Qipao

Photos! 

First, let me clarify that this is not really a qipao (pronounced chi-pow). A true qipao is a gown. This is more like a sam-fu, which is a blouse-and-pants sort of suit, with the "sam" (pronounced "sum") being the top and the "fu" (pronounced "foo") being the pants. However, the sam-fu is a more casual, everyday outfit, whereas this is more a special-occasion garment. Besides, imagine if I'd titled this post "Sam", no one would know what I was talking about, right?

So . . .  let's just rationalize the slightly misleading name by explaining that it is half a qipao. And that a true qipao would be drafted and sewn in exactly the same way, except with the hem extended downward into a skirt to become a full dress. Okay?

Fwah!

Right, so we've finally got pictures. Here are my frogs.

And my three bust darts, the crazy things.

Emily took photos of me actually wearing the thing.

Which I thought were not half-bad, considering it was her first time behind the lens.

And just as well, because look what sort of stuff I shot when I tried to do it myself.

Cute, but idiotic.

Much better with someone else doing the shooting, so I could concentrate on making faces.

Like this smirk.

"Zoom in on these buttons, Emily."

"What's 'zoom in'?"

She learns fast . . .  and well.

My turn now - with Fleur. 

Here's the front of the blouse. Notice how those sleeves stick out. 

I'll deconstruct this draft later but since we're looking at this shot, let me say that

1. brocade is a bit like paper. It's cool and silky and hangs nicely but it drapes like paper. Actually, more like cardstock.
2. the angle of those sleeves is what makes the shoulders sit the way they do even when I'm capering about. Did you know that you can draft sleeves to stick out from the armscyes at different angles? Coat sleeves, for instance, are drafted to hang more vertically, because that's how one's arms are usually oriented when wearing coats - still and hanging vertically next to the body. T-shirt sleeves, on the other hand, stick out more horizontally, because we wear T-shirts to move our arms about a lot. But I'm meandering; let's come back to that in another post.

Moving on now - here's the back:

The separating zipper

that allows the entire front panel to separate for dressing and undressing (this is a fitted garment after all).

And the frogs, of course. Notice there are also supplementary snaps (aka press-studs). They are always present, because the frogs, being partly decorative, are very seldom sufficient in number and spacing to secure the opening.

I'm planning to do a couple of follow-up posts next. One is to deconstruct the qipao top for you, since I'm guessing that this is a more unusual garment for most. Then we can talk about sleeves and angles and curved darts and asymmetry and whatever else I think might be interesting to dissect. The second is to teach you to make the frogs. If you have any particular requests, leave a comment to let me know.

P.S. Because I know you might ask, the fabric is from JoAnn. See - JoAnn has some good stuff, right? 

A Gentle Lesson in Culture

Hello friends!

I am in a good place today. By that, I mean that while it's another frigid day out there (school has been canceled for the fourth day this winter) and the kids are at home with me, which means high levels of fun but low (if at all) levels of personal productivity, I've finished that Chinese blouse. AT LAST. Without losing my mind. Well, not all of it, anyway.

Unfortunately, it is too cold to model the thing and take photos. It is too cold to even send Fleur out in my place to model the thing and take photos. And my house has dungeon lighting that will not do justice to all those hours of work. So, everyone: pray for Spring so we can all see the blouse, okay?

Culturally exotic as that blouse sounds, it is not the subject of today's post. Today's post is about a recent comment I received. I've said in the past that I get all kinds of comments to my posts. The ridiculous spam ones aside, there are, literally, all kinds - questions about topics or a particular post, requests for recommendations of shops at which to buy specialty materials, a lovely story about your kids, an account of your sewing evolution, a shared link to a gorgeous cardboard exhibition, an expression of gratitude for a free pattern, a kind pointing-out of a typo, a passionate rebuttal of one of my views. And then, there was this one that came a couple of days ago, in response to this post:

At first, I thought I'd politely and discreetly delete it so as to avoid embarrassing the writer, but then I thought it was too good not to share, especially since the person's convenient anonymity offers him/her some level of immunity to said embarrassment. 

Gentle lesson #1:
It depends on which side of the pond it is from which one hails, friend.
(Although the whole world does agree that "learned" is the form of the word used to describe a highly educated person.) Perhaps this link might be helpful for further enlightenment.

Gentle lesson #2:
One should perhaps have written:
"... it is "learned", not "learnt"..."
Those double quotation marks (not to mention commas) can be tricky to place, can't they?

Ah, culture. That nebulous thing of which we are all the product, and usually unconsciously so.

Plugging Away

I am still sewing that garment.

Vast amounts of hand-basting. Vast, I tell you.

My current garment progress rate is approximately one seam every three days + one dart every month. Let's play Count The Darts in the picture below! All together now: one waist dart + one french dart + one armscye dart = THREE! 

Per side! SIX for the front alone! (My patience dried up four darts ago.)

And my frog button progress rate is approximately 2" every 2 weeks.

So maybe "progress" is kind of an exaggeration.

Which is not good news, given that Chinese New Year is in ten days. 

But I'm not panicking. 

The way I figure it, I adopt this exact leisurely sewing speed (often even slower) every Halloween, right? 

And the children still miraculously have costumes to wear, right?

(Sometimes even in time for Halloween itself.)

And I can always fall back on Plan B, which is to conveniently pretend I'm not really Asian and eat lutefisk or something.  

But I would like my needle back, because that's the only hand-stitching needle I have in the house that isn't bent, meant for upholstery, cauterized at the tip (sometimes I use needles to remove wood slivers from feet) or plastic, that came with some kid's yarn art kit. 

And I can't have it back if it's trapped in mid-frog, can I?

So I guess I might as well finish the garment. 

Sigh.

A Dress For Bunny (and Her Cronies)

First, thank you, everyone, for the delightful stories of your kids and their lovies! Someday, we need to organize a get-together for all these special softies, complete with paper champagne glasses, so they can swap stories about their human friends. Oh, the tales they would tell! Then I'd pitch it to Disney for the screenplay of Toy Story 4, and encourage them to get Kleenex on board to sponsor the door gifts. 

Second, let me share that it's hard getting back to sewing after a long break. 

Sometimes, my attitude towards sewing (specifically: procrastinating, avoiding it, complaining on the blog about it, always preferring to buy than make clothes, etc.) makes me wonder how much I really like it at all. I mean, I've always thought that sewing is very much like exercise. It's stinks when one just starts to do it or resumes it after a long hiatus, and the results are usually dismal. But if one perseveres, one gets better and more efficient at it. And, inexplicably, it eventually starts to feel nice and one even gets the sense that one's day (or life) is incomplete without it. Then, with enough time at it, one settles onto a disconcerting plateau and has to increasingly kick up one's challenge level several notches in order to get the satisfaction one craves. By which time it gets to the point where one can almost do it in one's sleep (figuratively), totally divorced from any emotion whatsoever, so that one is finally able to tolerate its more odious manifestations, like alteration and mending and repurposing (only to avoid the alternative of simply discarding, about which one often feels extreme guilt; this is totally different from voluntary, creative upcycling, which isn't odious at all).

So. . . maybe I like sewing about as much as I like exercise- love the results, don't love the work. I know of many people in sewing blogland who gush, "I loooooooooove sewing! I can't stop! It's so much fun! I am, like, having an affair with my sewing machine and neglecting my husband! I wish I had more hours in my day to sew everything I want!" I read those posts and think, "We must come from different planets. Your planet must be where sewing takes nanoseconds to get done and someone else always does the layout and cutting and seam-ripping for you and everybody's body is a cuboid so no one ever needs darts and all you have to do is choose fun fabric and sew straight seams. On my planet, all we seem to do are adjustments, alteration and mending during the weekdays, and sleevecaps and armscyes on the weekends." And I feel kinda left out of the whole Universal Blogosphere Happy Sewing Clique because I've fallen woefully short in the Excitement Department.

Either that, or, unbeknownst to me, I've turned into a tailor. Like my grandmother. Except without much of her passion (and I bet Grandma wasn't ever conflicted between sewing and cardboarding). I hope that people reading this don't think that all my sewing adventures on ikatbag are the result of me faking it just to find things to blog about. Heavens, no. I genuinely like making things. I genuinely like designing things. I genuinely like thinking of ways to make things look and work better and more efficiently. And you could probably catch the equivalent of sewing rabies just reading some of my felt food or costume posts. I just don't enjoy the mechanism of transferring those ideas to fabric as much. There are times when I've sat at my sewing machine and said, "Well, it's you and me again, babe. How about you help me exorcise this stuffed toy design from my head so I can breathe again and get on with my life and then we don't have to see each other for a while?" I guess it's for this same reason that I haven't named my sewing machines Gertrude or The Honorable Francesca or whatever, or made quilted covers for them. We aren't BFFs; they are my workhorses, and they happen to be good at what they do. 

   

Anyway, I've been mending (ah - light dawns on her sewing ennui). Or, more accurately, amputating unmendable parts of garments, thus buying them a few more seasons of life. 

Last week, we lost four pairs of leggings and gained four pairs of capris/undershorts,

and some stretchy tubes for turning into other things.

Some have interesting hems, with lace or gem-studs. We cut a short length of one such tube

and some donuts from leftover knit projects

and joined them together

to make a strapless gown for a favorite friend.

Here's the how-to.

First, cut a legging leg to length (or sew one from knit fabric), so that it ends a little below the waist of the wearer. This will be the bodice. Measure the length of the skirt you plan to sew onto this this bodice. For this doll, the skirt was going to be 2 3/4" long, without SA. Also measure the waist of the wearer.

Now make your skirt pattern. Begin by dividing the waist measurement by four and drawing an quarter-circle arc of that length. There is a simple Math formula relating this quarter-circumference value to the radius of its circle - anyone who's done middle school Math will know this. Or you can eyeball the radius to get the quarter-circumference. From that arc, mark the skirt-length distances to create the hemline. Ours was 2 3/4" from the arc.

Cut out the paper pattern. Fold knit fabric twice (with the second fold perpendicular to the first) to create four layers. Lay the pattern with the straight edges along those folds and cut out the skirt with seam allowances at the waist and the hem.

Open up the fabric (it should be a full donut) and mark the quarter points around the center hole. Make the same quarter marks around the bottom edge (i.e. the waist) of the tube bodice.

Bring the bodice and skirt together so that

• their RS are together
• the bodice is upside down, 
• with its waist edge lined up with the waist of the skirt,
• and with their quarter marks matched up.

Pin in place if desired.

Sew around the waist of the skirt/bodice ensemble to attach the two pieces. Trim the SA at the waist and turn RS out.

The dress is finished! Here it is with a double-layered skirt. Simply combine both skirt layers as one, and sew them to the bodice.

If your doll has a significantly wider chest than can be accommodated by a single legging tube, cut BOTH legs apart along their seams, and join them together with two seams to make a wider tube.

Here are the completed dresses -

one for each of the girls' Favorite Friends.

A dress like this works for 18" dolls, too. Our leggings were 4/5T size, and a little snug for this particular doll, so if you have leggings in larger sizes, they'd be perfect.

Oh - you have a couple of questions? Let me guess -

Q : Will this work on children and... me?

A:  Conceptually, yes, this could be a human dress, with the following adjustments:

1. I'd personally include shoulder straps to prevent wardrobe malfunctions. 
2. I'd shape the top edge of the bodice and armscye region so the whole tube sits higher on the chest and lower in the back, for more modesty.
3. I'd further shape the side seams to allow more room in the bust region for women.

Q: Can children sew this dress for their dolls? After all, it looks like a whip-up project.

A:  It is a whip-up project - and there is only one seam to sew. However, that seam joins a straight edge to a curved edge, and both edges are continuous circles. And both circles are small i.e. they have tight curvatures. So if you think your kid can manage that, then yes, children can sew this dress for their dolls. If you help. A lot.

At Home With Bunny and Kate

Uh. . . Happy New Year, everyone! 

A bit late in the game, I know, but I've been sorta anti-bloggy this fortnight. 

Not a lot to write about - I mean, there's always the weather, but why give it more air time than it's already had (and doesn't deserve)? I guess I could sew something and talk about that, but my sewing machine and I are currently estranged. And I've lifted all cardboard sanctions until the kids agree to throw out more of our old cardboard stuff to make way for new.

So I've been reading instead. It's nice to feel somewhat literate, even if I'm reading way below my recommended reading level (they're children's books). I've also been mending clothes (hence the aforementioned estrangement).

In the midst of all those bleak midwinter happenings, however, I've been hanging out with Kate in the afternoons when she's done with kindergarten and before her older sisters return from school. I've also been hanging out with Bunny, who is Kate's best friend.

In case you'd forgotten, this is Bunny:

and you all know Kate:

I never thought making a rabbit would also mean making an entire imaginary world that included scrapbooks, food, furniture, clothes, and a passionate devotion that resulted in Kate sometimes begging to bring Bunny to the most unfeasible (and sometimes unhygienic) places just so they could stay together. 

"I did that?" I'd wonder to myself. "Did I make that happen because I sewed some fabric limbs and ears into a toy?"

No. Kate did it - she and her mind and her heart and all the rest of her being. 

Incidentally, Kate has already made end-of-life plans for Bunny: she's been scrutinizing Bunny's fur with the assiduousness of a surgeon, diagnosing that mange (from being washed too many times) = imminent death and, therefore, I need to get to work making a Replacement Bunny ASAP.

Someday she will be all grown up. She will look back on her fantastical kindergarten years in disbelief and, understandably, accuse me of gross exaggeration or a bad case of SappyMotherlitis. So I thought I'd record it here, because these are beautiful days and bring me much (bittersweet) delight at the thought of how simultaneously charming and fleeting they are. 

One of her earlier Kate & Bunny books:

Very spartan, plot-wise. Almost like a memoir and caption in one.

Also very succinct.

Here's a more recent one, that she started in school.

The BUNNY made a gingerbread BUNNY. He popped out of the oven. Stop! Stop!"

The gingrbread BUNNY Ran fRom the Bunny the cat and the dog. "Stop! Stop! Stop . . . 

And just like that, she leaves us with a cliffhanger. 

(I've gotta make her finish that book.)

Last week, we made clothes for Bunny from old leggings and scrap knit. I'll show you how in a later post. Notice that Bunny looks a little less pristine than when I first made her - evidence that she is indeed much loved.

At her behest (and somewhat bossy dictation), I drew three pages of Bunny Necessities & Accessories. She spent her post-school afternoons this week coloring and cutting them out,

and keeping Bunny gorgeous, entertained, socially connected,

and not starving.

As I am writing this, Kate has just made a paper mobile for Bunny's crib (Bunny needs a nap because she didn't get enough sleep the night before because she didn't eat enough food at supper and had to sneak out of bed to get carrots from the fridge).

Do your children have stories like these? Or am I the only mom lucky enough to watch what innocence looks like, played out day after day in her living room?

Here are our coloring sheets -

CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD

we thought other Bunnys (and Bears and Dogs and Cats and Dolls) might enjoy having their very own electronic keyboard, cellphone, MP3 player, wall art, cosmetics and food buffet. Grab your camera, fellow parents- someday when your little ones leave days like these behind them, you might be glad you did.  

P.S. For more Adventures of Bunny and Kate, see this post.