Once upon a time, I worked (twice) for an interim boss I called (behind his back) Shiny Buttons. You know I’m in a coastal state, so you can guess what he wore: a navy blue blazer with brass buttons. It’s a uniform of its own kind, even in civilian life. For a new show at work, one of the things we’re looking at are blue coats and shiny buttons.
It got very “Hey, sailor!” in painting storage earlier this week, as we pulled out portraits looking for gents in blue coats. Sea captains are definitely representing.
Captain John Gladding, 1810-1820. Miniature. RIHS 1980.80.1Philip Crapo, ca. 1801. Miniature attributed to Thomas Young. RIHS 1906.3.4
There are other gents in blue, and it’s interesting to see the proliferation of style across time.
Portrait of a Man in Blue Coat, French, early 19th century. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 48.187.735
William Man Godschall by John Russell, Pastel on paper, laid down on canvas, 1791. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 61.182.1
It’s a classic look, often seen in the preppier enclaves. It’s an easy target, but don’t you love this review of a Brooks Brothers blue blazer by Biff? Timeless.
Scheduling being what it is, we plunged right in to hands-on work with Easy Grace and Comfort, a two-day man’s frock coat workshop with Henry Cooke. We saved enormous amounts of time in the workshop by having Mr Cooke cut coat kits for participants, and I know it was well worth every penny.
There is much less on-body fitting when Mr Cooke cuts a coat for the kid than when I do. (I think the Young Mr grows while I am trying to figure it out, but Henry cuts fast enough to head him off.)
Buckram and button stands
The most painful part of the whole thing (if fitting is largely done) is stitching on the buckram interfacing and the button stand. The zig-zag stitch as demonstrated by Henry was fairly easy to get the hang of when you caught the rhythm, but the tightness of the Red Edge stand tested my needle and even my fingertips.
There were some complaints at one table, largely voiced by the Fifer Formerly Known as Lambchop, who awaits his 10th Mass name.
Sleevils!
We made it all the way to sleeves, which is impressive, considering that some of the gentleman had not made more than a haversack or knapsack before. But if you can backstitch, and have some help with your fitting, you can make a coat.
I happen to like sleeves, myself, stitching them up and setting them in the garment. I think it’s the three-dimensionality of them that appeals to me– and I like a good challenge.
And here we are: sleevil one.
It’s critical to pay attention, though, so you make one left and one right sleeve, and to keep track of them as you set them to the garment body. I sometimes mark mine with chalk, and have even pinned notes to the pieces when feeling especially daft.
I’ve made it to an assembled coat body and sleeves, with one sleeve basted on. Before Saturday, I plan to baste on the second sleeve and test fit sleeve set on the boy. I’ll also try to get pocket flaps made. Since I have a talk to write and a bedgown to finish as well, I’m probably dreamin’ big.
When this suit is done, the Young Mr will have a very nice blue ensemble that includes breeches (join in the fun here) and a waistcoat. I think he’ll look rather nice, and better than he has previously. I still want to make lower-class* clothes for him, but first he does need a nice suit.
*I said urchin, but Mr Cooke said urchins can’t be over 6 feet tall. Basking sharks are big, but in this blue-grey suit, perhaps the Young Mr will finally be a grey reef shark.
As far as I know, that’s not an internet meme yet, but it might as well be. It’s meme in my head, and that’s what counts.
While I should be thinking about the probability of Spencer-wearing in 1800 Rhode Island, I got distracted during a hunt for head wraps and found this lovely little water color.
Boy in a Beaver Hat. Watercolor by Anna Maria von Phul, 1818. MHS 1957.158.27
How lovely is that coat? The Young Mr already has a semblance of that hat and trouser (admittedly too short) so the coat and a matelasse waistcoat would be just the ticket to recreate this image. He’ll bring his own sulky look to the party.
I’m trying to figure out what the coat would be made of, and what I’m willing to pay for a coat that will be grown out of rapidly. In the meantime, though, what a lovely image.
Detail, the John Miner Coat, Stonington Historical Society, 2009.120.001
If I examine and exactly replicate a coat for personal use, what do I owe the museum that owns that coat– anything? I think I owe the museum any information I can share that will improve their records and help build a research file for the future.* I also think I owe them copies of the images I may take, and with digital images, that’s now incredibly easy.
But if I replicate this coat (shoulder intact) for Mr S or the Young Mr, should I give the coat to the Stonington Historical Society when we are done with it? SHS thinks I probably should, but as someone who manages collections, how many replicas do I want, and what standards do I use to judge them?
I think the best course of action is for museums to make patterns of popular or often-requested garments available for purchase, so that anyone who wants to make a replica has all the data they need. Short of that– and funds are often short for that– catalog records with as many measurements and as complete a description as possible will allow dedicated tailors and stitchers to get as close as possible to original garments.
True replicas involve recreating fabrics and using period techniques, and matching a garment measurement to measurement– and in the case of the Miner coat, there is no way to replicate its history. And the amount of work and expertise that would go into a true replica of any historic garment seems enormous– it would constitute a large donation to the museum, even if the garment had been worn.
*For those of you reading the caption on the Miner coat, yes, it needs work, and yes, SHS knows there are problems with that description. I promised to help them with their catalog record.
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