A tight budget because of the building of our new theater this year caused me to have to take up the roll of costume designer and set designer for our holiday show, The Nutty Cracker Christmas Sweet. I've never done costuming. It is hard. In the end I was pretty happy, thanks to the unbelievable help of Margaret Carl. 
An ice storm at my mom's house last night took down a bunch of trees, but the two maples over Lady Chair (as my mom is now calling it) stood strong, and the chair continues looking content. 
I've been working at Yale on and off sewing costumes for the Rep theater. This vest is for a Drama School student show called Robbers, on Valerie the costume designer. I love doing detail work like the military cording and buttons which took a couple days. It's an awesome job.
This chair has been with my family for a long time. It was in every room I had when I was growing up and it had gotten very old and worn in my mom's house. She wanted to get rid of it for a new comfortable chair, and I had nowhere for it in my house. Of course I coerced her into keeping it, as is my nature. After a year of argument I accepted her creative compromise. She stripped it down to its skeleton, gave me a piece of the wonderful pink fabric, and we hauled the chair out to the edge of the woods behind her house, to rest between to maples. It looks suitably happy out there, and I'm glad to see it when I visit. 
Under the beautiful domed wooden case tied with a little key on a rotted cord was this 1929 Singer sewing machine, covered in gold swirly ornament and shiny nickel plates. It's deceptively delicate looking with its wasp waist and voluptuous curves. I know this machine can kick ass with its all-metal parts and exterior motor, but to avoid any risk I took it to Newman's sewing machine repair in Springfield, MA before I even tried plugging it in. They say it's converted to electric from a treadle machine and would last me 100 years. She's still there, I can't wait to get her back to see how she runs. 
The two most intriguing cases from my grandmother's house. I hadn't looked in them since I found them.
The things I need to clear out of my attic have caused me a lot of anxiety, not the least of which are these 6 sewing machines I inherited from my mother and grandmothers. Nobody needs 6 machines, certainly, and I should get rid of at least half of them. However looking at them all together in a row is like looking at my maternal ancestry. I love them all as if they were my family. And they are such fine and sturdy machines, lost in a time when good plain mechanics and domestic arts are not nearly as valued as they were when these beauties were born. My whole life right now is revolving around these six as I try to determine their pasts and their futures.
...poof, it's gone.
I have to largely empty out my famous attic due to readjustments in living spaces. The biggest task yet was getting my long-collected and beloved fabric and sewing notions under control. That meant throwing out half of it, and categorizing the rest into see-thru plastic bins. It is a tremendous difference from what you might remember in previous posts on the ongoing subject of my chaotic attic (below).
There were but a brief few years that I was a full time illustrator. Since 9/11 cut editorial and textbook work short I've always kept part time jobs on the side. One of my latest was assisting the costume designer of the Elm Shakespeare Company, which happened to be ElizaB. There was a lot of hand sewing and measuring of pants, and some more rare experiences, including one night when Alvin Epstein asked me to tie his bow tie for him before the dress rehearsal. Alvin is a most gracious gentleman and a venerated actor. As I was buttoning his collar with great sense of importance, I had a moment of wondering how I came to be here tying the tie of Alvin Epstein. And the answer is: with the same luck and chance as I've come to do all the other wonderful things I've gotten to do, all generated by the annoying fact I haven't been able to make it on children's books alone.
