Recreating A Painting

When I visited the Louvre museum in September, I jotted down the name of some paintings and artists that were formerly unknown to me. The Louvre is huge, so I only took note of those paintings that elicited a curiosity in me, or tickled my fancy.

One such is L'ange guardien, by Henri Decaisne.

There are two versions of the painting, and I like this one better. It was painted in 1835-36. From what little information seems to be out there about Decaisne, he was an historical and portrait painter.
Now, upon examining the painting, it is clear that the mother is not wearing a corset. Her outfit certainly doesn't strike us as Victorian. Must be one of his historical interpretations. Okay, I can deal with that, let's do some research.

I was able to gather that the outfit depicted is most likely Italian, originally from around the area of Naples. I could possibly be wrong, I'm basing that information from the very particular headdress that she is wearing. All bits and pieces of information - which remains scattered, thin, elusive, and haven't brought up a name for the headdress yet - point in the general direction of being worn by Italian women.

The next clue is brought by the chemise, or rather, camicia. The sleeves that go all the way to the wrist, and their fullness definitely rules out being originally from the 19th century. Let's roll back in time until we find what period it comes from. 18th century didn't have such long sleeves, they stopped at about elbow length. 17th century, much like that of the 18th century in the second half. Early 17th century seems to be a fit. So is 16th century.

Next up, her bodice. We can clearly see the curves of her form in it, and the fabric slightly rippling under her breasts. It's not boned. It confirms the theory of 16th-early 17th century. During the 16th century, stiffened bodices were just starting to emerge and become fashionable and would have been worn most likely only by the gentry.

It is also difficult to accurately research peasants, because there is so little remaining evidence pertaining to their everyday lives in comparison to what we still have from the higher classes. And generally speaking, high class clothing is much more impressive and interesting than that of peasants.

From this, I'm fairly confident that we can agree on say mid-late 16th century. Suits me.

Determining the layers that she is wearing and their materials is straight-forward.

Camicia: white linen

Bodice: natural linen lining, red wool georgette outer, edging in black silk ribbon

Underskirt: black linen

Overskirt: ochre silk-wool gabardine

Belt: same black linen as the underskirt

These are quite nice fabrics, and brightly coloured. She could be from the lower-middle class. Maybe these are her festive clothes? In any case, the bright colours are an indication that they are nicer fabrics than just plain ol' linen. Animal fibres dye more brightly and retain colour better than vegetal fibres. It makes sense that her bodice would be a thin wool. And for the over skirt, it looks like a nice thick fabric.

I used my 17th century cartridge pleated skirt (see my post from December 8) for the underskirt. Time period wise, it's still mostly correct, and it's an underskirt, so mostly not visible unless I hike the overskirt.

Then I decided to make the belt. I finished it in Februrary, and it had been sitting, dejected, on a shelf since then.

A picture during construction. At this point, I've finished the rolled hem on both sides, picked out all the crosswise threads from one end, and tied the remaining lengthwise threads into little tassels to create a fringe.

After that, still in February,  I sewed up the side seams on the ochre skirt - leaving a 10 cm opening on each side, as I was planning on having a double-tie fastening system - and hemmed it. Then it sat dejected on a chair until a week and a half ago, when a violent rage came over me like a storm of bundled up, frustrated energy that needed to be released. And so I pleated the waistband - I used rolled pleats, because I decided that I'd never used them before, and I already have a skirt with cartridge pleats, and two with knife pleats - until it was the required half width of my waist on both the front and back panels. I used  twill tape on the back panel to secure the pleats and extend into ties. Along the front panel I used a silk ribbon - that I had bought in Paris in September because I liked it, and never really intended to use it for this purpose, but which happened to match my fabric perfectly.

Pleats ready to be sewn down. I left the turned down edge raw on the inside of the skirt. I don't think it will ravel too much, no worries to be made over this.

As soon as the skirt was finished, I decided to start on the camicia. As I had only ever made an 18th century chemise and my only other references to under garments are for the medieval period - since all my books are in a box in my parents' basement while I'm in Germany - I had to do some looking around. I came across this website here that details quite well how to make a Venetian camicia from A to Z. I looked at the diagrams and briefly read through her notes. They were helpful, though I didn't feel like reading every single thing on the page, as I only needed a few key pieces of information. Such as the size of the underarm gussets - which are quite large at 9" - as well as the width of the sleeves and some clues on the construction process.

Working with only two metres of fabric, I couldn't include the two extra side panels, which isn't a problem anyhow, the camicia is already quite full.

On Friday (Apr 24), I took the preliminary pattern I had drafted for the bodice back in February and made a few changes. I elongated the front wait into a point, and I moved the shoulder strap seams. Then I cut out one layer from the natural linen, basted them together and tried it on. For a first try, it was almost a perfect fit. I raise the back waist to reduce the puckering and fiddled with the front points, and then I cut a second front to use as interlining. Then I sewed the entire thing together, along with a strip of twill tape at waist level to prevent stretching and to give more stability to the bodice. I cut out the bodice in my outer fabric, sewed it to the lining, and put more twill tape into the front edges. Like this:

Then I turned it right-side out, and started to apply the black ribbon edging.

It was tedious to sew this part on, but really satisfying once it was done. Also bound the armhole with the ribbon. And then onto the eyelets. According to the period and the painting, it is spiraled lace, which means that at the top and bottom there are two eyelets level with each other, but in between they are all offset by an equal amount. My eyelets look fine right now, but I might have to redo them in the future. I should also stabilize them with a small metal washer on the inside.

Then I got to dress up! Even though it was 2 in the morning. From this point on I have mostly really lame cellphone-mirror-selfies, you know the type. Warning has been given.

Sideview, I'm quite happy with it.

 Then when I tried to take it off I realized that I was stuck. Couldn't get the lace back out of the eyelets - until I had the idea to use a large darning needle and gently stretch a few eyelets.

 Once freed, I put on the camicia and jumped back into the bodice.

And into the underskirt.

 And into the overskirt.

And finally came the belt.

I'm definitely proud of myself for sewing the whole thing by hand, though I realized how much I miss my Precious. I never claimed to be fully sane in the first place, and I think I've left some of that somewhere during the past week. (Sewing till 2-3 am almost everyday for a week and a half almost nonstop can't be healthy, can it?)

I already knew that I'm not incredibly fast at hand sewing, and the sheer amount of time it took me to complete these pieces confirms that fact.

Nonetheless, now I have a spiffy outfit to wear whenever I feel like it's the 1500s.

17th century skirt

At first, I bought the piece of linen that I used for this skirt thinking that I would make a surcoat, a cotehardie or something in the like. Then, I decided that I really missed my green linen 18th century petticoat. I was tempted to recreate it, then I thought: "No! Foolish you, Audrey, you don't need another 18th century petticoat! Make something else, expand your knowledge!" And thus, listening to the loud voice in my head, I decided to recreate a mid-17th century skirt.

First step in the endeavour: gathering relevant information.

For example, this outfit. When looking at the ensemble closely, you can tell that the front of the skirt is left straight, while the sides and back are gathered into cartridge pleats. The very top of the pleats are bound by a strip of fabric that is also used to tie the skirt at the back.

Since I have plain black linen, and that the only interesting details are the pleat at the waist, it is very straightforward to make. I measured from my waist to the floor for the length, and added 2 1/2 inches. 1/2 inch at the bottom for the hem, and 2 inches at the top to be folded over at the waist and offer support to help the pleats stand up. 

Now that we know what the skirt needs to look like, and how long the fabric needs to be, it's quite easy to proceed. I used the full width of my fabric, and cut two rectangles of the required length. I joined the selvedges together, and since I kept them intact, no need to finish those edges! Hurray.

Then I did a double fold at the bottom, and hemmed my skirt. It took me a few days, because I was sewing at a very leisurely pace, and because this is done entirely by hand, for a lack of a sewing machine.

Next step, fold the top edge down by 2 inches. Remember the extra that we added at the beginning? Yes, that's where it goes. The skirt should now be the exact length that we wanted, in this case, waist to floor. Perfect.

I cut a slit in the center back, about 20 cm long, and bound it with a 1 inch wide placket.

Now to the pleats! From looking at the image above, I would say that the pleats are probably 2-3 inches long. I decided to make mine 2 1/4 inches, just a little longuer than the extra fabric on the inside. I left 5 inches at centre front free and flat, and marked it with pins. There are going to be three rows of stitches holding the pleats in place, the first one 1/4 inch from the top, and the subsequent will be an inch apart from one another.

I started poking my needle through the fabric, 1/4 inch from the folded edge, at 1 cm intervals. (Okay, okay, I know, I keep switching between inches and cm... Sorry. I'll blame it on my Canadian-ness, where we use the metric system in school, and the imperial system at home...) I got bored quickly of this method, it was slow, and holding my measuring tape up to the fabric was starting to get annoying. Had I brought some smart marking device, like my tailor's pen, I would have used that. Unfortunately, my bare-minimum-survival-sewing kit only has a small chunk or rather non-too-sharp wax chalk. I had a brilliant idea though! I created a paper template. And used it. It was glorious.

It's a very simple thing indeed! I took a piece of paper, marked a line 1/4 inch from the edge, and another an inch lower, and cut the paper 1/4 inch after that second line. Result, a piece of paper that is 1 1/2 inch wide. Then I marked the edges at a 1 cm interval, and cut little channels based on those marks. All I had to do after? Paper to the folded edge of fabric and one over, one under, one over, one under. Then do the same on the bottom row. Remove paper from first line, fold over second time, repeat the over-under sequence to create third row of stitches. Rinse and repeat until the top edge is pleated completely on both sides.

This is the picture of the first side pleated. It's incredible how much fabric can be gathered up in these pleats. But this is definitely not the finish width... I had to release the pleats on a few inches. Then I tied the threads in the back.

After the correct waist measurement was attained, it was time to bind the top of the pleats. I took a long-ish strip of linen, folded one edge over, attached it to the front of the pleats and along the flat edge at centre front. Then folded the other edge under, and whip-stitched it to the inside of the skirt. I finished the ties, and now my skirt is ready to wear!!

Some pictures of the finished skirt, on my very professional looking red background... Namely the carpet.

   

And on me. It fits. It's real. I like it. :)

The estranged dressmaker

Another option for the title would be the alienated dressmaker, both are more or less equivalent. And here in Germany, strangers are blatantly referred to as "aliens" (no, I kid you not). The official translation of the Ausländerbehörde, a.k.a. the place where I go to get my visa, is the aliens department...

Anyhow. I'm far away from home, and I have extremely limited supplies when it comes to creating costumes. Which is, you know, that thing that I reaaaaally enjoy doing. With this in mind, I decided to attempt my first ever completely by-hand garment (no sewing machine yet), and what more perfect time period to pick than the 14th century? With some tips from my friend Peryn (her deviant account here: http://arasiyris.deviantart.com/) I started gathering materials for this new project.

14th century kirtle

First, some reference pictures. The kirtles are the under-dresses, seen in pink, black and yellow in the second picture.

I bought some fabric when I was in Paris (insert here the high-pitched noise that girls make when they see puppies or babies). I have black linen, gold block printed silk, and purple cotton (which, it turns out, has a little bit of spandex in it, so it's not as stiff and offers some stretch). Although I'm aiming at somewhat of an historically accurate garment, I have to make some compromises. I decided to use the cotton for this kirtle. Already there, we find three blatant inaccuracies: cotton was not common, spandex didn't exist, and purple was a colour reserved for royalty since it was extremely expensive and difficult to acquire. But for a first project that I'll probably only where in my room, I think they can be forgiven.

I had absolutely no drafting equipment here, and I decided to make do. I bought the cheapest-largest sketchpad I could find, fashioned a ruler/straight edge with a piece of paper. Materials I already had: a pencil, an eraser, a measuring tape, a pair of paper scissors, and my knowledge.

In this image, as can be seen, I have already drafter the bodice of the kirtle. It has no darts, the shaping is found at the sides, centre back, and at the top of centre front. Now, this is actually just a tentative draft, I have no certainty that this will actually fit me. Self-measurements and self-fitting is a little tricky. It resulted in a lot of awkard poses in front of the mirror, holding a stiff piece of paper and trying to make marks on it. Something like that:

I think the bodice will fit, so I went ahead and drafted a medieval sleeve to fit the arm opening.

Next challenge in this process, laying out the pattern on the fabric. That took some planning, as I only have 3 metres of fabric.

And some re-planning during the process, as I had to alter the sleeves and remembered that seam allowances are important to take into account.

I had previously washed the fabric, and left it to air dry in my room, artfully draped between the cupboard and the ladder.

 Fabric which then required to be released from it's crinkles. To the makeshift ironing board!

 Laying down the bodices pieces and tracing the outline of the skirt in chalk. I have no proper cutting table, but the thick carpet is perfect, really. The fabric doesn't slide around like it would on a hardwood floor, and I can pin into it without any problems.

 Drawing the the four gores that will give more volume to the skirt.

 And tah-dah! Two front pieces, two backs, two sleeves, four gores, even some extra fabric left over. I can use that extra fabric to make the buttons that will go on the sleeves. And I already have some purple thread as well as a leather-ish string that I'll use to lace up the front of the kirtle.

The ridiculously small sewing kit that I brought with me should be sufficient to get me through this project. It contains the basics. Good fabric scissors, snips, thimble, seam-ripper, pins and needles.

I'll need to baste the pieces together and check the fit before I commit to anything permanent. It should take a while to sew up together, but it's not a bad thing. I have lot's of free time, and I'm really broke. It's a win-win situation: an efficient way of keeping me both occupied and entertained.

Look at these pretties

As I mentioned in my last post, last week I improvised a pair of 18th-century-looking shoes.
Why would I do that?
Two reasons spring to mind: I need some sort of footwear for the end of the year show that we'll be having, showcasing our awesome 18th century clothing (can you feel the sarcasm in there? I'm half super excited, and half annoyed by this), and secondly, I wanted to try my hand at modifying shoes.

Materials needed:
-Pair of shoes for sacrificial purposes
-Paper to make the upper's pattern
-Canvas or 2 layers of cotton fabric glued together
-Decorative fabric, such as upholstery fabric
-Spray Adhesive
-Glue Gun
-Scissors
-Heat resistant fingers (or a high tolerance to hot glue burns)

I started out with a pair of pale pink shoes with a small Louis heel and a slightly elongated but rounded toe. Of course, I didn't start taking pictures until after I had started hacking and cutting off different part of the shoes... I removed the heel strap, to be left with something that looked like a mule, and also removed the hideous little bow at the front of the shoes.

I started taking pictures around this moment now. I made the paper pattern by draping a piece of cotton on top of my foot inside the shoe. I put my piece on the bias to get a little stretch out of it. Since I was going for an 18th century look, I extended the upper to a point over my foot.

Once I had the paper pattern, I cut out three layers of fabric. Two of factory cotton that I glued together, and a third of my upholstery fabric. On the third layer, I added an extra half inch of fabric to be able to fold it over the raw edge of the layer underneath, and have the semblance of a finished edge. I clipped the extra seam allowance and glued it down on the inside with spray adhesive. I also put some fray-check on weaker areas, as upholstery fabric frays like crazy! I also added a line of sewing at the very top, just as a precaution.

Then, I sprayed the heel of the shoe with adhesive and draped a piece of bias fabric on it to cover it completely. You can't really tell, but there's a shoe under there.

Here's a look at the heel after I stretched fabric over it. Then I let it dry, and once it was dry I removed the excess fabric, taking care to leave about 1/2 inch all around to tuck down and glue in place. I clipped into this extra allowance to allow it to lie flat against the inside of the heel and the insole of the shoe.

Once that was done, and glued, and dried, I took the uppers that I prepared earlier, and did something similar. Applied hot glue to the top of the shoe and around the sides, and carefully applied the stiff fabric layer in place.

Here's what it looks like from the top and bottom, after all the excess has been clipped into and secured to the bottom of the sole.

I know there would have been the possibility of removing the sole of the shoe, tucking all the ends under, and sandwiching them between the shoe and the bottom sole afterwards, but I lacked the physical strength to drive a screwdriver in between the two layers of the shoes. So I had to make-do.

Once that was all done, I put a piece of factory cotton under the part of the heel that shows (but not under the grippy part) and another piece of cotton on the inside. The goal of these extra pieces is to hide any fraying that happened/is-happening/will-probably-happen-in-a-near-future to the outer layer of fabric. It also looks nicer and neater.

I then put the shoes on! And realized that there was a rather large pull right across the front. I guess I shouldn't become a cobbler. But no worries! What's the eighteenth century without a few well-place bows? Ta-dah! With bows on, you can hardly tell it even puckered in the first place. (So clever of me.) And I rather enjoy the way they look with the bows too.

Yes, these are shameless mirror selfies... I'm also wearing spiderweb tights underneath my stockings. Crazy crazy! Also, these are my hand-made, short-gored stockings, which are silk jersey, and embroidered with locally sourced green silk floss. The stockings are tied with ribbons above my knees. (The ribbons are tied fairly tightly, otherwise they just fall down.) My eighteenth century legwear are now finished! It's too bad my skirt will cover up all of that work.

I also only got two blisters from fooling around with hot glue. I burned my fingers several times, but always in the same two spots... These shoes aren't perfect, far from it. I wouldn't ever claim so. They do look adorable though, and they're only intended to be worn on a stage for a few hours in April. As long as no one looks too closely, they make a fairly good impression.