Sew Specific

Apologies to non-sewing peops. Initially this post may appear a little dry, but hang in there, there is always the possibility I may make an interesting, more generally applicable, point. No promises mind, so if there isn’t, don’t go asking for your money back!

K. Now I know I have mentioned Simplicity Built By You sewing patterns before (here and here), and I’m sure this won’t be the last time (I’m particularly sure because I have in my possession a trouser pattern of theirs that I plan to attack when back in the Motherland over Christmas). But I feel the need to break it down. The NY based clothing brand Built By Wendy , create (in my opinion) amazing, wearable (I’d imagine) and infinitely inspirational garments. I visited a Built By Wendy store in LA last Autumn (or should that be Fall) and saw a collection in the flesh. For me, it was like a combination of making a holy pilgrimage and seeing the tooth fairy! Anyway, it was so exciting to see home sewing patterns on sale in a cool, dare I say trendy, boutique. Normally such boutiques, Pixie Market (incidentally on the very same street as the Built By Wendy shop in LA) being another example, offer to me the emotionally dichotomic combination of massive inspiration, envy and insatiable temptation. Inspiration, because often the garments reveal so many details and ideas to fuel my own creations, envy because I don’t have the talent to design pieces of such perfection of my own bat, and insatiable temptation because I am unable to purchase garments due to my pledge, though realistically they would be out of my budget anyway. Really, for me, such retail experiences are very draining!

So for Wendy Mullin, the creator and designer of Built by Wendy, to have the selflessness to create this range of patterns, and the amazing sewing book Sew U, both to encourage the art of home sewing, is such a fantastic thing. I salute her.

BTW, did I ever mention that I actually have the Sew U book? It’s the kind of thing that I would, and for some time did, deeply desire, but perversely could never justify treating myself to. Then through the most bizarre set of occurrences involving an elderly ex-seamstress and pattern cutting tutor who was a friend of my ex-boyfriends nan having a massive clearout, a pristine copy became mine (along with the most epic, largely vintage, button stash you have ever seen, but that’s another story). I was so excited, I was very nearly sick. There is a stretch fabric version out now that is well on my ‘wants’ list.

The patterns that have been published are from actual Built By Wendy collections. For example, this hardy perennial from my sewing pattern archive was actually part of the Spring 2004 collection. This is one of the garments I created from this pattern (say hello to Daddy Edwards):

And these are two of my favourite creations made by someone else (in this case, both by the awesome Chicago based seamstress Snaggletooth):

What all this shows is that, ultimately, Wendy Mullin is intelligent. She knows her customer base, and is well aware that no one who is actually going to buy this garment would say ‘You know what? I don’t think I’ll bother, I’ll save my cash by buying the pattern and making my own’. Also she knows her industry well enough to be aware that if a commercial interest was set on ripping off her styles, they would either send in ‘researchers’ into the stores to photograph the garments, often covertly, or they would purchase one garment and send it off to be deconstructed and copied. From first hand experience, I know this happens frequently. In a previous employment role, I have personally purchased garments for the purpose of sending them off to be copied. And damn, at this very moment I’m a ‘researcher’ myself! Wow, that felt a bit confessional. The justification for my actions will have to wait for another post. Right now there are sewing plans to form.......

Borne (it's so) yesterday

So, through an unforseen set of circumstances I had to leave the Borne. Whatever, that flat was for geeks anyway. Now I'm back staying with the Dads in Poble Sec. And you know what that means peops....

CANDELA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you believe it?! My first morning waking up back in Poble Sec, I go for breakfast in the coffee shop where I first witnessed her, and BAM! I am blessed with a sighting! It could be interpreted (and I have done as such) that it is a sign that, no matter what wierdness goes down, amazingness is never far away.

Check the batwing cropped jacket. And, damn, she knows red is so right now. I have to admit, I didn't even try to disguise taking this photo. I guess she is just so used to being papped for style magazines and the like, she's all 'Another day, another pap'. Oh, and FYI, I watched her moves carefully, she put all the butter and jam available on her toast. Proof that diets are a waste of time.

So after the sighting I needed to calm down, so me and my mate Anna went over the other side of the square for another coffee. Oh, and that turned out to be pretty amazing as well (be sure not to miss Anna's beautiful and heartbreakingly expensive new top, kind of Marc Jacobs-esque 70's, with 40's referencing, in my opinion):

The cafe was super beautiful, and the morning autumn sunshine made it more so.

It reminded me of the cafe in that film Amelie. It had antiquey mis-matched chairs (street furniture?) with marble tables, colourful stained glass, aqua tiles, random art and a massive mirror above the bar.

I love living somewhere where enjoying an extended breakfast with a friend in interesting and often beautiful surroundings is seen as perfectly normal behaviour, and not in anyway the actions of some layabout, work-shy person (not that I'm necessarily claiming not to be those things as well). I'm not UK bashing, believe me, I could list numerous less pleasant sides to life here, but this pleasure is something that is particularly important to me. You could live in the most amazing place in the world, but if you aren't able to absorb it and reflect upon it from time to time, then what's the point? For me, surroundings are so important, they feed me in so many ways. I'm lucky that I can feel that, even whilst being homeless and skint.

Street life, it's the only life I know

Stop me if I’ve told you this, but the best thing (for me) about living in Barcelona is the ‘free furniture days’. I fear that is not the official term, I’m not sure there is an official term.

Nevertheless, it is an amazingly exciting thing. Let me bring you up to speed peops.

Every area has a day of the week when you can put out on the street any unwanted/broken pieces or furniture, or indeed anything else, for the council to come and collect. Naturally the more thrifty individuals choose these days to go ‘stuff-hunting’. I am firmly one such individual. In fact, when my flatmate told me of this phenomena, I was nearly sick and went straight out, literally eight hours too early (10pm is the optimum hour in my hood) , on the off chance that the early bird does indeed catch the worm. It didn’t. But I have honed the art, and in the style of Yardsale Bloodbath, here are some of my beauts.

A beautiful bird cage with heart motif. (Tiago quote: ‘Think of all the dead birds that once lived in there.)

Hand-painted frame with ‘gold’ leaf inlay. (I’m pretty convinced some Catalan girl was trying to have to it off me the night I found it, but I refused to let go of it whilst she was admiring it. You got to watch out for that.)

Shop display torso. (There was actually about twelve and I picked them all up screaming ‘They’re mine!’, until Harriet convinced me that one was probably enough. The jury’s still out on that.)

Three-quarters empty church candles. (These can be found by the box load round the back of the Cathedral on Thursday evenings. Damn it! I’ve spilled the beans, now everyone will be there. Tiago quote: ‘That’s other peoples’ prayers and wishes’, my quote ‘Yeah Tiago, did I mention they were free?’.)

Full length bevelled mirror. (Found at the same time as another more antiquey mirror for the bathroom, but the bathroom is too skanky for you to see. That’s the thing about mirrors, they reflect stuff.)

THE SEWING STASH. That’s right people, feast your eyes. And for the record, those reels of thread are just a fraction of what I picked up that night, which in turn was just a fraction of what was in the box. The little red things are size tabs. I have to be honest, the sewing machine is broken, but the high we achieved when we found it well out did the disapointment in discovering it didn’t work. I don’t remember EVER being that exicted in my whole life. Including the time when my dad told me we were going to a panto JUST AFTER seeing a panto piece on Blue Peter. Anyway, I’m hanging onto the machine in case I meet someone who can fix it. Maybe I’ll find one on the street!

The mini-stash of buttons and hook and eyes were found in Gotico one day when I was feeling pretty down. Like Barcelona gave me a little gift and was saying ‘Cheer up love’. Thanks Barcelona, I have.

Detections for our imminent viewing pleasure

My mother, whom, it could be argued, I unofficially employ as a cultural correspondent, keeping an eye out for interesting things whilst my attention is elsewhere, is pretty-bloody-awesome. She has just informed me of a new Coen Brothers film shortly to be released called Burn After Reading. So highly tuned are her skills, that she is able to acquire, assimilate and report such exciting and socially relevant news without even removing her fluffy slippers, and can do so on the way to putting the kettle on. Undeniably strong skills indeed. Remind me to give her a raise.

Check the poster above. How nice is that!? Viewing the artwork only further ignited my excitement. But wait.......! Those colours, that font, the mysterious silhouette. Have we not seen this somewhere before? Perhaps if we were cast our minds back into the graphic design history of the late 20th century........ Ta da!

I'm sure the graphic designer who created the Burn After Reading poster was creating a deliberate reference, and subsequently I can hardly feel smug for making the connection. Next time you see me however, ask me to tell you the true story about when Jimmy Stewart was in the back of my Grandad's taxi.... It's a good one.

The Pleasure/Pain Theory

Two months. No sewing for two months. It´s horrible. I´ve gone through the cold-turkey sweats, the anguish, the dull ache of yearning, and still the pain of loss refuses to die. Two months, people.

I try and alleviate my symptoms by sometimes checking my various favourite sewing blogs, to see what amazing stuff people have been making. It´s sado-masochistic, as the pleasure is laced with fresh pain when I see stuff like this:


This amazing African print dress was made by a girl from London using a vintage dress pattern. More on this dress can be found here.

Let me explain. It´s not just jealousy that is stirred, although I would be the first to admit that that emotion is very present. It´s like this: I love African fabric and had been using it more and more before I left for Barcelona (and temporarily left my favourite passtime). I also have a vintage pattern addiction, and have for some time thinking I should start wearing more dresses. Now I´m not saying that, given time, I would have inevitably have conjured up a similar creation, it´s just all these elements in one amazingly executed example of home sewing is just a bit more than my fragile heart can bear!

I´m heading back to the UK in a couple of weeks and have set myself the challenge of making a new creation whilst I am there. I won´t have enough time to produce a dress, but I predict the pains will cease for a while.

I heart sitting around

How good is sitting around?! Normally I´ve got heaps of stuff to do. However, my present combination of unemployment, lack of sewing machine and computer and Top Gear repeats, it being too hot and the general Barcelona social culture has meant I´ve been clocking up the sitting-around-hours with ease, both on my own and with friends. In fact, there are so many cafes and bars here that I seriously question how the economy can support them all. Subsequently, I believe frequenting my favourites ones is a duty that I cannot shy away from, for fear of them closing. This happened in Nottingham, when the K9 Cafe closed down whilst my back was turned when I was in New Zealand. I´m not letting that happen again. Not on my watch.

In the image above I am chilling with some crew in a nice cafe called Babel in the Gottico area. And yes, I did make that blouse, thanks for asking. From a one pound table cloth as a matter of fact.

Sitting on my arse has recently resulted in some major ideas generation and discussion. All sorts of creative plans and projects are subsequently afoot. However, this inspiration could also be the result of the three electric shocks I have sustained from my bathroom this week. Either way, watch this space!

Shining the light from the style-torch

Kay. For the record, I love Barcelona. But if there´s one thing that has become more special to me than Barcelona, it´s.... actually scrap that. If there´s one thing that has heightened my love of Barcelona it´s Candela Casagrande! Let me introduce you:

May I explain. My adopted Dads took us for breakfast the other day, and we were sitting in the cafe when this lady walked in, and they nearly puked with excitement. Bascially, she is apparantly some sort of bar fly that hangs out exclusively in the eating and drinking establishments around the tiny Placa Sortidor, a square in the area of Poble Sec. I believe to see her may well be some sort of lucky omen.

She is a special treat, whose image must be carefully receorded. Hence this type of image:



Let´s analyse her style. Hmmmm, DAMN GOOD is my conclusion. I totally love the fact that she is carefully dressed, coifured and made-up, despite pushing ninety. She clearly understands the value of appearance as a medium of social interaction and communication. That looking good and taking time on your style is both an expression of and a method of developement of your self esteem.

I REALLY hate it when women no longer give a crap about how they look after, and often way before, the menopause. From what I´ve seen that seems to be exactly to time for self-definition, and maybe a little re-invention. Candela is an inspiration, and has reminded me of the importance of such self-expression. I guess recently hanging out almost exclusively with cerebral-types has put my naturally visual-self slightly on the back burner. That and it´s fu****g hot so wearing small, loose clothes has been a priority this week.

In case you were wondering what such a sassy individual would rock in the colder months, let me enlighten you:


You know that´s real fur. These images are care of Isi, an individual always selflessly on the front line, putting himself out there, ready to pounce and capture such essentially imagery. He is clearly a master of covert photography. Once more for the road Brother Isi:


Oh, and there is a distinct possibility that she isn´t called Candela Casagrande, seeing as we made it up! We were sitting in the cafe trying to think what this style-icon would be called. Casagrande is the mental surname (Bighouse?!) of some surreal psychic Lee went to visit recently, who may well have changed his life by announcing he has ´latent psychic tendancies´. It seemed an appropriatly imposing surname for our subject. And Candela? That´s the Spanish word for the ´light of a candle´. And as I think you can agree, she shines!!!!!!!