My quest to send 10 skirts to Georgie Love by the end of this week continues. Last night and today's efforts include 2 Frankies and a totally cool hand-embroidered geometric thing. I was so excited I took Florence outside for a photo shoot.
"Frankies?" I hear you mutter? And well you should! The Frankie is what I like to call the design I first made as a sample to send to the magazine of the same name in an effort to get mentioned therein. I whipped up this little baby,
which just so happened to fit Pearl perfectly, so never made it out of the house. I kept the design, because it's flattering and smart, and good for making skirts that are perfect for a slightly-more-conservative situation where a huge map of Tassie on the front of your skirt isn't necessarily going to cut it. So it's your standard P&E A-line, fits in all the right places, and has snappy, bias-cut (for extra-lovely fit) panels of tea-towel down both sides. Yes, there are 2 panels, though I seem to be struck by an insurmountable impulse to always photograph this skirt from the side, so who'd know what's really going on...
Yes people, that skirt has a glass of red wine on the hip. Just what I've always wanted.
The linen scouts seem to be in overdrive at the moment, so I'm being hit with some overwhelmingly beautiful and pristine (some still have stickers on them!) tea-towels at the mo', perfect for making The Frankie over and over again.
The 3rd skirt is the result of my finally bringing myself to use an amazing tablecloth I've been hanging onto for years. I was quite keen to make something for myself from it, but was struck by a revelation that it's rightful journey ought to spread it's totally unique goodness to climes further afield. I am whoppingly attracted to the hand-stitched geometric pattern on this thing.
However, what's even better than all these intersecting circles and squares and trapezoidal concoctions, is that the person who was making it actually planned to do more! There are, in the background, some ever-so-faint pencil-markings indicating more shapes that the embroiderer wanted to do. Now, maybe I've just spent too long studying modernist literature ("You know, man, art is like, never really finished...") but this, to me, is outstanding.
As I was stitching up the skirt, looking at the pencil lines, I actually felt connected to the person who'd done the embroidery, and was thinking about what the thing would have looked like if they'd done all they wanted to do. So I left them. A relic of the never-ending art-project which is life. Heavy, man.