’80s artist and appropriated images.

Separated and ready for trimming
Separated and ready for trimming

After selecting gentlemen and an infant from 1761-1776, I downloaded the files and placed them in Illustrator where I could size them to one inch diameter circles. Why so small? Because to test this plan, I used rawther cheap little cabochon kits from Michael’s, and they were only to be found in the one inch size.

After cutting the images out generally, I trimmed them to the black line I created in Illustrator. (I don’t yet have a non-Illustrator answer to this process; I am lucky enough to have an ancient copy of CS Dawn-of-Time; let me think about a workaround.)

Henry Knox, the first trial
Henry Knox, the first trial

Here’s Henry Knox, my first trial. I was willing to ‘sacrifice’ him because although I admire his fortitude in dragging artillery across Massachusetts, he was a beast to Joseph Plumb Martin about post-war bounty land in Maine. I’m Knox-conflicted.

Some squishing and fiddling with the self-adhesive fronts later, here are three of the four miniature miniatures.

Three sandwiched images
Three sandwiched images
Finished tiny miniatures
Finished tiny miniatures

Yes, this is so ridiculously easy as to be evil.

What would I do differently next time?

I’d order proper cabochons and fronts in a larger size (I may convert these to bracelets).

I’d give painting a try, perhaps over the winter break at work. I’ll need time to get that right.

I’d string them on actual silk, and not polyester, ribbon. (It was handy, and the proper size).

But for a cheater’s way to miniature jewelry in under an hour, I suppose they could be worse.

Whatever you do, if you follow this example and “appropriate” images, don’t sell them. The Met may have millions in revenue, but it’s still wrong.