It seems I have given signs of artistic skills ever since I was a little girl, and my dad was convinced - until a certain point - that I will grow up to be a great dressmaker. It is true, though, that my closets are filled with patches of fabric that were once cut, sewed and abandoned only to think that one day I will be just inspired to continue the work of art I once began.
My whole life has been marked by the existence of women talented at tailoring or sewing clothes. Mom was the first woman that seems to have started the movement. Then, it was my sister's turn. She took it to another level. Once a month 'Burda' magazine would enlighten our house. The floor in our bedroom would be filled with patterns, fabrics, centimeter, spools of sewing thread and scissors. My sis used to tailor wonderful costumes, jackets, dresses and skirts. I still remember the red tie she made for herself, with the help of the magazine. But the clothing item that still lingers in my mind after so much time is the skirt-pants. It was made of two different pieces of fabric. One for the front and another for the back. Well, and how am I suppose to not have gained such taste for clothes when I had so many inspired creators around me?!
Just yesterday my experienced eye noticed a tweed jacket. Well, it fits but no so much in the shoulders area. I must make some adjustments. It's an honorable challenge. So I got ready by arming myself with two scissors, one small and one big, a needle and thread. I took a minute to thoroughly analyze what I had to do. I slipped open one of the sleeves. I cut a little from the fabric of the shoulder and then I started sewing the sleeve back on. It was the same as in the story of the great tailor. Only it was completely different. I made sure that the thread was tightly sewed. The final result? The sleeve presented unwanted folds. 'Ok', I said to myself, 'I will slip it open again'. And so I had and sewed it back on. I finished the job and tried it on. It looked like the first time. Only worse. And just about then I had my Evrika moment. I should have prepared the sleeve for edgestitching and then sew it. It was by far a very complex cognitive process. So I had to stop and take a break. There's always tomorrow.
My whole life has been marked by the existence of women talented at tailoring or sewing clothes. Mom was the first woman that seems to have started the movement. Then, it was my sister's turn. She took it to another level. Once a month 'Burda' magazine would enlighten our house. The floor in our bedroom would be filled with patterns, fabrics, centimeter, spools of sewing thread and scissors. My sis used to tailor wonderful costumes, jackets, dresses and skirts. I still remember the red tie she made for herself, with the help of the magazine. But the clothing item that still lingers in my mind after so much time is the skirt-pants. It was made of two different pieces of fabric. One for the front and another for the back. Well, and how am I suppose to not have gained such taste for clothes when I had so many inspired creators around me?!
Just yesterday my experienced eye noticed a tweed jacket. Well, it fits but no so much in the shoulders area. I must make some adjustments. It's an honorable challenge. So I got ready by arming myself with two scissors, one small and one big, a needle and thread. I took a minute to thoroughly analyze what I had to do. I slipped open one of the sleeves. I cut a little from the fabric of the shoulder and then I started sewing the sleeve back on. It was the same as in the story of the great tailor. Only it was completely different. I made sure that the thread was tightly sewed. The final result? The sleeve presented unwanted folds. 'Ok', I said to myself, 'I will slip it open again'. And so I had and sewed it back on. I finished the job and tried it on. It looked like the first time. Only worse. And just about then I had my Evrika moment. I should have prepared the sleeve for edgestitching and then sew it. It was by far a very complex cognitive process. So I had to stop and take a break. There's always tomorrow.
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