By Design

To turn off the computer. It's amazing to me how much I can accomplish when the computer is off. These last couple of weeks have been incredibly productive, sewing-wise. I've made three skirts (one of them complete with darts and a zipper!)...



...an Elmer Fudd-style hat for Sonia, and two pairs of toddler moccasins. I even have a load of wash going to preshrink some recently-purchased fabric, and will be turning this machine off in half an hour tops to draft up the pattern for a dress. Sure, with the computer off I'm less caught up with the news and the latest celebrity scandals, and my soon-to-be-overdue library books and phone bill are slightly weighing on my mind (not to mention I should be searching for a job!)...but no matter. What I am blissfully infatuated with at the moment is constructing clothes and making sense of patterns.





I am in love with patterns. I just recently learned how to decode these fragile paper beasts, and it has been incredibly enlightening. It's fascinating enough, our instinctual desire to create. But then for us to codify our creations so that they can be replicated and recreated--I find this so exhilarating and comforting. I have always been slightly in awe of architects and designers, their blueprints, their ability to marry form and function, even their sharp way of dressing is something I admire.... Not that I have any desire to build a bridge--and if I did build one, I certainly wouldn't want anyone to dare cross it--but somehow, my understanding of the necessary steps in the construction of shoes for my little ones, the way to properly insert a zipper (note: understanding does NOT equate with mastering), and the basic technique to bring shape to a garment makes me feel like I am, in the smallest way, making sense of the world around me...and maybe inching a tiny bit closer to understanding who I am.

In addition to the sharp-edged dotted lines, the beautifully straightforward arrows, and the practical formality of the instructions, what I love about patterns is that the process of deciphering one is a lot like learning a new language. At first everything appears foreign, incomprehensible, and scary. But with a little guidance, constant exposure, and a lot of trial and error, it all starts to make beautiful sense. And like uttering a sentence in a new, foreign tongue, when a garment is constructed there's no covering up one's mistakes. It's exhibited in all its vulnerability and uncertainty. Like the slightly gnarled zipper on the back of my skirt.



There's something very liberating about being a novice and willing to expose oneself in that way. (Although I'd never let my zipper expose me in too compromising a way, let me reassure you!) I'm reminded of studying literature in college--or, rather, deconstructionism, postmodernism, and the epistemological uncertainty of everything. It's no wonder that in the midst of my studies I was drawn to dance and language because of their very transparency. No amount of research or rhetoric would cover up the fact that I was a complete, wet-behind-the-ears novice. In dance, my most impassioned Brechtian ideas of the stage and performance couldn't hide my weak pelvic muscles or lack of a properly-arched foot. In my study of Mandarin, it was humbling to attempt to translate and interpret two lines of Confucius in a two-hour class. And constructing clothes from patterns, like performing a dance or speaking in a foreign language, requires the mastery of at least some basic vocabulary and technique. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure that I'm getting the hang of the pattern thing. At least that is my hope, because it would kind of suck to always be a novice in everything.


With that in mind, it's time to turn off the computer, get off my bottom, and get my fabric into the dryer.