Boro Stitching

Japanese Rice Bag from 2019

Non-sewing activities in November and December left me feeling a loss. Sewing is so much a part of my life that I feel off-center and ungrounded when I don't have time for it. So here it is January and I have cleared off the wrapping paper and other detritus that filled the cutting table. I've started the new year with time in my healing space, the sewing room. And it's very, very good.

Next month I am teaching a class on boro using the lovely Japanese rice bag pattern from K Z Stevens. Also known as komebukuro, it is a traditional bag used for religious celebrations to bring rice to temple. I love the shape of bag and the fact that it provides a blank canvas for fiber art exploration.

Side panels (rectangle) and square bottom cut to size on a piece stitched to white flannel

As prep for my class, I made this sample.

It's fun to remember the previous projects that are represented in this bag, as well as the adventures involved in acquiring the fabrics. For example, I see remnants of a favorite Archer shirt from Grainline Studios worn recently on a trip to Israel:

While rummaging through my remnants, I began to wonder, just what is boro? And what might boro be for the 21st century sewist? No one I know has precious rags that have been pieced together to provide warmth during the winter, as the original boro did. So I thought, perhaps, for me, boro stitching means using what I have and not buying new. Though not real boro, it captures the spirit.

This approach to boro allows me to pull out precious little pieces from old projects. Diane Ericson calls this the *parts department.* An example is the piece below. I used to keep a little brass pot in my pantry with folded cotton inside. Each morning when I finished steeping my tea, I threw the bag into the little pot. After some weeks (months? years?), I retrieved the fabric and unfolded it.

There were tea stains, as well as rust marks from the clamps I used. I really like the design, as well as the obvious decay. It is fragile. Just looking at it gives me joy.

As I considered it, I thought that a light blue background would be interesting underneath and adjacent to it. I did not have any fabric that worked. My husband has more cotton button down shirts than any human needs (just like I have more fabric than any human needs), so I asked him to donate an old one to my project. He was happy to oblige me. 

Using this soft light blue shirt cotton,  I began to compose another rice bag as a possible way to spotlight my fragile fabric. Composition is a subject I'm interested in exploring. My sewing tends to be somewhat spontaneous but I do appreciate that composition can create more satisfying results.

One approach is to assume that the vertical seam will fall along a corner of the square bottom. Then you can mark the places where each of the four panels will be ultimately be situated. I have generally taken a seredipitous approach, and applied embellishment that does not depend on careful placement. And I tend to avoid placing the vertical seam at a corner, because it adds bulk to a place where sewing finesse is already required.

This is what I have so far. I can locate the side seam so that the panels are ones I like before sewing to the bottom. In previous bags, I allowed myself to be surprised, but since I'm teaching, I thought it might be helpful to think in terms of planning AND creating.

But maybe not.

Square Foot Challenge

Southeast Fiber Arts Alliance (SEFAA) here in Atlanta hosts a Square Foot Challenge each spring. I've missed some years but do like to participate when I can. It's such great fun to see what everyone makes. The invitation is open to all comers, so no stress. It must be no more than 12 x 12 x 12 inches in size and use fiber in some fashion. They also need to be able to attach it to the wall with push pins.

cotton flannel base

This year they offered free silk kimono remnants to anyone who was willing to make a sq ft piece using those items. Of course, I signed up! A few weeks later a little package arrived with the remnants. Here is what I received:

Just like every time I work from a challenge, I panicked. What on earth would I do with these mostly fragile pieces of kimono? OK, maybe not no-stress. 

It is good to be constrained. I know that. And they were flexible enough to allow us to use our own fabrics, just as long as at least 3 of their pieces showed up in the final piece.

The blue is a kimono silk from stash, as is the eco-printed cotton sateen. You may be able to see the prints from my Japanese maple tree leaves in the picture. The print was mostly lost though. I liked the color of the piece and was not really interested in highlighting the leaf prints.

I did some tests and decided it would be necessary to fuse the large orange piece to light weight interfacing. It worked great and was much easier to cut and manipulate. The interfacing made it easy to fussy-cut part of the orange print. I left it raw-edged.

Now I have finished and delivered it. I used something of everything they sent. It is titled Ravel, Then Unravel. 

Of course, I covered it in hand-stitch. I love doing that. It is so very calming and satisfying to me. I was able to use some of the techniques I learned recently in a class with Ekta Kaul on kantha stitch. More about that later.

I auditioned color for the frame of my 12x12 canvas by photographing the finished piece on dark blue, and then trying it out on bright orange. Bright orange was the winner.

Originally I viewed it like this.

But I like it better viewed like this. So that is the way the hardware is attached to the back of the canvas.

Because I volunteered to use SEFAA's donated kimono pieces, I was allowed to enter two pieces. Here is my other piece:

Grandmother's House was constructed from an old soft cotton pillow case my grandmother embroidered decades ago. I have a number of these and finally decided it was time to stop using them as pillow cases! They are so soft and tempting but becoming quite fragile. 

Grandmother, like me, needed to stitch by hand. Maybe it's genetic. She was in an old folks home at the end and bored, so she stitched on pillow case blanks. I suspect I'm not the only grandchild with a few of these. I love them not just because she stitched them, but because I can tell when she began to go. Her stitching starts out crisp, sweet daisies with petals and leaves. At the end, it's a jumble of stitches. I like that one just as much as the earlier ones. Maybe more.

I took a piece of one pillow case and added other fabrics. Then, following her lead, I began to practice the feather stitch all over the piece. Now I am crazy about the feather stitch, especially with French knots added to the tips. 

It is a vague memory of Grandmother's house. Granddad bought it in the 30's because it was walking distance to Texas Tech University (not a university then, I'm sure). He wanted his kids to go to college. Grandmother and Granddad were divorced and he lived in another tiny house across town. I thought that all grandparents lived separately. 

It has since been bull-dozed and replaced by condo's and apartments. Too bad. I would love to see it again. There was a little house in the back that she rented out for *pocket* money.

Oh, my, I am getting old, aren't I? Actually this is the best time in my life, doing things I love. I just finished a 2 day hike with my daughter and granddaughter.

And here's the new, old me, wrinkles and all!

Egyptian Night(gown)

This is a classic pattern from Folkwear. It's called the Egyptian shirt and is shown on the cover as a shirt or tunic with much embellishment. The pattern illustrations also show a caftan length, something worn traditionally by men in the middle east, I think. I added 22" to the standard one to make it close to floor length on me. 

I've made this several times in each length, and I've used the neckline facing technique more times than I can count. It's a nice finish for any otherwise plain neckline. The facing is shaped and sewn to the inside of the garment instead of right-sides-together. Then the facing is flipped to the outside and edge-stitched in place. This facing is the place for much of the suggested embellishment.

I shortened the front vent in order to simplify things. I did not want to mess with buttons or other closures. The front vent is just long enough to allow it to slip over my head. 

As I was sewing this one, it occurred to me how very similar it is to the Fit for Art Tabula Rasa jacket pattern. The front and back pieces are long and narrow. There are side panels, and T-shaped sleeves that are first attached to the side panels and then sewn to the Front/Back in one long continuous seam.

In the original Egyptian shirt pattern, there is actually a seam down the middle of the side panels. This allows for an opening to a nice little pocket. The pocket bag is simply stitched behind the panel and part of the side seam is left open. Super simple.

And super dangerous in the kitchen. I'm constantly catching the pocket opening on the drawer and cabinet hardware. So, for this version, I just made patch pockets on the side panels. Not as elegant, but much safer. For me.

I used some aged silk noil that I dipped in indigo once upon a time for the front, back and side panels. I did not have enough for the sleeves and so used another eco-dyed (or eco-splotched) piece of silk noil. I made no notes and so I'm guessing it was dyed with iron, vinegar and maybe yard debris. It's a bit odd.

You know, there are those who wear nightgowns, and those who wear pajamas, and those who don't. I am really a PJ gal, but have had to change my thinking of late. Three weeks ago, I went airborne in my kitchen, trying to dodge a poorly placed laundry basket and broke my knee cap. Yes, it hurt. A lot.

Since my little tumble, I've been in a full leg brace 24x7 and PJs are not practical. I've even switched to 100% dresses for day wear. I found myself wearing an older version of the Egyptian caftan and decided to make a back-up. 

Easier said than done in this leg brace, but I managed to finish it somehow. I used a combination of my Bernina and my mother's 1950 Singer. The Singer is lovely, and has one of those knee pedals. I managed flat-felled seams on that long seam that connects the Front/Back to the Sleeve/SidePanel. And I enjoyed wearing it last night. Just right.

Since I enjoy eco-dyeing, I'm now wondering if it would be possible to dip those sleeves in something without disturbing the indigo body of the garment. 

Eco Printing

During Fall 2020 I've spent time trying to learn more about eco-printing. I've done a fair amount of eco dyeing but have long wanted to go deeper with the prints one can achieve from organic or natural dyes.

In the last few months, I've taken two workshops, one from the local fiber art collective, and another from India Flint in Australia. Both were remote or virtual, of course, because this is the year of staying home and avoiding germs. 

The local one was fun but not really focused on printing, at least not what I had visualized. The focus was on purchased natural dyes like marigolds, chamomile, rosebuds and annatto powder. The splotchy colors were vibrant and the results were quick on our silk handkerchiefs. 

But I had hoped for more emphasis on printing. My workshop with India Flint has really given me much to practice in this arena. I love that we are encouraged to use what is easily available, instead of ordering natural dye stuffs online. Ordering stuff online is totally fine, but I enjoy the surprise of what can happen with debris I collect in the back yard. 

Silk produces the best prints. I've had mixed results printing on cotton, or linen, or rayon, but the prints are more 2-dimentional (flat). With silk, there is depth and shimmer, as if the leaves were still attached. This is an off-white silk shantung. This dyeing process softens it a bit.

I've also learned that it helps to mordant with iron and vinegar. I usually leave the cloth soaking in the iron/vinegar bath overnight, then partially dry the item, prior to rolling it tightly around something and securing with twine or elastic.

For me the key ingredients are time, mordanting, and silk. The organic substances chosen to make the prints do matter, but I've been amazed how much the leaves all over my yard produce prints. The leaves and other yard debris used are not uniformly ready to yield lovely stains. For example, the leaves from my Japanese maple and other maples produce pretty detailed prints, but gingko does not produce anything. I understand it can be used as a resist though. Magnolia which is all over my neighborhood, also fails to provide a print. 

Time is also important. First I simmer my bundle for a couple of days, off and on. In one case, I tucked it into the freezer for more than a month after a little simmering. DH now knows that items in the freezer are not necessarily edible!

Mordanting with the iron/vinegar bath produced interesting results with a piece of silk that started out already a light brown. No prints emerged, as the mordant dyed the entire piece dark rich brown. 

Additionally I collect the skins from onions - these make lovely distinctive stains/prints. Also I occasionally buy eucalyptus in the floral section of my grocery store. It doesn't really like to grow in Atlanta as it is too damp here, but it definitely produces pretty prints and pretty colors.

Above, you can see some interesting printing from the twine used to secure the bundle tightly.

Next I'm going to work (harder) on printing on paper. These cannot simmer the way the silk does without crumbling apart, so I'm hoping I can produce something with a quick mordanting in the iron/vinegar bath, Then after rolling the leaves into the paper, I will try steaming it.

I now have enough to make something, maybe a jacket, or a top, out of these silks.