Pink bodys and purple dress - Part 8
Welcome back to the dress diaries. Previous posts in this dress diary:
The prelude;
Part I;
Part II;
Part III;
Part IV;
Part V;
Part VI;
Part VII;
Today I come bearing pictures of the nearly finished dress... and to tell you a tale of woe. I had anticipated my weekend would be devoured by sewing on this dress, and I was right. However, I couldn't have guessed at the amount of sewing that was completely obsolete.
Last time in the dress diaries (Part VII above) we left the bodys behind. They are finished, finito, nothing to be sewn about it any more. We pick up with the bodys again, as I tried the pattern I drafted for the dress on over the bodys.
I picked a piece of linen from my cupboard that is a grey/purple colour. Its original description on e-bay called it 'ice grape' -- and it's a good combination with the purple wool I got from e-bay as well. I cut the pattern pieces from the linen and tried the bodice on over my bodys. The fit was good, no bodys peeking out, and I continued to cut out the wool pattern pieces.
Front on fold, back on fold, shoulder straps.
I don't want to post boring pictures of graded seams online, but I've got oodles of them should anyone want to see them. They'll make for an extra-ordinar slide show.
I sewed the bodice right-sides together and graded and clipped my seams. Turning it inside out and pressing it flat was easy. Soon enough I found myself ready to mark the eyelets. I basted the layers flat -- linen can stretch as can wool, and I didn't want any weirdness going on around the eyelets. I also added some fusible interfacing in between the layers to steady the eyelets more.
By now I've become quite proficient at sewing eyelets with my machine, and although the wool stretched a wee bit, I'm still rather happy with the result. Of course I needed to test how it looked on my mannequin.
I first put the linen Puerto dress onto the mannequin, to see what changes I made in the pattern, so I could compare.
The side-back closure is really, really pretty and creates slimming contours. I really like how it turned out even though the purple ribbon isn't a perfect match.
The next step was figuring out where to place the guards, and how:
I had initially planned to follow the inspiring Portrait of a Lady, the left-most option, but as I looked at the bodice I realised this suggested a front-opening kirtle. As tempting as it might be, I wasn't completely blown away by it.
The middle option is the placement of guards (sort of) how I made it in my linen dress, the "wearable mock-up" in light blue that is underneath. Please excuse the poor placement. I think it's hideous.
The right option has a real Snow-white feel to it, while it's origins are firmly rooted in Florence. Actually, I got the idea from Jen Thompson's Early Florentine dress. It's pre-Italy Italian, it's pretty, I gave it a go.
I handsewed most of the guard around the neckline and strap where the guard was right next to the edge, because the sewing machine line on the inside would be slipping on the edge of the bodice lining. I thought handsewing would create a neat finish, and it did. It doesn't show that it's handsewed, and that is, I believe, a good thing. The parts where I sewed the guard down that's not adjacent to the edge of the bodice, I did sew down by machine. As the guard is a strip of velvet, the pile hides the stitches well enough (which is saying a lot about the kind of velvet, when you think about it).
Time to finish off the bottom edge of the bodice! I kept the raw edges exposed during above steps, but they weren't any worse for wear, mostly because they're not on the straight of the grain, and because wool doesn't fray all that easily. I pressed the raw edges inside...
...and added twill tape to help support the weight of the skirt. I was very worried about this, because I know winter coats need the extra support or the weave of the wool will unravel because of the weight. I had posted to the advanced_sewing-community here to ask about it.
The replies made me decide to sew my skirts the historical way. Adding interfacing to the bodice would work, but the interfacing would degrade over time as it's prone to do. The other options were to skip adding support to the skirt side of this seam, but enclosing the raw edges of the skirt between the lining and exterior of the skirt.
The historical method is to pleat the skirts to a (twill) waistband, and handsew this waistband to the bodice.
But first, I must cut my skirt!
The bottom edge of the bodice isn't straight, so the top edge of the skirt dips a bit. I used the selvedge edge as a bottom hem to prevent fraying while I worked on the skirt. Looks big, doesn't it? Actually, that's folded double, and the lining is underneath it to prevent cat hairs from eating my wool. The complete skirt is 4,4 meters wide and 1,25 cm long (I am tall). The lining has exactly the same measurements.
I dove into my cabbage* pile and found a bit of coat-weight wool that would provide the strips to give my pleats some body. I cut 5 cm strips of these using a rotary cutter. The vile green colour works well with the purple, but you won't even see this as it's stuck inside somewhere.
I added vertical slits for the side-back opening in the skirt mass, sewed the center-back seam, and sewed the top edge, right-sides together with the wool strip on top, and turned the entire monstrosity right-side out.
Next up was the cartridge pleating.
Cartridge pleating is hardly ever used anymore, but it's very historically accurate (so it is used for historical costumes, but you get the point). I ran two thick treads in a running stitch through the fabric, guessing at the intervals. It's really hard to 'guess' how deep your pleats will need to be. I really, really suck at calculating knife-, box-, or cartridge pleats and until I find a website or a rule of thumb, I'll probably always be. But I tried with a 2 cm running stitch and looked at the pleats, and then took everything out and tried a needle-length -- somewhere around 5-6 cm.
Since the skirt is divided into front- and back piece by proportion, the back skirts are a lot smaller than the front, but the skirt is still divided evenly around the body. I started cartridge pleating the back, and pulled the running stitch to create the pleats. Then I sewed a strip of twill tape to the pleats by hand.
Cartridge pleating can't be done by machine.
Exterior and interior cartridge pleats.
The pleats were as deep as the twill tape was wide, creating a marvellously thick strip of pleats. After the back, I also pleated the front and then came the terrible task of sewing everything to the bodice. The combined pleating and all handsewing swallowed up all of my Friday night and most of my Saturday afternoon. Only after dinner was I finished.
The front and back of the completed dress.
I could have lived with the bulges in the bodice. The bodice wasn't perfect, but it'd do. I could live with the visible stitches of where I attached the skirts to the bodice by hand. After all, they're period. I could even live with the added ass in the back. It's historically accurate, and saves me the trouble of wanting to make a bumroll.
What I couldn't live with was the added bulge in the front.
The twill tape that held the pleats would stand vertically down my bodys, making sure the pleats would stand horizontally; perpendicular to my body. You don't even see it in the pictures because it doesn't hang that way on the mannequin, but it does on me.
What that means? The skirt would start out horizontally, and slowly taper down. I don't mind looking pregnant in historical dress, since being fertile was a woman's biggest asset (sometimes). But this... this was just hideous! It was a horizontal ridge around my navel. It is like a piece of architecture from the industrial period!
Gâh!
So I ripped it all off. I ripped the skirt from the bodice. I ripped the running stitch from the skirts. I ripped the skirt from the twill tape. I even ripped the wool from the inside of the top edge of the skirt.
Mr.Seamripper is my friend.
The ripping took less than 20 minutes, and now I was stuck with a lovely bodice and a huge bulk of skirts that still needed to be attached to the bodice some way or other...
And this is where I fear I must leave you. It wasn't my intention to have a cliffhanger, but when I was still editing pictures at a quarter to midnight last night I realised my alarm was set for six-thirty am, and I stopped.
You'll have to wait to see what happens next!
-----
*) 'Cabbage': the historical term for 'scraps'.
The prelude;
Part I;
Part II;
Part III;
Part IV;
Part V;
Part VI;
Part VII;
Today I come bearing pictures of the nearly finished dress... and to tell you a tale of woe. I had anticipated my weekend would be devoured by sewing on this dress, and I was right. However, I couldn't have guessed at the amount of sewing that was completely obsolete.
Last time in the dress diaries (Part VII above) we left the bodys behind. They are finished, finito, nothing to be sewn about it any more. We pick up with the bodys again, as I tried the pattern I drafted for the dress on over the bodys.
I picked a piece of linen from my cupboard that is a grey/purple colour. Its original description on e-bay called it 'ice grape' -- and it's a good combination with the purple wool I got from e-bay as well. I cut the pattern pieces from the linen and tried the bodice on over my bodys. The fit was good, no bodys peeking out, and I continued to cut out the wool pattern pieces.
Front on fold, back on fold, shoulder straps.
I don't want to post boring pictures of graded seams online, but I've got oodles of them should anyone want to see them. They'll make for an extra-ordinar slide show.
I sewed the bodice right-sides together and graded and clipped my seams. Turning it inside out and pressing it flat was easy. Soon enough I found myself ready to mark the eyelets. I basted the layers flat -- linen can stretch as can wool, and I didn't want any weirdness going on around the eyelets. I also added some fusible interfacing in between the layers to steady the eyelets more.
By now I've become quite proficient at sewing eyelets with my machine, and although the wool stretched a wee bit, I'm still rather happy with the result. Of course I needed to test how it looked on my mannequin.
I first put the linen Puerto dress onto the mannequin, to see what changes I made in the pattern, so I could compare.
The side-back closure is really, really pretty and creates slimming contours. I really like how it turned out even though the purple ribbon isn't a perfect match.
The next step was figuring out where to place the guards, and how:
I had initially planned to follow the inspiring Portrait of a Lady, the left-most option, but as I looked at the bodice I realised this suggested a front-opening kirtle. As tempting as it might be, I wasn't completely blown away by it.
The middle option is the placement of guards (sort of) how I made it in my linen dress, the "wearable mock-up" in light blue that is underneath. Please excuse the poor placement. I think it's hideous.
The right option has a real Snow-white feel to it, while it's origins are firmly rooted in Florence. Actually, I got the idea from Jen Thompson's Early Florentine dress. It's pre-Italy Italian, it's pretty, I gave it a go.
I handsewed most of the guard around the neckline and strap where the guard was right next to the edge, because the sewing machine line on the inside would be slipping on the edge of the bodice lining. I thought handsewing would create a neat finish, and it did. It doesn't show that it's handsewed, and that is, I believe, a good thing. The parts where I sewed the guard down that's not adjacent to the edge of the bodice, I did sew down by machine. As the guard is a strip of velvet, the pile hides the stitches well enough (which is saying a lot about the kind of velvet, when you think about it).
Time to finish off the bottom edge of the bodice! I kept the raw edges exposed during above steps, but they weren't any worse for wear, mostly because they're not on the straight of the grain, and because wool doesn't fray all that easily. I pressed the raw edges inside...
...and added twill tape to help support the weight of the skirt. I was very worried about this, because I know winter coats need the extra support or the weave of the wool will unravel because of the weight. I had posted to the advanced_sewing-community here to ask about it.
The replies made me decide to sew my skirts the historical way. Adding interfacing to the bodice would work, but the interfacing would degrade over time as it's prone to do. The other options were to skip adding support to the skirt side of this seam, but enclosing the raw edges of the skirt between the lining and exterior of the skirt.
The historical method is to pleat the skirts to a (twill) waistband, and handsew this waistband to the bodice.
But first, I must cut my skirt!
The bottom edge of the bodice isn't straight, so the top edge of the skirt dips a bit. I used the selvedge edge as a bottom hem to prevent fraying while I worked on the skirt. Looks big, doesn't it? Actually, that's folded double, and the lining is underneath it to prevent cat hairs from eating my wool. The complete skirt is 4,4 meters wide and 1,25 cm long (I am tall). The lining has exactly the same measurements.
I dove into my cabbage* pile and found a bit of coat-weight wool that would provide the strips to give my pleats some body. I cut 5 cm strips of these using a rotary cutter. The vile green colour works well with the purple, but you won't even see this as it's stuck inside somewhere.
I added vertical slits for the side-back opening in the skirt mass, sewed the center-back seam, and sewed the top edge, right-sides together with the wool strip on top, and turned the entire monstrosity right-side out.
Next up was the cartridge pleating.
Cartridge pleating is hardly ever used anymore, but it's very historically accurate (so it is used for historical costumes, but you get the point). I ran two thick treads in a running stitch through the fabric, guessing at the intervals. It's really hard to 'guess' how deep your pleats will need to be. I really, really suck at calculating knife-, box-, or cartridge pleats and until I find a website or a rule of thumb, I'll probably always be. But I tried with a 2 cm running stitch and looked at the pleats, and then took everything out and tried a needle-length -- somewhere around 5-6 cm.
Since the skirt is divided into front- and back piece by proportion, the back skirts are a lot smaller than the front, but the skirt is still divided evenly around the body. I started cartridge pleating the back, and pulled the running stitch to create the pleats. Then I sewed a strip of twill tape to the pleats by hand.
Cartridge pleating can't be done by machine.
Exterior and interior cartridge pleats.
The pleats were as deep as the twill tape was wide, creating a marvellously thick strip of pleats. After the back, I also pleated the front and then came the terrible task of sewing everything to the bodice. The combined pleating and all handsewing swallowed up all of my Friday night and most of my Saturday afternoon. Only after dinner was I finished.
The front and back of the completed dress.
I could have lived with the bulges in the bodice. The bodice wasn't perfect, but it'd do. I could live with the visible stitches of where I attached the skirts to the bodice by hand. After all, they're period. I could even live with the added ass in the back. It's historically accurate, and saves me the trouble of wanting to make a bumroll.
What I couldn't live with was the added bulge in the front.
The twill tape that held the pleats would stand vertically down my bodys, making sure the pleats would stand horizontally; perpendicular to my body. You don't even see it in the pictures because it doesn't hang that way on the mannequin, but it does on me.
What that means? The skirt would start out horizontally, and slowly taper down. I don't mind looking pregnant in historical dress, since being fertile was a woman's biggest asset (sometimes). But this... this was just hideous! It was a horizontal ridge around my navel. It is like a piece of architecture from the industrial period!
Gâh!
So I ripped it all off. I ripped the skirt from the bodice. I ripped the running stitch from the skirts. I ripped the skirt from the twill tape. I even ripped the wool from the inside of the top edge of the skirt.
Mr.Seamripper is my friend.
The ripping took less than 20 minutes, and now I was stuck with a lovely bodice and a huge bulk of skirts that still needed to be attached to the bodice some way or other...
And this is where I fear I must leave you. It wasn't my intention to have a cliffhanger, but when I was still editing pictures at a quarter to midnight last night I realised my alarm was set for six-thirty am, and I stopped.
You'll have to wait to see what happens next!
-----
*) 'Cabbage': the historical term for 'scraps'.