Past Present, hand stitched long cloth, 6.25” x 42”
Fragments of antique cotton, silk, and lace, hand-stitched to tea-dyed vintage linen and cotton.
Vintage embroidered monogram with vintage mother of pearl buttons
It only named itself this afternoon. The past is always present. We carry it with us wherever we go. I guess that’s what memory is.
Fragments from vintage silk clothing, with hand-stitched buttonholes
And these fragments from the past are still present too. Clothing and accessories made by hands long dead and yet still here. Their voices still speak to us, and the sheer beauty of their work still moves us.
Eighteenth-century silk and nineteenth-century cutwork
The fragment of MJ’s monogrammed chemise became a pocket for some vintage needles.
Lace and silk, with Flora MacDonald needles
New stitches on old cloth, layering new memories over old ones
Past Present lower section: silk and lace
It hangs from some tea-dyed silk ribbon, which may or may not be strong enough – the cloth is heavier than it looks.
Stitched marks, with tea-dyed broderie anglaise from a nineteenth-century cotton petticoat
A short view of the other side:
Past Present
There are lots of frayed and ragged edges. Time made visible. The marks made by a quilter’s needle are still visible in this fragile cotton:
Fragile fragments of cotton from a Victorian quilt, with original quilting path still visible
This is not what I intended to start right now, but I’m really intrigued to know how long it will get, and how long it will take.
Let’s start at the beginning.
A while ago two things happened that made me stop and think: I read a statistic that the lifetime of a person who lives to be in their early 80s amounts to around 30,000 days. That strikes me as much, much fewer than you might expect. Life is short, even when you get to be old.
I also very luckily found a collection of antique and vintage clothing online that included (hand-stitched!) christening gowns and home-made vintage lingerie. One of the items was a silk petticoat, pre-dating elastic because the waistband was made from lingerie tape, but machine-sewn. It was simply made: a narrow A-line skirt constructed with French seams, and a flounced frill around the hem. The silk is very lightweight and billowy – similar to fine habotai.
Vintage silk petticoat, deconstructed
I wonder (and this is just a hunch that feels ‘right’) if this might be a post-war silk parachute that has been repurposed by a resourceful stitcher in the late 1940s.
So I ended up putting those two thoughts together – taking something from around 80 years ago that has potentially saved someone’s life, and using it to make something that signifies an octogenarian lifespan. There is something quite incredible about launching yourself out of an aeroplane with only a gossamer-thin canopy of worm-spit between you and the ground.
A Long Life, conception stage
So the result is a very, very long cloth, just 6” wide, with bits of vintage silk parachute/petticoat applied to a strip of brushed cotton (for stability and softness) on which I intend to place 30,000 stitches.
Vintage silk, machine-stitched seam
I’m keeping as much of the original sewing as possible.
Back fastening, vintage silk petticoat
I have no idea what 30,000 stitches will look like but I’m looking forward to finding out.
