Viva La Liberty, my oversew entry, is made from a collection of shirts. The outfit is a memory palace of fabrics and stories of treasured items.

My family is big on narrative and epic stories.  Objects are given a history, to be recalled should anyone ask.  Locations on a road trip trigger stories of "The time when.."  Everything becoming a part of an intricate memory palace.  So it is natural that the pieces in Viva La Liberty have their own stories too.

This is the story of the pieces in Viva La Liberty.

A collection of Liberty shirts - 9 in total.  While most of the shirts were found in thrift shops, two were made by family members.  These shirts are a tangible evidence of women expressing themselves over the years through their craft and selection of fabrics.

Each shirt is carefully disassembled allowing the fabric to be reused and re-celebrated.  The seams, collars and cuffs are removed before being washed and pressed flat.  The tradition  of disassembling to wash, or reuse, is common with revered garments, such as kimono.
 The oldest shirt belonged to my Great Aunt. The handsewn name tag is testament that it was one of her favourites as it was packed with her when she moved to a nursing home.  During the disassembly of this shirt, the fabric proved too frail for this project. Only the label has been used in the oversewn garments.  The remainder of the fabric has been put aside for use in a creation more suited to it’s delicate state.

A Liberty skirt - This was originally a kit-set for the enthusiastic, but less confident home-sewer.  It came with shirred edging, buttonholes and buttons allowing the discerning woman to make their very own skirt, with minimal effort.
This skirt was given to me by my godmother after years of use.  My love of sewing has always been encouraged by family, though acts of generosity, such as this.  Given a tradition of frugality and love of fabric, this skirt could only be treasured and passed on.  Part of this garment’s story is told through patches concealing buttons that were sewn and resewn, as well as darker areas that were hidden in the deep hems of the original skirt.
A Liberty toddler’s dress - This small dress was passed to me by an Aunt because she thought I would treasure the fabric and “could do something with it”.  It had obviously been sewn at home, with loving hands, and was meant for a child who would only fit it for a brief moment.  Dresses like this illustrates how women have shown love by wrapping their children in the most precious fabrics.

A white linen shirt made by myself in 1993, in my earlier years of home-sewing. This shirt featured everything conformist about the 90’s from paua shell buttons, to copious amounts of billowing white linen. This shirt had been worn by myself, passed to my mother for wearing and then catalogued with those items “too good to throw out” at the back of every wardrobe.  Fortunately, the hand sewn name tag, saw the shirt to returned to me and reinvented in this outfit.  I took great delight in being able to rework my own sewing, as each piece of the shirt was unpicked, pockets removed and buttons put aside.  The newly created garments are both different from and reflective of, the original piece.

 
It is all about the little moments.  The calendar has turned, the decorations are coming out and we are counting down to Christmas.  We have a nightly tradition of advent calendar and Christmas stories before bed.  The candle is new for us.  We pop up between stories to check how far it has burnt, with a little line for each day. We take it in turns to blow it out.

Oh, we have so many Christmas stories, that I really must share them at some point.  Stories that warm the heart, talk of a certain Saint Nicholas (anyone remember him in all the rush?) and some that have me so misty eyed I find them hard to finish.  We sit on the couch, huddled, necks craning to see pictures and we read.

It is nice to be spending the time together.  As we hear of family members battling with illnesses and odds, the lists of perfectly co-ordinated decorations fall away, and we remember it really is a privilege to spend these moments together.

There is a growing collection of mismatched cups on my windowsill.  I love the colours, just a little murky and so cheerful.  They are waiting for me to get started on giving them new life. 

You see, each one is a little broken.  Some chips are obvious, some cracks only show up when the cup is full of hot water.  I could call it perfectionism, but really it's a matter of safety.  Once when catching my mother throwing out a china cup, she explained that chipped wine glasses are fine, decadent even, but anything broken, holding a hot drink, is just dangerous.

Rather than waiting to fill these teacups with wine, ever the engineer, I'm on the look out for a ceramic drill bit.  I believe these will make a great collection of bulb planters.  I can gaze again at the cheerful colours while sitting around a pot of tea with good company.

My apologies for the lack of recent posts.  My work hours have unexpectedly increased and as a family we are still finding our feet in the shifting sands of new routines.  The crafting adventures continue.  They are as essential as breathing, yet the writing is taking a back seat.

By far my favorite is the one below.  I saw it on my last day.

As I was trying to frame the picture, I saw the couple below.   I love that the bride's dress matches the writing perfectly. The photographer and couple are so busy getting the right shot with the Eiffel tower behind them, that they haven't stopped to look at what is written above them.

This sea of red greeted me through the Monday morning fog.  One kid dropped off to school, one hanging out with Mum, and one Mum home from travels.  It was a nice landing back into the minutiae of home-life and the onset of Winter.

When I saw the lady with leaf blower, I rushed home for the camera to capture it all.  Looking at the photos now makes me think of "The Red Tree" by  Shaun Tan.  A somewhat melancholic tale with a hopeful note.  I even found a golden tree glowing in the distance.

Sometimes the littlest things can be deflating.  In this case I was all set to plough through some desperately needed winter sewing.  At least I thought I was all set, until I ran out of fabric the striped fabric above. Had I though about it, I would have cut with more care. It was only a small thing, but the wind was truly ripped from my sails and I just needed some time to think.

This dress was my first commission piece and I was so determined that it be perfect.  In the scheme of things, the fact that the orange sleeves are not a true match to the striped bodice does not matter, but in my mine it was hard to let go.

So finally, we have the dress, stitched and ready to go to its new home.  I look forward to catching glimpses of it around town and thinking that really Little Miss Miss-Matched is just right.

We are still here and still having adventures, just keeping a low profile.

Sometimes that last thing you want to do at the end of a day is turn on yet another computer. Other times, it's the first thing. Hopefully some more of the "other times" coming up.

Sometimes it is good to remember why we do what we do. I quilt because I enjoy it. I give my quilts away because I hope other people will enjoy them too. This is part of the blogg

When I heard that Quilts were being gathered for Christchurch I sent one too. I couldn’t imagine how much it would make someone’s day. This comment from Chris, who received one of my quilts, meant a lot to me so I thought I should share it:

Hi Amy, I'm a friend of Cat's and she has told me that the quilt she sent me was made by you. I just don't know how to thank you... I live just outside of Christchurch and as you would know the last month hasn't been much fun. To recieve a gift made with such thought and love has been humbling and I am so so grateful and appreciate so much the work that went into it. I couldn't send Cat an email for several days after I received as every time I went to sit down and write something I burst into tears. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. With much love and gratitude, Chris

The quilt above was posted to a friend last week. Her house was severely damaged in the February quake. It’s their wedding quilt backed with messages from the guests that helped celebrate their wedding 5 years ago. The pattern is very aptly bricks – as every one fell off her house.

I've chosen this quilt as my part for the the Quilt Festival because it is special to me. I could talk more about patterns, colours, designers but for now it is just nice to stop and remember – this is why I do what I do. It motivates me. It keeps me going.

How about you? Why are you picking up the needles, threads, children, recipe books? What keeps you going? What is it you enjoy doing, and why?

Before my children arrived, I was going to be perfect. My kids were going to be perfect*. I was going to walk around art galleries with my infant snuggled into their baby carrier, in all their knitted finery and then retire to a cafe for a well deserved coffee. I would sleep all night, and so would my children. They would wear nothing but perfectly matched, stylish handmade outfits. They would return from their adventures to an immaculate house and a home cooked meal. There would even be a fresh batch of brightly coloured play-dough to play with before their bath.

I quickly found this fantasy would take more energy than I imagined. The toys would be locked up for me to dish out when I saw fit. The play-dough would be for special occasions only (i.e. at other people’s houses) and getting dressed every day would be a battle. I know some people manage to make it work like that, but I just can’t. When all is said and done, I’m not even sure I’d want to.


My reality is quite different. I’ve let go of the magazine spread fantasy. I’ve admitted to myself that my children are both separate, and different from me. I don’t want my children vicariously living out my abandoned dreams. I’ve chosen to let the children explore for themselves with all the support I can provide. I want them to find their own dreams.

We don’t often walk around art galleries. It’s a matter of distance. My fridge is my gallery and it is always changing. We are currently being treated to our Picasso the Elder’s hands with fingers stage and Mondrian the Younger’s grids with colour. Days are punctuated by a need to draw, as desperate as the desire to breathe. The pencils and paper are always handy. They can be on the table before you can say “but it’s almost dinner time”.

The carefully matched outfits have gone out the window too, aided on their way by food related mishaps and a good dose of “No Mummy”. Dressing children is harder than I thought. On the flipside, hand sewn dresses are very useful. The little pull on smocks are great for covering grubby clothes just before leaving the house.


The home made playdough is probably the only item that survived the leap into reality. My kids have seen enough to know that making playdough means it is time to get the food colouring out and start stirring. You really don’t want to know about the time the elder decided to add the colouring herself (I didn’t even know she could reach it). However, I’m delighted that she knew what it was for. Making playdough is not so much a special occasion, but a necessity. There is always a homemade batch in the fridge.


Yes, there is a difference between the Mother I thought I would be, and the Mother I am. The Mother I want to be is calmer, more patient and relaxed than the one in the fantasies. Right now, that’s the one I’d rather be.

*Like any parent, I believe my children are wonderful. They are just as perfect as you and I – which is to say, not always.

AS my blog break grew and grew, I was wondering if I’d ever feel like writing again. It wasn’t that I was feeling blue. Quite the opposite. I’m having a wonderful time with Miss H and E. Wonderful to the point that I didn’t want give up a moment to sit and write.

I mentioned to my dearest that I was thinking about giving it away. “But you love it” he replied. I thought about it and have to admit he was right.

I love reading about people living different lives. Lives I’d envy, admire and especially those in similar positions and predicaments as myself. Others who are finding the creativity and wonder in bringing up small children, while striving for the ever elusive creative moment for yourself.

I love to write. I find myself marvelling at everyday moments and wondering how I could ever write it down. My mind fills with mental notes of moments to the point of overflowing. Sometimes I am lucky enough to list them out and on the rare occasion, I will even get around to writing about it here.

Then there are the comments. They are all read and like the mental notes, I have every intention to reply, but so often life gets in the way. I do love them. They make my day. It can be wonderful to get a comment from a blogger I admire. But my all time favourite would have to be one of the first I received from Applique Today. It turns out her dad, back home in NZ, used to make similar contraptions to those my father fashions. We tried to work out if it was because they were both electricians. Then we realised it could be that they are both kiwi blokes. It’s the commonalities that bind.

I love to read about what others are up to. The project, the tutorials and giveaways are wonderful, but I read for the feelings. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who hoards like crazy (do you have IT too?), rarely takes photos of the OTHER side of the sewing space, or could eat a whole lemon meringue pie in one sitting. The differences count too. While we rarely write about the grittier moments we are going through, it helps to know that they too pass and can be survived.


To sum up, I decided to keep writing but to take more time. More time with my daughters, my dearest and my family. More time to have adventures and possibly catch a few of them in writing to share as well.