It Takes a Closet to Build a Blankie

Or it takes a village to fill a closet? Hey, whatever. I've been carting around clothes I seldom wear telling myself that I would sell them on e-bay or Craig's list, as friends of mine have done. Much more highly motivated friends. Years pass. The clothes are great: a great brand, a great bargain, a great find. . . but maybe not a great fit. 

The vintage dress from a shop in Wicker Park was particularly distressing to deconstruct. It was clearly handmade by someone who put a lot of skill and effort into it. But it was a petite and choked off my floating ribs making breathe in quick, shallow sips as if I'd been shot a few times and my lungs couldn't hold air. 

And all of it looks good together - the common, ahem, thread, is me: I'm the filter that brought it all together across time so it kind of looks intentional.

I've spent the last few weekends washing, cutting, pressing, and measuring and this weekend hope to safety pin the pieces to the muslin so I can tote the whole thing to the fabric store to pick out the backing. 

NOTE: the lack of any largish unseamed section stayed my hand at the last minute from my raincoat, which will see another spring. 

   

Here is a thumbnail I put together to see if I could make the colors work by estimating my largest and smallest fabric sources for each piece.

Comments

[naomi]

I appreciate your scientific process to quilting. Just seeing those little swatches is quite satisfying. I'm inspired to cut up all my own ill-fitting clothes and do something artistic with them. I'd even be into doing some patchwork, were it not for my aversion to this idea of "measuring."

p.s. You get bonus points for mentioning floating ribs.

[suzub]

I hear you with the measuring. That my pieces mostly fit when I laid (lay?) (dammit!) them together filled me with that same sense of reserved wonder I always experience when I calculate something . . . accurately. That's sad, but true.