Pulling a Jane Austen: Renovating a Dress, Again, for the Jane Austen Festival

Polly, Laura, Jenni and her daughter Autumn Jane,
Jenni's husband Carson, and me.

It has long been no secret that Jane Austen's funds could be sparse, and that she tweaked and retrimmed her caps and dresses and whatnots to renew them, season after season. Rare was the woman who didn't refresh at least some of her wardrobe in this fashion.

I've done the same with the standby white wrap-front dress, which first debuted in 2011, and wore it to the Jane Austen Festival in Louisville last weekend.

This year it received new sleeves, French-style Grecian sleeves with no seam, that button across the top to hold them closed, green silk ribbon at the hem, and a green silk sash with an antique buckle, a gift from dear friend Sabine, along with the buttons. I have to say, the renovation made the dress feel the best it has yet.

At the Festival on Primidi Thermidor, CCXXII

Jenni and her family, Laura, Polly and I attended the festival as the Merveilleuse and Incroyable contingent from Directoire France. Ah, what a day was Primidi Thermidor, the first day of the month named for summer heat! Most years Locust Grove shimmers under a hot, humid haze, and we thought to thumb our noses at the usually almost-unbearable heat by sporting muslins and French style: no sleeves or almost no sleeves, sandals, no neck-coverings, no outer coverings at all, really, unless you count my kid gloves, which I just could not keep on.

Being a bit barer than our compatriots from America and Britain, we did feel a little naughty. You can't help it when everyone else in costume is layered with handkerchiefs, chemisettes, even spencers, and multiple underpinnings. Excepting two young gentlemen who apparently had just walked out of the same pond Mr. Darcy did in that movie, hatless, jacketless and waistcoatless, but dry. Ye gods.

The ensemble in full.

We were much cooler. Perhaps that accounts for the stares. Stares? Well, yes. That's what happens when you channel the Pre-Punks and Neo-Greeks of the 18th century. Some got the visual joke, and bless them for it.

Julia, the Bohemian Belle, joins us on the promenade. Sandals are so much cooler than
silk stockings and shoes.

The joke was a little on us, actually. For the first time in five years, the weather was reasonably cool on Saturday, and I was glad of my wool wrap for awhile. It was only hot for the promenade? Why? The weather gods just wanted to annoy us.

Goddess-like, Laura channeling a Frenchwoman circa 1800. 

This year really was the best yet. Mr. Roberts and the captain and crew of the HMS Acasta outdid themselves portraying life in the Royal Navy; if you get a chance, read the letters received in a packet and opened that day with much excitement: they come from all over the world.

Dr. and Mrs. Roberts. He portrays a ship's doctor in the Royal Navy.

Jo Baker read from her novel Longbourn; Dr. John Mullen showed us the details and humor in Austen's novels that time and cultural shifts have hidden from us. There was excellent music and singing, archery, puppet shows, one of the best afternoon teas available in Kentucky

Polly and I. That's a Lydia Fast hat on my head. Great fun, isn't it?

and the only that I know of from vintage bone china, the annual style show, really wonderful shopping, and best of all, the Promenade. Four hundred and ninety-one of us dressed up and bested Bath for the world record; at least for now, we bear the honor of holding largest Regency Promenade ever. It was quite a pretty scene and one you're unlikely to see outside a costume film.

Readying for the promenade.

You can read a fuller write-up of the day on Jenni's blog, Living With Jane, and "The Pioneer Times" recorded the entire event in photos. My camera was pretty much stuck in a too-small reticule all afternoon, so I took few pictures, fewer of which came out. My thanks to those who did take photos.

Somewhere we dream.

I Conquered 1796-ish Hair...After the Jane Austen Festival. Plus a Tutorial

Good evening there, everyone! The cicadas are busy outside, sounding like an ambient orchestra of power saws winding down, but there's something odd about it. Namely that our windows are wide open, so that the insect noise is very loud, and there are cool zephyrs whispering in, trying to raise goosebumps. You read that aright. Cool, as in almost long-sleeve weather, in midsummer Bluegrass Kentucky. It's sheer delight.

Meanwhile, in our upstairs hall, next to the settee from the early 19th century, my boys and I have been playing with the camera and tripod. They've been pirates and I've donned the half dress combination of spencer and matching petticoat, with the muslin wrap-front dress. You see, today at lunch I decided to work on 1790s hair once again, this time sans switches or additions. Today, after all the tries of the past months, Fortune's wheel turned in my favor and it came together fairly well. After the Jane Austen Festival, natch-and-wouldn't-you-know, but still, the effects are rather as hoped.

1790s Hair Effects, Pretty Well Effected
The blog title says "conquered". Well, not entirely. Let's say, pretty well effected, given constraints.

The very long locks of the portraits I so admire turned out to be more than I could manage these days. In 2011, I built a fuller look via a very long, very heavy hair switch plus a few pinned-in curled wefts. Now that this head is plagued with migraines, that's just not smart.

The 2011 hair-do. There's a chignon behind
that's built of a 22-24" switch. Heavy.

A shorter 'do was in order, and I ended up during the afternoon with the below. What were the sources, and what happened to it as it was worn? Let's see.

Day version, curlier: this was before the hair was
squished into a bun for the afternoon.
More of the side curls should have been lifted
and wound into the bandeau.

For hairdressing models I turned to a handsome portrait miniature of an English lady in a gray dress, by Richard Cosway, and offered at Bonhams some time ago, along with a series of other plates (see below), for help.

Our first model sports hair she has dressed above shoulder length. It's softly curled but not intensely curly or frizzy, and dressed fairly close to her head, parted in the middle, and finished with a narrow, thin, bandeau (with bow) and ostrich plume. I am fairly sure it's mostly her natural hair, and there is no visible evidence of a long chignon turned up and caught with a comb, in back, though there likely may be a short one. Usually, when present such chignons show at least a bit.

Whatever the actual date of the miniature, the slightly shorter hair reminds me of the trend in 1796 towards shorter hair that was to lead to the upswept styles of the 1800s.

Note: many miniatures and paintings of the period show women with the hair left loose, but most seem quite young. I would hazard that a married woman would sport a chignon, and usually an older woman covered her head with a larger turban or a cap.

Note the chignon loop to the bottom right of
her hair. Lady Hester Bellingham, Bonham's. 

Anyhow, this headdress, methought, was more doable, and would require no extra lockage, and thus be cooler and lighter. If it didn't fully take, no matter. Some fashion plates show tresses looser and snakier, some more tightly curled, some even rather smoothly, barely waved. Witness the below!

British Museum, No. C,4.1-468, detail.

British Museum, No. C,4.1-468, detail.

Bunka Gakuen Digital Library of Rare Materials

A Lady, by Alexandre Rocher. Dated 1796. French. Bonham's.

Models in hand, it was testing time. During lunch hour I created the curls and tested the headdress. The tools? A regular, small-barreled curling iron and heavy-duty hair goo, pins, silk gauze, and hair comb.

Lunch break over, I stuffed the poor hair back up in a bun, and went back to work. After dinner and cleanup, while the boys played some game with their stuffed animals that involved a party, I unpinned it, and the curls had held decently, if not as tightly as before they were unceremoniously pulled back and squished. Good hair goo, to have held at all.

Then it was dash together the headdress (how-tos below), rush into the ensemble, and take some pictures with the boys, before their bedtime arrived.

Here we are. Goofball smiles? Sure, it was a goofy, fun evening, playtime for all three of us.

Mama and her protecting pirate.

The third image shows the back of the headdress. Note that the back hair is lightly, barely looped at the bottom. That's the chignon. Had I longer hair, the loop would be longer, and the ends would be left a bit longer too, to wave and curl downwards.

Noah and his piggy. She is wearing a coat with a velvet collar: Noah gets concerned
his animals will take a chill, so I've made a few clothes.

I'd like to try this headdress again, with curls made on curlers. Why? Because then I can get smoother curls that will create larger ringlets, and that can poof and frizz a little for a softer effect.

What fun this was! The boys took the pictures, and did they like working the camera. Operating a real camera was almost a first for them, and it was heady, heady stuff. On a tripod, too. Noah insisted on holding the tripod aiming handle, or whatever you call it, while operating the camera with his other hand, his stuffed piggy sitting underneath, offering advice. Christopher put on his pirate hat and his weskit, and protected his mama with his wooden sword.

The twinkle in the twins' eyes means "Okay, our turn with that camera!"

After the photo taking, we ran into the guest room and uploaded them, critiqued the results, and then wandered to another folder on the computer to look at live-action shots of them jumping into the Spindletop pool yesterday: the pencil leap, the cannonball, all the jump-in-the-pool tricks. I have the distinct feeling that now they know how to press a shutter button, we've opened a Pandora's box :}

1790s Shorter Locks: A Tutorial

Those of you who have 1790s outfits and don't want to don a wig or wiglet to get the curls of a latter-day follower of Bacchus, here's how I did it. I have hair just about shoulder length, but bobbed hair at chin length, I suspect, will also work. Much shorter and you'll have a late 1790s or 1800s cropped look.

Curl Hair into Ringlets

First, curl your entire head into ringlets. How you do this is up to you: pin curls, papillote curls, curlers-and-setting-lotion, or curling iron. The key is to curl your hair as close to your head around your face as possible, but start the ringlets a little lower down the hair shaft on the rest of your head. Since I wasn't able to get really tight curls at my face, I employed a trick, which I'll show you.

Tools used to create the curls. What's missing: the big
curved bridal comb to hold the chignon.

I used a small-barreled curling iron. I curled the hair dry. I separated the hair into sections, holding the rest out of the way with hair-dresser's clips while I worked with each section. I'd take a small hank of hair, enough to heat all the way through on a small iron, rub a wee bit of hair goo in it, and use the iron. I'd unwind it carefully and move to the next one.

Create High, Curly Crown

After all the hair was curled, I parted the hair, and then gathered a sizeable hank off the top back, plus some from the sides, into a group. I tucked a hair rat under it, right at the back of the crown of the head, to lift the curls I was going to put on top, so they'd look more abundant. Note that there was still plenty of back hair left hanging down.

Individual hanks of hair off the top and sides curled over a hair rat at the back of the crown of the head.
Each curl gets a pin. You can see one in front. It will be covered by a bandeau.

Note the ringlets: they are all one length, because my hair is. The curls start about halfway
down the hair shafts. You will wrap the bandeau around your head just in front of the crown.

Then I split out a hank from this group, looped it to the back of the head and then forward again, creating a fold with curly ends facing forward. I bobby pinned it in place. I did this over and over with the rest, placing each bit so that it built out a bit of a crown. I took a few extra pieces from the sides, pulled them up and wrapped them around the base to hide any rat that might be showing, and to add some top-side curls. Each hank got one pin.

Next I shifted the front hair forwards. I took a yard or so of silk gauze, laid it flat, and rolled it corner to corner to create a long bandeau shape, which I twisted to give some texture. I pinned one end to the side of my head in front of the crown, tucking the end underneath, and wrapped the rest around the back of my head, underneath the back hair, up over the top of my head again, and then wrapped the free end under what was already there, and tried to pin that without the pin showing. I wove the side hair in and out and let some ringlets hang as love locks, more so in the evening's version of the hairdo than the day version, which lets more locks hang.

The bandeau, added. This was at lunchtime. The curls were fuller and rounder, and I had not
fluffed them out at all.

Ta-da: narrow bandeau. It worked out to two trips around my head: if you like, you can divide it into two wraps, one set behind the other, for a very Classical look. If you had longer fabric, you could go for three wraps. In any case, notice the bandeau, or turban, is narrow, and rather scant. Most portrait miniatures seem to show this, perhaps because it was easy to wind and didn't look over-big on the head. As you will see in the Festival pictures below, my original turban was quite large, and, having no super-big hair, it overwhelmed my head and face in what is to my mind a less attractive way.

Now, to deal with the long curls of front hair. Take a ringlet, and a few inches out from the scalp, run it between the tines of a bobby pin. Then pull the curl back under the bandeau and pin it to the hair under there. Arrange the curly hair at the hairline. Still too long? Loop it back a second time with another bobby pin. Use the loops of hair as extra curls at the hairline, but make sure the ends hang and can be seen. Do this with all of the front hair.

Last step: take the back hair and hold it in a ponytail, but kind of flattened, very low on the head, and leaving a bit of a loop of hair beneath. Plaster the tail up against the top of the ponytail, against your head, leaving some curly tips in your hand hanging downwards. This is your small chignon, the traditional finish at the back of women's heads since the 1770s or perhaps even the late 1760s.

Here's an example of a short chignon, from 1796.

Detail from an album of largely
fashion prints. Fashion headdresses,
1796. British Museum, No. C, 4.1-468.

Now take a large hair comb (I have a large metal curved one for bridal use), and plunge it down into where the ponytail and the loop are held together. This holds the loop in place and allows the ends to fall over the top. This loop is what The Gallery of Fashion terms "the chignon turned up plain". Surprisingly, the hair holds well this way.

The chignon at the low back, held by a large, wide, bridal comb. Note that the chignon is supposed to be wide and flattened, nota narrow tube like a ponytail. Also note the curls at the back of the crown, dangling. This was at lunchtime, and in that
test I was able to create a fuller effect there than later that evening, after the curls had been squashed in a bun for hours.

Pull a few ringlets from the side back of the head down, as love locks, and you are done. You have a shortish 1790s hairdo.

To follow the picture a bit more exactly, take a curled ostrich plume (a doubled-and-sewn plume looks better), and spear it straight into the mass of hair at the side of your head, and underneath the bandeau. Pin it with a lightweight brooch to the bandeau. Lacking the brooch, pin the plume to the bandeau with a bobby pin, then add two wide-ended pins, one sunk horizontally into the hair pointing to the front of the head, and the other sunk horizontally into the hair but pointing towards the back of the head. The rounded end of each pin should encase the plume.

To be really en point, you should lightly powder your hair. In England, anyhow, this was common among a certain gentle set. I was going to, but realized it was 7:30 and I was out of time...the boys needed to get to bed!

About the Ensemble

The ensemble is half dress, for afternoon. I am wearing the "muslin" (Indian cotton voile) cross-front dress, to which I added a gathered and whipped neckline frill a few weeks ago to soften the neckline. The sleeves are also gathered in four places with thread to create a group of narrow puffs. This is seen occasionally around 1794-1796. I should have used doubled buttonhole twist for the gathering. Plain thread cannot take the strain and broke in a few spots. The sleeve ends were supposed to be lightly tied with yellow ribbon to leave small cuffs, but I cannot tie them myself, so I left them plain this time.

Under the dress is the lilac silk petticoat: it tints the dress skirt lightly.

Above the dress is the embroidered and spangled sleeveless spencer, which matches the petticoat. The two could be worn as a pair by themselves, if sleeves are added to the spencer.

Jewelry: a partial coral parure: necklace with yellow ties and coral hoop earrings.

The shawl is a matching red silk antique obi. Gloves are vintage tan kid and are the requisite elbow length.

The mix of lilac, red, and yellow accents would have been seen at that period: a coordinating mix of colors was appreciated.

The ensemble is fun to wear: it's full of life and color and sparkle. Worth the two-three years needed to bring it all together.

1790s Lilac Silk Petticoat: All About Hems

Hemming the lilac petticoat.

Good morning, everyone! Here I front-porch sit, playing hooky -- again -- from church, and feeling very guilty about it. Still, it's been a bit of a week due to illness and workmen in the house. The peace of a slightly damp but sunny morning out among the clover, the migrating songbirds, and the breakfast-hunting squirrels, the memory of a radio sermon in my mind, and the sewing box beside me are restoring health and energy.

The lilac project goeth strong. While I await the Eterna silk thread to arrive so I can complete the embroidery on the lilac sleeveless spencer, I've been making up the lilac petticoat. You first met it last fall in Making the Wrap-Front Dress Do Double and Triple Duty, and again in Lilac, Lilacs, and a New Look.

As with many of my projects, it is going through several iterations over time. This summer it is just a plain petticoat, accented only with silk stitching at the hem. Sometimes mantua makers and seamstresses sewed seams in contrasting colors to add fun and visual definition to function. I've tried without luck this morning to locate the Regency-era dress in the Victoria and Albert that features yellow silk stitching on a deep-colored ground: it's in Nineteenth Century Costume in Detail, an all-time favorite book. During subsequent years it will receive sprigged or swagged embroidery; right now the pattern is maturing in my mind.

Hemming the Petticoat

During the 1790s petticoats were still common, still worn with jackets or spencers or robes/open gowns. Many of the fashion plates that show what appear to be dresses are in fact made up of separate articles. Have a read of Gallery of Fashion or The Fashions of London and Paris at the Bunka Gakuen Library and this becomes abundantly clear.

This petticoat is no different. I am making it up just like countless 18th century petticoats, early or late. While I use more panels than they did, because most of our silk comes in wider widths (in this case with two panels of silk shantung), the rest is normal MO: the panels seamed selvage to selvage with combination stitch, with a narrow hem at the bottom (ordinary for the period and conserving of fabric), and a waist stroke-gathered to cotton tapes that then tie around the waist and two pocket holes at either side built into the seams.

The hemming is again ordinary for the period. No blind hem this, just a running stitch. Here is where the contrasting silk offers a little punch. Purple and yellow! Drops of sunshine on the lilacs.

Here's how to make the stitches even.

First, if you are sewing on tightly woven silk, use as narrow a needle as you can, and make sure it's fresh: run it through an emery (that little hard strawberry that comes with the ubiquitous strawberry pincushion) to remove any burrs or heaven forbid, rust. I am using a Clover applique needle, size ten. (In the wish list are good English needles that stay sharp longer.)

The sewing silk thread should be high quality. I am using Au Ver a Soie and the thread is waxed with beeswax (mmmm, good!) to prevent tangling and to help it slide through the silk.

Example of the running stitch hem.

Sew the fabric under tension, just as recommended in period texts (such as those gathered into The Ladies Stratagem. You could use a sewing brick, or pin the work to your knee, but I choose to pin it to my sewing box. Then stretch out the fabric taut, and turn the raw edge under perhaps 1/4 of an inch for a few inches, turn it under again, and press the hem flat with my fingers until it holds, and pin it for good measure.

Then running stitch the hem those few inches, rocking the needle to gather up two or three stitches at once, and make sure that the stitches and the spacing between them are as even as possible, perhaps 12 stitches per inch. Running hems on downs of the era do not use the minute stitches used for shifts; one wanted to be able to pull out the hem to remake the garment later.

Next turn under a few more inches to a hem, finger press it, stitch it, and repeat, ad infinitum until the hem is complete.

The example image below shows two stitches gathered up. I pulled them out of course, but would have anyway. Why? Look at the middle stitch -- actually a space between stitches, where the needle shows. Do you see how much needle is showing? Is that space the same size at the stitches to either side? No. It's longer. Unh, unh. For a neat hem that is not nice: pull it out and do it over. Force yourself to be a somewhat OCD and you will be happy with that hem for years.

Another example of the running-stitched hem.

That's all for today! Doesn't seem much, does it? Each little bit to me is special, a small practice in ancient skills.

Making the Wrapfront Dress Do Double and Triple Duty

Given how little time and funds I have to sew, I am learning to make what I have stretch in a lot of ways...a method popular "back then". Not to mention with my modern wardrobe.

First, we know that the wrap-front dress can be worn with a "body", to make an afternoon ensemble, or an evening ensemble, depending on how it is accessorized. 18th Century Sewing Techniques has an example used for evening dress.

Second, I can simply wear it like an open robe, with a petticoat peeping out underneath. Here is a 1799 fashion plate from The Fashions of London and Paris, from the Bunka Gakuen library collection in Japan. This particular example is full dress, meaning that it would be suitable for dinner or an evening out. Memo: the fabric the model is wearing around her arm is not a shawl, it's the train from her dress.


The description:

London Full Dress

Hat of lilac crape, looped up in front; with silver loop and button; ostrich feathers; robe of muslin; petticoat of lilac crape; both trimmed with lace. Lilac belt, trimmed with silver; gold chain.

A handsome hat, small plumes, sash and matching petticoat, and necklace--oh, and shoes--, and voila, we have yet another ensemble. In my case, I already have everything to hand. Just need to mix it around a bit. Or I can take fabric from my stash and run up a petticoat in another color. No expense whatever.

That hat...Polly and Jenni, what do you think? The original is felt.

The 2011 Jane Austen Festival at Locust Grove, Louisville

Jenni Miller, on right, and myself.
Image courtesy Sarah Jane Meister.

Behatted, begrimed, and behappy, I was writing this still in my Morning ensemble, straight after getting home yesterday. Curte called to say he had the boys at Spindletop swimming, and gave me the evening off, sweet man! I had expected to come straight home and step right in to dinner and bedtime chores. It was such a good trip that I couldn't help writing immediately. It was the first night away on my own with friends in several years; what fun!

As always, please click on the pictures to see larger views.

Jenni and Carson Miller.

This year's Jane Austen Festival was the best yet. Well organized, good events to attend; even if insurance cancelled the archery contest and side-saddle riding demonstration, we could still witness a duel and learn how these things went off and why, watch Nora make fine lace -- and I mean reseau-based net lace with over 150 pins and goodness knows how many bobbins going at once -- enjoy an excellent afternoon tea, well made, with pots of five different kinds of properly brewed tea going round continually, wander the gardens, listen to lectures and shows, talk costume shop -- and best of all, meet friends old and new.

How nice to finally hug Sarah Jane, with whom I've corresponded and whose blog I've read for what, three or four years now, and to meet part of her family into the bargain.  To Sharon, Julie R. Deanna, Hannah, Maria, Kathy, and Nora, to Capt. and Mrs. May and the Doctor and Miss Waterman, to the kind JASNA volunteers with whom I worked Sunday afternoon and promptly forgot your names because I didn't want to forget how to handle a credit card, and to everyone whose name I leave off unfortunately through bad memory and I hope you'll forgive me for it, thank you. What a very nice time.

I only wish I had more pictures of you all as mementos. The camera was buried in my sewing bag,  and so bulky and modern it was hard to pull out with so many visitors watching. Besides, the darn flash was off, and the pictures I took were very poor quality, so poor it's hard to make out faces. So most images in this post are courtesy Sarah Jane Meister and Jenni Miller.

A domestic moment. Sarah Jane Meister with her son, Malachi,
and Jenni.

A weekend of gallantry and wit. Jenni accepts a bow from her husband. Carson has a gentle sense of humor.

An Unfortunate Incident That Ends Well

Jenni displays her fan, self-painted, to Maria Clemmons and me.

Saturday afternoon brought brutal heat. While Locust Grove itself is placed in a both beautiful  and practical position at the crest of a series of tiny rumpled rises and hills so that it catches available breezes and is shaded by a true park, Louisville as a whole is spread flat like the Ohio River mud that most likely underlies it, and summer heat lays down an uncomfortable and unhealthy blanket right on top. The little hilltop wasn't enough to escape yesterday's blanket, and even beneath the trees, we braised underneath it until overdone.

Polly and I, with Locust Grove in the background.
Polly is wearing her block
Print open robe ensemble
and her new bonnet, prettily
trimmed.

At one point, feeling faint under an unbearably hot tent, I wandered over to a blanket where some picnickers were lounging and, recognizing several of them by sight, we made introductions; you may recognize Miss Waterman, Capt. May and his wife from Miss Waterman's blog, which is such fun to read. We were just getting started when, had there been no blanket and an excuse to sit, I'd have slid, bump, into a dead faint, a minute or two later. I am very grateful for their help and care, for had I fully gone under that awful black wave that starts at the top of your head and travels downward, blocking light and life like drowning, but upside down, it it would've have been a message to Curte and homeward bound for me.

Captain and Mrs. May picnic. Both were saviors.
Image courtesy Jenni Miller.

Did you know that a cold drink placed on the carotid artery on the side of your neck will cool your blood, and that a wetted handkerchief on the back of your neck is wonderfully cooling and comforting, and that the effect lasts so long as there is water to evaporate in it? Important things to remember, wherever you are in the heat.

What on earth do I smell? Or is it pride?
I am prejudiced against this photo,
but find it funny and apt. Image courtesy sarah Jane Meister. 

Anyhow, the Doctor and Capt. May escorted me to a cooler spot, and after about a half an hour, I was well enough to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Thank you again; you all of you were very kind and a pleasure to get to know. So sorry to hear too that you, Miss Waterman, and your mother too, were next to fall prey to the heat. What an afternoon!

A Second Unfortunate Series of Incidents, Also Well Ended...What a Ball!

Miss Waterman looks on
from a gallery. Her kindness,
along with her fan, had
saved me from fainting
earlier in the day.
Image courtesy Jenni Miller.

The gods weren't through with us yet. I had booked two friends, Polly and Sharon, and I a suite at a local B&B --  it was to be a special treat.  It won't do to go into details, but our arrival was so unpleasant and the room not as advertised, that none of the three of us felt safe and we left. I've never had such an experience before and hope not to again; thinking about it is upsetting.

But wait, there's more. The B&B incident cost us over two hours of time before the ball -- time to find new lodging and multiple lengthy phone calls with the credit card company to contest the charge -- and on the way to the ball Polly and I got lost in a largely deserted and iffy part of Louisville, before finding the ballroom, 45 minutes before it ended. And immediately relost ourselves going home afterwards.

Once again, I am grateful for friends, for dinner with Polly and Sharon was delightful and relaxing, and the ball, if short for us and undanceable for me -- too, too tight shoes, ouch! -- was so pretty to watch and to listen to, that it all was worth it.

This image of the ball is too bright. It was far more
softly lit.

Spalding University has just the ballroom for a Regency Assembly:  very high ceilings, springy wood floor, multiple chandeliers with a soft yellow glow, and best of all, banks of enormous windows on one wall with a city view and second-floor galleries (!) on two sides with candle-lit tables (!) from which to watch several hundred (!) dancers below, and some of my favorite, lyrical dance tunes in the world, live! The JASNA volunteers had taken full advantage of the opportunity, and it was decorated with magnolia -- oh, the scent! So what if the air was a little warm? It was really, really neat.

Jenni and Carson, ready for the ball.
Image courtesy Sarah Jane Meister.

Here, at the very end, a lone, lorn image of a very tired woman and her fresher friend, or fresher looking, anyhow. Later I heard she had suffered a terrible headache. This is the only image available, so far, of my ball ensemble. It was almost 10:30, and the day's events had done their work to a 47-year-old face, but let's ignore the tired stare and deeply carven eyes, for there is the ball ensemble on which bits and tads of evenings and tips and tots of other moments have been spent.

The almost-ghost and her friend.
Image courtesy Sarah Jane Meister.

The gown is last year's creation, with the addition of that lace, and a fresh silk and cotton voile petticoat, which I embroidered in goldwork and paste (vintage chaton rose rhinestones) sprigs, and bullion fringe, also vintage.

It is worn with a self fabric belt with an Edwardian-era buckle studded with cut steel and a full headdress consisting of a spangled chiffonet, now known as a wrap, to match, closed with a vintage pearl and steel brooch and two ostrich feathers, one of which is in the process of falling off. At the neck, the requisite large beads. On the hands, faux silk white gloves. In the hands, the day's spangled reticule, and a new fan, which I painted in gold in an Adamesque design. The shoes? Nice leather with very high toes and low heels..sadly not Louis style, and painfully tight. Well, they were free.

Next time, details on the ensembles and how they were achieved.

Snapshot of a Reticule in Progress

The basics for an early reticule. Drawn on silk, then spangled with gold spangles from Berlin Embroidery and sadi purl frisee from India.

A rainy Fourth of July morning meant a peaceful time for the boys and I, allowing them hours to relax after yesterday's fun at Spindletop with friends from Atlanta, and me ditto to draw, which is always fun.

The design is my take on a home-produced one from the Victoria and Albert Museum. More details later.

Ciao!

The 1795 Morning Dress Hat, Completed*

* for all intents and purposes.

So, here it is! Am very pleased with it. Thanks to Lynn McMaster's article on 1790s turbans, in which she uses part of a coat hanger on which to put the ostrich plume, I was able do something similar to not only make these plumes really stay put, but be able to remove them without effort or damage so that they can be employed in evening wear.

As always, please click the images to see them larger.


Here below is how this all was achieved.

Last you saw, the hat lacked plumes and the trim was just laid on to see how it looked...

Oh, here are the model hats, from June 1794 Gallery of Fashion. As you may recall, I am doing a combination of the leftmost and rightmost figures' hats. The only thing I am not entirely happy with on mine is the size of the composed bow; it's a little small. I thought it should be as tall as the crown, but really, it's an inch taller and perhaps contains yet another bow, although I have four and the thing is some inch and a half thick!  So I added a small coque feather aigrette to add fullness and cover and to provide some snap, crackle, and pop to otherwise single-color trim. After all, I am not so rich in good plumes right now to consider dying any as on the originals.

A typical costuming error, to go too small. Ah, next time, eh?

Attaching the Ostrich Plumes

Ingredients

Preparing the plume holder:

• Curte used strong wire clippers to cut the end of a wire coat hanger into a sort of "U" shape.
• I bent the wire such that it followed the front curve of the hat crown.
• Using strong linen thread meant for stay making, I overcast the wire on to the hat, using plenty of stitches to hold it securely.  The extra amount of wire serves as extra security.
• I left three quarters of the vertical wire unsewn.

Plumes attached to the wire holder.

Attaching the plumes:

• The plumes are actually four quality wing plumes, bought last year. To me, it's worth it to purchase good feathers. Well taken care of, they can last more than a lifetime, and be used on countless hats. Plus, those plumes are almost the first thing you notice in a 1790s ensemble, or on an Edwardian one, for that matter...
• Each final plume is composed of two feathers, the back of the front feather's quill shaved and properly sewn along the quill to attach them to create one very full plume. Lynn McMasters has an excellent tutorial about this on her site.
• The plumes are wired together heavily with thread, and then jewelry wire.
• The connected plumes are then pushed down on top of the wire holder, such that the wire holder goes between them. Had I but one plume, I'd have pushed its hollow center down over the wire holder. They are tacked a bit above with thread to keep them from swivelling.
• Voila.

Adding trims:

• I added a group of black-green coque feathers from my friend Polly. The feathers come in long strings attached with thread near their bases.
• I fanned them out, and inserted their bases into a little pocket made of silk ribbon wrapped round and round and sewn together, then sewed them into the pocket and made a little constructed bow in front to hide the handiwork. This coque aigrette may be removed and used for evening wear, too. However, it's tacked to the hat with sewing thread.
• The hat band was slipped round the crown. It's not tacked, having enough cling in it to hold, I hope.
• The puffy constructed bow is tacked dead center on the hat front.
• One-inch wide lengths, selvage to selvage, of silk gauze are cut with pinking sheers, lightly ruched, and tacked to the under-brim of the hat. Since silk gauze frays like mad, I should have cut on the length of grain, but forgot in the heat of things. So I starched it, and as it was still fraying, after attaching it to the hat, I hair-sprayed it (gah!) Severe issues require severe measures. Yuck; well, I'm sure to retrim the hat before the spray yellows or stickifies the ruche, which is worth perhaps two cents total, anyway. In the day they may have treated the gauze in some other way, such as dipping it like crazy in gum arabic or something.

I still lack a bit of ruching on the brim, but the hat is showable.

Time estimate to complete: 6 hours. Good grief, who knew? Of course, that counts the failure hours, and the rest was done in wee smidges of time, between everything going on. Phew...

Additional Resources
For those of you interested in feathery details:

• Plume source: Plumes N' Feathers
• Creating Full Ostrich Plumes
  Edwardian plume research notes on blog 
• All of Lynn McMaster's articles on millinery, plus her patternsClick on Articles link in left navigation bar

Next up, last bits before the festival. A quick self belt for the evening gown, the evening gown's lace tucker to tack in, hair, packing everything...

This evening I leave you with a typical cat pose: on top of feathers, Ladybug is almost asleep.

A very happy Fourth of July to those of you in the States, and a very happy weekend to those of you across the ponds!