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Category: Style

Playing with Paper Dolls

When I was young I loved playing with paper dolls. As I grew older, into my teens, I particularly loved those fashion paper dolls, where you had a variety of outfits to put on the model. I loved playing with clothes and colors and style. But I never really thought abut majoring in Home Economics, or becoming a buyer or designer or in any way having a career in fashion. I liked plain paper dolls and the fancy exotic and historical ones. I loved the ideas of mixing up styles. But none of this played out really in my actual clothing. I wore a Milwaukee brace from the age of 10 to 15. My mom hated making my clothes and found fitting over the brace difficult. In retrospect that could have played into why I was not encouraged to sew. Paper dolls were a way to explore ideas I couldn’t explore in real life. I thought I didn’t have any style and never would. The girl my parents always compared me to, wished I would be like, had style but I did not. Everyone told me so — my parents, my godfather — everyone who mattered to that younger me. But I don’t know where that came from: out of fear, or pity, or somewhere else. I absorbed those words, but they may also have fueled my fascinations, Dressing paper dolls opened up worlds that were not my world. Now of course I know that everyone has style in the broader sense, style is part of who we are, the way we present our external selves to the world. Even the rejection of Style, the specific version of style in the narrow sense, is itself a form of style. Every choice we make, every choice we refuse to make is a part of the style in which we present ourselves to the world.

I still like playing with paper dolls, but my “paper doll” play in adulthood runs more into making collages from pictures cut out of magazines and catalogs. When I was a child, I also loved poring over my mother’s Harpers Bazaar magazines. I loved the pattern catalogs when we went to Hancocks fabrics even though I wasn’t the one sewing, and often my choices of fabric or pattern were not the ones I ended up wearing. Even more, I loved my mom’s Japanese sewing magazines, Soen and Dressmaking. Soen seemed more exotic and fascinating to me. When I went away to college, fashion magazines offered an occasional escape from studies. Once, after a Saturday spent in NYC, I bought a copy of the French fashion magazine L’Officiel to peruse on the train back to Poughkeepsie. There was a photo shoot featuring models wearing ethereal evening dresses by Yves Saint Laurent paired with thick-soled basic canvas espadrilles, not the pretty lace up ones, but the thick fishermen-style ones. It blew my mind. I had never seen anything like that in West Texas. I started cutting out pictures. Eventually I started pasting the pictures onto pages and creating notebooks, although truthfully I didn’t really do that until much later, after I taught myself to sew, after I was married.

Those notebooks filled with pictures of clothes and clothing details have resided on my shelves, mostly untouched, for some years now. But recently I unpacked a box labeled “miscellaneous patterns” and found a stash of photo clippings mixed with knitting pattern leaflets and patterns cut from magazines. I started looking at my collages, my “paper dolls”, and I realized there was a distinct style and continuity to my choices over the years. Of course, there were a few things here and there that I could look at today and wonder what I had been thinking, but I could cover those little glitches up with new photos. I’ve never been one who wants all of one designer, or one year, or one age or style, bundled together. I started playing with pictures again. And I wondered why I had stopped.

I started sorting through the various files on my computer, because I haven’t really read fashion magazines much in years, but I have occasionally saved screenshots or made Pinterest boards. Unfortunately I never look at those pictures once I’ve clipped them. I am apparently a glue and paper girl. Still. The idea that I could print out those clipped images and paste them into books further expanded my brain. I looked at my fabric collection differently. I started sewing again.

The photos of collages above are mostly old, more than 12 years old, many of the photos may be 20 or 30 years old. My early explorations were probably not all that adventurous, shaped by very twentieth century ideals of style and elegance. But I still find them inspiring. There are lots of pages of women in suits. I still like suits even though I don’t really wear them, and since menopause I still run hot. The hardest part of retirement was not having a reason to wear suits anymore. But there are also pictures of women whose style I admired, women who pushed boundaries, who mixed things up, who knew themselves. I’m not sure I did, know myself that is. But collaging is one part of the process, and I suspect knowing oneself is a lifetime journey.

And part of that journey is that I clip ideas from a much wider range of sources now than I did. I am inspired by a wider range of cultures and styles. I am inspired by younger women, women who may wear things that I love on them but may or may not ever wear myself. I like the idea that fashion and style is not a narrow line. I say this even as I occasionally despair that quality and style and wearable elegance seems to be fading away. Fashion, in the big sense, seems to appeal less. I clip pictures of things I could probably easily buy. But it’s not about buying or consuming. Perusing my notebooks makes me think about what I have and what I want to wear and why I want to wear it. I’ve always been a person who thinks too much, who lives perhaps too much in her head. But I can’t really dismiss that part of myself she is very much a part of what has made me the woman I am today.

Even though I haven’t bought fashion magazines, or actually been all that inspired by high fashion in some time, I felt inspired to go out and buy a fashion magazine. I wanted one of the semiannual issues that focus on the collections, and I found this Vogue France Collections Fall 2025/2026 at my local Barnes and Noble.

It was disappointing. I suppose I should have suspected that from the cover. There are maybe three things I would clip from the whole issue. Everything seems based on shock value or on the instant photographable moment, not beautiful things that could fit into a life, any life. I don’t know if my issue is with the designers and the industry as a whole, or with the editors at Vogue France. In some sense it doesn’t matter. And the absence of Vogue in my life doesn’t mean there aren’t things that inspire me. Unfortunately most of those things are no longer at the high end of the market. Fashion seems to have changed but we still need to wear clothes. From my perspective, too many choices that aren’t really choices at all, poorly made clothes of cheap fabrics that fall apart and don’t last. I want to wear only what feels right for me, and to wear it for years. That is true if I am looking at a tee or a cocktail dress. For me, looking at pictures helps focus me, inspire me to pull together the things that make me happy. It slows the constant buzz of too much that seemingly swirls through the air, the electronic and social media backlog that is both annoyingly distracting and yet can also be far too narrow and confining.

This picture is from a sewing pattern company, Sew Liberated, one of the models for the Arthur Pants. I like this pattern; I like this shape’ and I love this photo of this model. She looks happy, comfortable, and, to my eye, quite stylish. I think the pants are very flattering in a modern way, a way that embraces the idea that we all come in different shapes and have different ideas of style, and look good in our own bodies, our own thoughts, our own choices. This photo is going in one of my collages and I will probably also eventually make a pair of these pants. I don’t have any patterns for barrel legged pants, although I have long loved them. I had barrel legged, elastic waisted gardening pants in the late 1980’s and early 1990s. The legs were cut much like this and I adored them. They were worn to shreds and the company I purchased them from went out of business. There truly is nothing new in the world, but there are tweaks and differences that make something feel more “now” and less dated.

But this photo also reminds me that this is something my younger self, inculcated into a very restrictive and narrow-minded ideal of what was and was not attractive, would never have worn. Today this photo inspires me, and it also shores me up, helps me fight my own demons, demons that stem from those brace-wearing years of over half a century ago. This summer I am moving better than I have in years and yet at the same time that 13 year old girl who didn’t fit the mold feels dangerously close.

Playing collages has also helped focus on some things I don’t understand about judgements and stye and fashion. My questions are not about why we care, or even why we make judgements, because the inclination to judge, to separate ourselves into groups of “like me” and “not like me” is probably to some extent hardwired for survival. Instead I fret over is why we make judgements on such frivolous, silly, and culturally narrow bases in a world that is far broader and filled with more knowledge, ideas and experiences than ever before. I feel thrilled and inspired by so many options that were not available to me when I was a girl. We open windows onto worlds and then we slam them shut. I do worry.

Will my collages make any difference? No. Will they help me refine my own understanding of the world and my own place in it? Absolutely. It is a small thing. And yet it is generally by the small things that are lives are lived. We simply need to seize our own happiness.

August 7, 2025
Clothing. Thoughts and Questions.

A couple of years ago I was in a quilt shop in Bandera Texas when I spotted a camp shirt made out of cotton batik. The colors reminded me of the autumnal colors of Texas grasses and the limestone of the Texas hill country. I was reminded that once upon a time I would have lived in such shirts. Not only that, there was some part of me that wanted to reacquaint myself with this perhaps neglected portion of my psyche. Neglected, because I wouldn't have worn those shirts during my NY years, during my career years, during the time when I was perhaps too attuned to the dichotomy between my childhood west Texas self and my professional NY self.

A couple of years went by when I wasn't really interested in clothes at all, an anomaly in my life. I've always been interested in clothes, in the way people put things together, and in fashion, even as, at the same time, I struggled with fashion. I've never been particularly fashionable, or stylish, or cool. Perhaps my interest is more abstract or intellectual. I would buy something I loved and then let it sit in my closet for six months or a year, until it settled in, and then wear it to death, even though it was probably "out of fashion". I suppose then my interest in clothing is both practical, because I have to wear clothes, but also sociological, because I love watching the way people wear clothes, even myself sometimes. I was also reminded that clothing is, in many ways our armor, the way we present ourselves to the world, a signaling message which we can employ deliberately, or sometimes even unthinkingly.

I was reminded of all of this recently when I attended a Lafayette 148NY trunk show.

I love the brand, and if I still led a professional life, I might well live in it, but there was very little in this collection that appealed to me. Mostly this was a color thing. One thing that did catch my eye was the suit shown above. The color was perfect. I loved the graceful lines of the jacket and the high-waisted faced pants. There is no picture of it currently available on the website, so my impromptu snap will have to suffice.

But truth be told, I could probably justify that suit: it is not particularly corporate, and there are occasions I could wear it. I don't need it, but I could wear it. Except….. except that I am going through an entirely different internal monologue concerning pants right at the moment. I could buy that suit, and it could be tailored to look good, and I would wear it, but there would always be small issues with the fit of the pants that although not particularly noticeable to others, make them uncomfortable for me. When I was younger, I just assumed that this was one of those inconveniences of life and I just lived with it. But this year I have made pants that fit pretty well, that are comfortable, sitting and standing, and walking and bending over and doing all the things that we humans normally do. And I have learned that I really like that level of comfort. The pants I made so far are not tailored, but are instead rather casual, straight, loose pants. But that doesn't mean I couldn't take the lessons I've learned and attempt to make a more tailored pant. I can alter tailored pants so that they fit better and look good, but perhaps I could achieve even more. I don't know. I'm not sure I'm ready to commit to a pair of ready-to-wear pants at this moment. And so my suit dreams fade.

Or do they? Do I even care about suits? Or am I just trapped in a stroll down memory lane? When I was cataloging my pattern collection I would look longingly at blazer and jacket patterns, and at suits. I'm not sure I would ever make a suit again, but I remember suits past, and am not I suppose ready to give up the thought of suits future, or at least the patterns that contain both memory and promise.

I don't know if I am going to make tailored pants, but I suspect I probably will. I do not know if I will ever make a suit jacket or blazer, but I might. I know I will make camp shirts. But I also know I'm not going to make all my clothes, nor buy all my clothes. I like the process too much, and I am privileged enough to have options and skill and choice.

At the moment perhaps I feel pulled between the idea of camp shirt and suit in the same way I feel pulled between various changes in my life. In some ways the camp shirt represents the life I increasingly aspire to, and the suit the life I have mostly, but not completely, relinquished. And between them is some middle ground, that is broad and wide and probably accommodates both.

Reality is a pastiche of things,

The second thing that caught my attention at the trunk show was this dress. Above (my photo) is a more accurate reflection of the color (at least on my monitor) than the photo from the website (below).

I took the photo because I like the idea of the dress and the way it is color blocked (all in one color). The dress is silk in a mixture of fabrications; georgette, crepe back satin, another silk, perhaps a heavy crepe de chine. Both sides of the crepe back satin are employed, creating matte and shiny surfaces. The different weaves reflect the light in different ways.

There is room in my life for a dress like this, but I would never buy or wear that dress because the color is one that would make me look particularly ill. As inspiration however, it sings. A similar idea could be used in any dress in any color. It is not so much the dress that appeals to me as the idea of the dress. To me the dress embodies the idea of play but it is also wearable, and even elegant. There is a thread between quilting cottons and suits and party dresses, between our career selves and both our early and late childhood selves. We can allow ourselves to play. What interests me in the sandbox of life may not be what interests you. But it is all the same sand.

"The world is so full of a number of things" wrote Robert Louis Stevenson. I'm sure you know the rest of the line, I shall not copy it here. When we are young the world is only as small as our imaginations, we can be anything and everything. And then we grow up and grow smaller. But perhaps we are each of us also as full of a number of selves. As we grow older we can choose to relinquish the narrow constraints that "adulthood" has placed on us, we don't have to be defined as the one thing that we were, but can embrace the many things that we are. Quilting cottons and fancy silks bear equal weight on the spectrum of our imaginations.

July 30, 2024
No Orphans
Despite my intention of making no resolutions or posting goals for 2024, a theme has evolved. How it plays out is yet to be determined, but I am fine with themes. Last year's theme was nesting, and the process of nesting yielded many discoveries and a growing sense of comfort within the always evolving themes of where I am in this particular stage of my life.

These year's theme seems to be revolving around the idea of "no orphans". It started as an impromptu idea that I simply didn't want to make things that had no place in my wardrobe, that were orphans. That means no sweaters that don't really go with anything or have a place in my wardrobe, no clothes I would never wear. it also apparently means that I need to assess the items I currently own, locate garments that have fallen out of favor, and perhaps find new partners for them.

This is all started with those black pants that I posted about a little over a week ago now. As I hemmed those pants, and later, the first time I wore them, I reflected on where they fit in my closet and from there to what I things I needed in my closet anyway.

Before making the black pants my winter basics included a couple of skirts for dressing up, two pairs of jeans, and a variety of cardigans and jackets that went with none of the above. In short the black pants were well needed.

I have a small collection of black tops to wear with them, black tops that give me a basic column to wear under sweaters and jackets of various colors. What you see in the picture, from left to right, are two black tees, one black turtleneck, a silky black tank/shell, and a silk blouse with ruffled collar. Between them I am probably set for most of my needs. I could perhaps use a long sleeve black tee or sweater, preferably in a merino wool or cashmere, but I am not likely to knit that, and it will not get as much wear as the other, so it can wait until the perfect something turns up.

The second tee, a. Uniqlo crewneck, is a couple of years old and obviously faded. it needs to be replaced. I don't have appropriate black fabric in my stash for a lightweight tee and I like the first tee very much, as it is lightweight, cool in the summer and works as a base layer under winter sweaters. At roughly $14 from Amazon, it makes more sense just to buy a another copy of that tee.

The silky tank was my mom's, purchased at a time when she had dropped some weight, and later passed to me. It fits, and fills a hole, but it is polyester, which means it is hot in the summer and cold in the winter. I need to replace it with silk, something I can do, and would prefer to do. I do miss the little silk tees and tanks I used to knock out by the dozen.

I could probably use a black skirt. I used to have one, and it was endlessly useful, so that gets added to the list.

What I do not have are any black third layers: a jacket or a cardigan, and these might also be worthwhile additions to my wardrobe. Black is still not my best color, but psychologically I have never been able to wean myself away. There are times I just feel comfortable in black. A black jacket would allow me to wear colored tees, tops, or sweaters under a jacket, still creating a unified column. I will likely not knit a fine gauge black cardigan , so that is something else to be on the lookout for. And since I think a black jacket would be useful, but I am not as interested in putting time into making a beautifully tailored jacket in black, or investing in a beautifully made specimen, I would look for something simpler, and perhaps more causal. I could make something like either of the patterns show below out of black ponte, of which I currently have a good supply in stash as I bought it on sale for pattern testing.

I made the CJ patterns jacket years ago (decades?) out of cotton/lycra and wore it out. It was a great travel jacket that saw heavy wear.

I recently purchased the second jacket pattern, Metra Jacket from Love Notions, forgetting I had the CJ patterns jacket, thinking it would be a good project to make with my ponte, and would be a great wardrobe basic to upgrade a casual "at home" outfit to something more polished for running errands etc.

Whatever I decide, the black pants are already proving useful, useful enough that I am going to make a second pair. This will give me one "core basic set" that I can fall back on while I work my way through my closet and making other garments. Although I might be tempted by other things, I need to focus on basics for a bit before branching out to the fun stuff.

In the meantime however, in the spirit of no orphans, let me show you how the black core is already working with this year's theme. Here I am wearing the black pants with the black turtleneck and an alpaca shrug I knitted in 2007 and have kept. I actually haven't worn the shrug in a few years as the garments that worked with it previously are no longer in my closet. I find that, to be comfortable, I need a belt at the waist to balance the shrug. These high waisted pants give me the opportunity of belting, something I have not had for a few years, and which I miss. A simple dress with a belt or waist detail would also work. The shrug doesn't get a lot of wear, but there are days each winter where it is appropriate. I expect to be wearing it more.

Another "oldie but goodie" that has popped out of the closet is this thick cabled sweater knit in 2001 from a Debbie Bliss pattern using Noro Kureyon. I've kept the sweater even though there are some winters in Knoxville where it hasn't been worn. Mostly I've worn it with jeans, but this winter I don't like the look of this sweater with the cut of my current jeans. The black pants however, work and the combination makes me happy. This past week, when Knoxville has been covered in snow and beset with freezing weather, I have felt very cozy and warm in this sweater. Below is a not very good picture of me in the sweater, unmade bed and all. Mastering the art of the self may not be high on my goal list.

So where does that leave me now?

Basic black pants and black tops are ready to wear with a variety of sweaters and jackets .

Two previously orphaned sweaters have found new companions.

Needs:
- 1 new short sleeve tee: 32 degrees cool, ordered from Amazon
- Another pair of black ponte pants, cut high in the waist.
- A black ponte skirt
- A black ponte jacket, particular style still to be determined.
- Replace black polyester tank with silk tank and/or silk tee for warmer weather.
- A black winter-weight cardigan, possibly cashmere, probably to be purchased, but this might change.
- A black summer-weight linen cardigan. Again probably not hand knit but you never know. I long ago learned never to say never. I do have a black and brown marled wool and linen cardigan in my closet that might serve here. To be determined.
- If I stick with the idea of a black core, a black summer skirt, and summer pants would also be useful.
- A black summer dress has long been on the list for the inevitable summer funerals.
It looks like a plan.

This is not the only plan. I am also currently planning and working on an evening capsule. More on that later.
January 23, 2024
Musings on a Rainy Friday Morning

It is a gray and rainy fall day, but for the moment at least I am enjoying looking out the window at the way the colors fade away in the gray light.

It would probably be a perfect day for a fire if I were in my house and could have a fire, but I am not, so glancing dreamy-eyed out the window will have to do. I have a book and a knitting project to finish, and those things should keep me adequately entertained.

It was also a good morning for a little experimentation in the kitchen. I had wanted to attempt the Sweet Potato and Squash Parathas from Sumayya Usmani's Summers Under the Tamarind Tree since buying the Pakistani cookbook last year. This morning seemed like the perfect time, and I hoped that this recipe would be something that would work as a gluten free option, not at all like traditional parathas or stuffed parathas. Usmani states in the book that these are more like a griddle scone than a traditional paratha, and I hoped the combination of flavors would make something that could be equally comforting even if not at all like its wheaten brethren. There is a copy of the recipe online here. Mine aren't as pretty, and can't be folded over. The gluten-free dough is more friable, and rolling out didn't work as well as patting, making something closer to a Pakistani-spiced scone than a true paratha, but they are good, and I am content.

As I knit, I have been listening to Vivaldi, reminded of how much I adored Vivaldi when I was a young girl by the fabulous chamber concert Wednesday night at the Knoxville Museum of Art, the first performance of this year's concertmaster series. In fact the entire program focused on music of the baroque period and it was both very well programmed to provide breadth and depth of interest and very well performed as well. I don't think I could have imagined a more enjoyable and rewarding evening of baroque music. It felt like a rare treat, although admittedly there were also two separate baroque choral performances in Knoxville during the same week, two performances I missed, although I had planned to attend the Choral Society's concert before I pooped out. It is indeed a treat to live in a place where there is more on offer than I could ever possibly attend.

And speaking of treats, Thursday proved to be another evening of musical indulgence. After doing a bit of Christmas shopping, already light-hearted and bouncy, I proceeded to a concert by the Seraph Brass for another evening of wonderfully programmed and beautifully performed music. I heard some works by new-to-me composers and some fabulous reworking of familiar pieces; music that was both lovely and thought-provoking in how it shed new light on music I might otherwise assume I knew. I also enjoyed the musicality and sensitivity of the playing, even subtlety at times, a word I do not always associate with the brass section, although perhaps I should.

Every year I seem to marvel that both concert season and autumn go hand in hand, my favorite season accompanied by some of my favorite things. I love the fall colors, the cool mornings and evenings, the music, the ability to add layers again, to indulge in softer colors. In fact, it seems that, having given away half of my already reduced wardrobe I am rediscovering old favorites, even while adding a few new things, like the sparkly gray and blue necklace above.

In fact I've made a couple of discoveries about myself, one of which is that I like a bit of sparkle more than I had thought. It is not the glitter I object to, but the brightness. I don't like bright sparkle — too much jangly color or white put me on edge. Too much bright feels too forward, and therefore more formal and less like myself; even when I am most dressed, I don't like feeling formal if that makes any sense. Suddenly I know why certain things are never worn, and it not what I had thought. Through this new sense of understanding I am thinking I may finally be ready to start seriously sewing for myself again, sewing regularly that is, because I may finally be ready to ask a couple of critical questions. The two questions that have always been at odds in my creative life are: "Is this something I want to make just to make it?" and "Is this something I actually want to wear." Each has their place, but I haven't always been successful in sussing out the distinctions.

After all, I am the woman who once, when asked to introduce oneself to a group with a fact about oneself, chose "I love fog". I love rainy days and crisp cool mornings. Yes I love color too, but I love the way a gray day makes colors shine in a way completely differently from the bright sunshine. I love color the way I love music, the way the many layers of subtlety and technique and shading make a greater whole. I don't want to be hit in the face with the obvious, I want to find the subtleties. It is true. I love fog.

November 9, 2018
In Search of Clothes for Festive Occasions

I fielded a few invitations to parties and events in December and so far in January, a few of which called for various degrees of "festive" dress. I like the idea of festive — as opposed to formal, which can be festive or not, and often is far too serious — but I struggled nonetheless. It seem that I although I have developed a comfortable relationship with my wardrobe and my style, at least on a casual, day-to-day basis, I have somehow found myself in a place were I have no party clothes, or very few, and what I do have does not play well together.

And so, I've started thinking about the word festive and what it means to me, at least in term of clothing and style, as well as how various degrees of festive dress could play out, from festive-but-casual, through the various stages of festive dress, in ways that worked with my wardrobe, and with my evolving sense of comfort and style in dress, of my increasing awareness that it does indeed matter to me what goes with what, and how I put myself together, but also that feeling feminine doesn't necessarily come from dressing in a frilly or girly way, but from feeling comfortable in one's skin.

I'm in no rush. But at the same time I'm ready to start thinking about adding a little festivity, and not, perhaps, just for special occasions, although I think I will start there, with having a few things I can count on to see me through any situation.

I've started collecting a few images of things I like, that I could imagine myself wearing, and I've noticed a few things. For one thing, the clothes that seem to say "festive" to me are a bit more colorful and a bit more traditionally feminine than, for example, what I was wearing yesterday, in the above photo. At the same time I also recognize that I would never wear the pink shoes with the pink purse with the pink floral and leopard dress. I would wear the pink shoes with simple pants or even jeans, and although I probably do need a dress or two, a dress that could be dressed up or down, such as the Dries Van Noted dress on the Right (pink floral with leopard) or the St. John Dress at the top (too short), I would probably get a lot of use out some judiciously chosen accessories as well as a couple of dresses or skirts. Perhaps what is really happening is that some other part of me is just waking up, a part that went into hibernation for a while, that same part of me that bought sexy perfume in Paris. Although I can honesty say that sexy cocktail dresses are most definitely not my style.

But for now I need to spend a little more time assessing what I really want, and how it works with what I have and the life I lead. Like all good things in life, decisions need to evolve over time. But who knows.

Apparently I am knitting a festive sweater. I don't believe that is why I chose this pattern. In fact I don't think it was a conscious decision at the time, just something I grabbed from my closet, telling myself that it would be a fun knit. But maybe I was thinking about parties and glitter, and needing a little sparkle in my life, even if I hadn't yet put that yearning into words.

The piece shown above has actually been ripped out because there were too many errors, but I've started reknitting it. This photo gives you a better idea of what is to come than the tiny corner I have knitted now. I wrote about the pattern and why I was ripping it over on my knitting blog, purslandmurmers, and I will continue to post updates there, as that makes sense for me as a project notebook, but I won't bore you with all the knitting details.

January 23, 2018
Christian Dior: Couturier du Rêve

I can't even begin to describe, or share the wonder that was the Christian Dior Exhibit. It was by far the most spectacular and magical fashion exhibit I have ever seen and I am very happy that I was able to go. If you have the opportunity to be in Paris before January 7th, I highly recommend it.

We went during a holiday in France. Would I have changed my mind had I known? Probably not; this, after all, was the weekend I had. But the lines were long even though we had purchased tickets in advance, and the crowds were thick, especially during the early parts of the exhibit where there were drawings, pictures, accessories and a wonderful collection of miniatures of the gowns, many of which we would see later in the exhibit. Those rooms were packed and barely moving. I'm not particularly claustrophobic about small spaces, but the pressing crowds, the inability to move, and the fear of stepping on someone after I tripped over a couple of people who were crouching down to take photographs were not happy-making, and I progressed through those sections quickly, finding a nice open, quiet, corner, to watch the crowds (endlessly entertaining) and wait for Liana, who has far more patience, and who glided through the space like an island of calm in a sea of turmoil.

Luckily however many others have gone to the exhibit as well, and Susan has just posted a wonderful review of the exhibit, far more comprehensive than I am likely to write, with great photos, including much from these early rooms.

Mostly I just wanted to look at the clothes.

I admit to being shallow that way, but it is more than that. With infinite time, and quiet and space, I would love to pore over the details, but I don't have the patience for the crowds. So I'll simply share a few photos, a small hint really of what was there.

I loved this embroidered raffia dress, and especially the detail at the bottom, the areas without embroidery, which gives the dress a very modern feel, a nod to the truth that our work is both always unfinished, but also just a whisper away from decay.

Although work by the various designers for Dior was mixed with the originals to suit the various themes of the exhibit, there were also rooms dedicated to each designer who has worked for the house.

I have always been particularly fond of Gianfranco Ferré, both his work for his own house and when he was at Dior.

But each designer has brought their own stamp to the tradition.

But these segments were very congested, and often dark as well. My photographic successes are merely snippets here and there.

By the time we reached the magnificent final room, I was worn out and tired of the crowds. This final photo of the dream finale is Liana's.

November 9, 2017
This Is Not The Post I Planned To Write

I am sporadically working my way through the photos I took in Scotland, but progress is slow. I am still working on photos from the third day of my trip. The plan was that I would post as I sorted, a plan that was not, perhaps, highly focused and organized, but worked, given my over-extended fall schedule and the fact that I tend to keep adding things to an already full plate.

The second day we went to Holyrood. Frankly I found the ruins of Holyrood Abbey far more interesting than in the palace itself, although parts of the palace tour were, indeed, fascinating.

And yet, as I was sorting through photos, thinking of how I would put them together, my thoughts went astray, wandering in a rather unanticipated direction, my mind fabricating connections between disparate and unrelated images. .

The above photo was taken at the fashion exhibit at the National Museum of Scotland. I didn't record anything about its provenance because I was, and am still, attracted by the combination of pattern and texture. Further, as I added this photo to my pending folder, muddling over whether I wanted to write about the Abbey or the fashion exhibit, the columnar nature of the pattern and the combination of smooth and shiny with the rough, fluffy and bumpy texture of the skirt reminded me of the abbey itself, with its soaring columns standing next to piles of stones and broken walls, visual reminders of collapse, as well as the contrast of the grand and ambitiously uplifting design with sometimes very rough and uneven workmanship. In some ways the outfit struck me as a modern interpretation, in fabric, of what I had seen in stone.

But the jacket also reminded me of something else entirely, something unrelated to my Scotland trip. It reminded me of this painting by Anselm Kiefer, Shulemith, which I saw in San Francisco in August of last year. When I first saw this painting I thought of something sacred: dark and disturbing, yes, but also sacred. Since then the photo has been sitting patiently in my pending file, waiting for me to write something, and it seems odd that it would pop into my head now, drawn to my attention perhaps more by the colors of a garment than the nature of the work itself.

The Abbey also had a sense about it of a being a sacred space, but my initial response to the abbey was not as visceral as my response to the painting. In fact, that palpable sense of holy ground initially seemed to have faded, trampled by thousands of feet. But it still clung to the walls and the corners, the in between spaces, almost lurking, waiting to catch one by surprise and snap one out of oblivion. The abbey is filled with light, seems to masquerade as a place of light, a space settled into itself, almost where the cares of the world had been worn down and faded away. But that is an illusion. Light and dark live together here, holiness and the ravages of time, etched into the stone with nearly nine-hundred years of human history: love, loss, fear, joy. Still, I cannot explain, perhaps I can't even fully comprehend, why these two things, the abbey and the painting, Shulemith, have welded themselves together in my thoughts.

The Abbey was founded in 1128 and built over the next century. It was also repeatedly destroyed by wars and mobs, vandalized, neglected, rebuilt, sometimes Ill-advisedly, replacing wooden beams with heavy stone work that the structure could not support, and in that sense it is a testament to belief and faith and humanity's need to build structures to honor and worship, to offer glory to our Gods (and yes, I am saying it that way intentionally). And yet we often fail. We humans cannot build without also destroying, we cannot rise above our natures, and our greatest impulses are always brought crashing down around us. And yet we try again. The sense of holiness of a place arises not from lofty human ambitions, but actually from human failings, a testament to the struggle, a testament to our very humanity. Yes, the ruins of the abbey are about soaring arches, actually both physical and metaphysical, our desire to reach for that which is greater than ourselves, our tendency to elevate ourselves too highly, and our tendency to fail in our efforts.

But how does any of that relate to the Kiefer painting? I have read that the structure portrayed in Shulemith is a Nazi Monument, the Hall of Soldiers, by Wilhelm Kreis, except that Kiefer has altered the scale. Rather than soaring, the arches have been shortened, and the walls are scored by soot and ash. The monument, which was probably grandiose and inhuman in its original scale is, as portrayed here, still stark. But it is no longer a soaring monument but an oven, stark and dark and filled with death. The monument to the German soldier, the God of the Aryan ideal, has become a symbol of horror. In its heaviness and almost palpable sootiness, emphasized by the thick layering of the paint, the structure is both inhumane and because of its inhumanity it is horribly and unnervingly human. And yet there is hope. Deep in the center of the painting are the flames atop a platform of steps, a symbol of hope and transfiguration, a hope and transfiguration that comes only after acknowledging and facing our own denials and deaths, our own complicity in the human condition. The abbey as well is a symbol of hope, of our history with all its failings, and of our desire to rise above them. But we cannot rise up without remembering the past, and making our peace with it, acknowledging the fact that we are complicit as a very fact of our being, and yet we can rise. We traipse through life, and yet we too can rise.

November 1, 2017
What I Wore

It seems like its been a long time since I posted a picture of my physical self.

This wasn't what I had planned for today, but more photos of my pre-Harvey trip to Texas just didn't seem appropriate at the moment. This photo is both atypical in that it is not exactly what I have been wearing all summer, and yet it is completely typical and clearly something I would put together and am comfortable wearing. Several key elements are present: jeans or chinos rolled to be either right at, or above, the ankle; flat shoes (either sneakers or sandals in summer); deliberately mussed hair. Maybe I've just given up on feeling I have to present myself as something I'm not and I can dress simply to please myself, expectations and rules be damned.

It was a bit cooler and a bit cloudy yesterday, with a promise of fall in the quality of the light. My pale blue chinos didn't feel right, so I ended up pulling out these lightweight tan jeans I hadn't worn since April. The jeans inspired the layers, which included a scarf I bought when I was 24 and had to rescue from the donation pile, and a pair of earrings I hadn't worn in a few years.

The earrings were one of my last gifts from George. I hadn't worn them much since the gold-filled wires bothered my ears. It is always a problem finding earrings that fit my style, but which have quality gold or platinum posts or wires I can actually wear. Surprisingly, although I have reset funky stones into rings or necklaces, it only occurred to me recently that I could have someone replace the wires. They had just come back from the jeweler. Perhaps it wasn't the jeans that inspired the outfit, but the earrings, I really wanted to wear the earrings, and the rest just fell in place in accordance with my mood.

August 29, 2017
Summer Closet

Moving offered magnificent opportunity for sorting through the various garments in my closet, something that had somehow previously been difficult. This seems odd because I am not generally sentimental. I love living in an old house, I love that I have, and use daily, items made by and/or used by my grandparents and great grandparents, but I don't keep things just because they have history. I think there is a connection between things and the earth and our lives, but I am not sentimental. I can usually give away things I've made, or that came down to me from people I know. My memories are not dependent on the things, and yet the things we surround ourselves with are still a part of who we are.

But back to the closet.   I already knew this was my house, and the previous house was just a holding area. Through finding a house, I also in a sense, found myself, and sorting became easier. I also knew I would spend a month in transitional housing. I had two basic goals:

1) pull out clothes that would see me through that transitional space (May) and the rest of the summer (June-August), therefore giving me time to unpack the house and settle in without having to worry about what I would wear,

and

2) just sort through the clothes and eliminate anything that obviously wasn't working.

Dresses were the easiest place to start as they really don't have to match anything else. The questions were simple: did it fit? Had I worn it? Would I wear it? A few things were obvious. A hand-knit alpaca dress was a no-go, despite the fact that I love it, because it is too hot to wear in Knoxville. Even when it is cold outside, buildings are heated. That dress suffered the same fate in Hyde Park – it was too hot to wear in any heated building. It would be fabulous if I lived in a drafty old castle, or perhaps during a power failure. Chalk it up to education and move on. If, when I find myself in my 70s or 80s, I am always cold, I can always knit another dress.

Then it was time for everything else. I started with bottoms, and laid them all out around the master bedroom. Then I went through everything else in my closet (except undergarments and jewelry) and put it in the appropriate pile, the bottom piece I decided it went best with. I wasn't worried about pieces that could be used in multiple ways, I was just looking for what worked. If a stack didn't contain at least three pieces, one bottom and two tops, out it went. If there was a top that literally went with nothing in that room, out it went.   The pile of widows and orphans was larger than the piles of keepers, and they were all donated, sold, or given away. What truly surprised me was the way the things that remained complemented each other. What remained was a wardrobe that looked like it belonged to one person, a wardrobe where most of the pieces would work together rather than against each other.

I stacked the things that would work for late-spring and summer on the bed and packed everything else. This is what was left, 35 pieces of clothing (I'm not counting shoes or scarves here). Less two pairs of pajamas, each of which I counted as one piece, one swimsuit, and four summer dresses, I was left with a wardrobe of 28 mix-and-match pieces to cover every activity from working-out to dressing-up.

The wardrobe has worked fairly well.  Three pieces that were needed for a trip to Chicago in early May, pieces which contained wool, were swapped out upon my return. They were replaced by three t-shirts, purchased at Uniqlo, also while in Chicago.



A few things didn't work. They gray cardigan in the center of the picture doesn't thrill me anymore and I don't enjoy wearing it. Another, more fitted, sweater has taken its place. The deep periwinkle shorts, and lighter periwinkle shirt, which were already pretty heavily worn, got covered in paint and retired. A favorite, lightweight sweatshirt, perfect for early mornings or cool evenings, progressed from threadbare-but-still-in-one-piece to tatters.  The remaining clothes work together well, and my wardrobe does not feel at all limiting or restrictive. If anything, it feels incredibly generous. I probably wear more of my clothes now than I did when there were more clothes in my closet.

Or at least it didn't feel restrictive until the last week or two. As we progress into summer heat, navy woven slacks and dark jeans feel hot and heavy, at least psychologically. I wanted something lighter and a touch of midsummer madness set in. I went shopping, ostensibly looking for something white or off-white but ending up with acid yellow and pale blue chinos, both from Anthropologie, shown above and below.  They actually work better in my wardrobe than white would have. I counted six different outfits that work with the yellow, and at least another four for the blue chinos, if not more. The navy slacks are out until September; the dark jeans remain, with reservations.

I've learned a few things. I've got a better sense of what I like to wear and have a wardrobe that supports that reality. I am not, ultimately concerned about numbers in the closet. Although I started with 35 garments, I am not really interested in adhering to rules, or adhering to a program like project 333. Even though I am talking about clothes for 3 to 4 months, this wardrobe is not 1/4 or 1/3 of my wardrobe. Although there are a handful of garments that are only worn one season, most of these clothes are worn at least through three seasons, if not all year. These 35 garments represent half my complete wardrobe in its current state, and hopefully eventually will represent more than half. Even in this America, land of overstuffed closets, it feels like a lot. But as I said, I am not really interested in numbers but in use, and it is not about whether I have more than some (I do) or less than others (also true). I want the things I have to work for me; I do not want to be a slave to them.

Through this whole process I learned that my closet is still too heavily weighted toward winter clothes. Of course, I like winter clothes more than summer clothes, and I moved here from New York State, where winter was a much more significant season than summer. Still, I am aware I have too much. When we move into winter, I will repeat this process, and winnow the collection down to the things that really work here, for the life I have now. Choice is a privilege after all

But, although there is no point in keeping basic things that I don't wear, I'm not going to give up something special just because it is worn only rarely. A silk party dress that only comes out occasionally stays, as will two bulky hand knit sweaters that I may wear only once or twice a winter, if we have a cold winter, and not at all if it is warm. They are going to stay until they fall apart because I love them so, because I panic when I can't find them. But these items aren't just another back pant, another gray turtleneck, another basic in a sea of basics.

I do think the whole process of packing and unpacking, the process of moving, has really made me think about what I have and why I have it. I don't really need a bunch of things for "just in case". In my dream wardrobe perhaps I'll have fewer basics, the 28 may be reduced to 15 or 20, or not. Basics can always be replaced after all, and more special pieces that make those basics sing. But there is no point to clothes that sing only in the closet, behind closed doors. Better to have what I use and use what I have. Better to have what I need and to use what I love.

June 24, 2017
Three things on a Tuesday Morning

This will be a really brief update, as I am trying to get through a bunch of stuff I let pile up.

The tiny species crocuses are up, each one about the size of a 1 1/2 teaspoon measuring spoon. The iris histroides are also continuing to pop up, and continuing to make bring a big smile to my face each time I walk by.

On Sunday I wore the new gray boots I bought in NYC. Here I am propping my legs up on my still too-cluttered desk late Sunday afternoon. We walked by the store on our way from the subway stop to the Metropolitan Museum, although we didn't stop at that time. However the boots firmly lodged themselves in my mind, and distracted my thoughts, so I dragged Liana back with me to take a second look. Gray is a much more versatile color in my wardrobe than black. A pair of black boots is being culled, although they may be set aside and sold early next fall. It really isn't boot season anymore. The black down coat, which I did not take to New York with me, will also be sold.

I got caught up with mail and bills and miscellaneous bits of paper yesterday, so the surface of my desk is more user-friendly. These are new books that I picked up at MacKay Used Books here in town. I sold more books than I bought, so I am doing well on the book front as well at the moment. I haven't started reading any of them yet; I'm still woking my way through Niall Ferguson's Kissinger biography. Maybe soon. Perhaps it will be warm enough this week to read Annie Dillard out in the sunshine.

March 8, 2016