Last month, four yards of watery silk cotton slipped though my fingers for what felt like four years.
Intended as my birthday dress, this beautiful headache went unworn, until I donned it for these pictures.
To be honest, I put it in a time-out so many times, it has an aura of irritation about it that has yet to dissipate. Perhaps it needs a good dry cleaning, or a smudge stick. It’s not so much that I don’t like the finished product…I don’t like the memory of the work that went into it!
But that’s not the fabric’s fault. The fabric, my friends, is glorious. Stumbled into it on what I think of as “The Cotton Floor” at Mood Fabrics NY. It houses leather, jersey, and sewing classes as well, but lately the cotton section has been pretty stellar. Somebody went to town and organized the huge aisle of cotton into shelves of floral, shirting, stripes, blends…I pawed through the “silk cotton” shelf for a good twenty minutes. This painterly print drove the general vicinity crazy when I unrolled it. Haphazard watery technicolor blooms, rolling out in waves….
SO HAPHAZARD THAT I MANAGED TO GIVE MYSELF COCKEYED BUST POINT PLACEMENT.
I mean, really?
It was worse, much worse– on the left of your screen, that blossom was the perfect shade of fleshy pink before I took to it with my fabric markers.
Not as bad from far away, but still. I’m flashing my pearly whites on the outside, and gnashing my chompers on the inside. (Vogue 9053, I got a beef with you. But, since this is about the fabric and not the pattern, I’ll discuss that tale of woe more on my blog tomorrow. I’d say it’s 30% my bad and 60% Vogue’s bad. Because this last shot puts me in a generous mood.)