The Painted Undergarment: A PG-13 Post

WARNING. THIS IS A PG-13 POST. SOME MATERIAL MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER CYBER VIEWERS. PARENTAL GUIDANCE RECOMMENDED.

I'm starting on a new project for a fundraiser. It's an auction sponsored by a nearby women's club. In October, they will auction off decorated bras to raise money for mammograms for women with no insurance. This is a cause close to my heart. Literally. About two inches away from my heart. My contribution will be beaded, of course.

I started with a bra purchased on sale at TJ Maxx. I only mention the low price of $3.00 because that means I can spend more money on the beads.

After I got the bra home and washed it, I realized how pink it was. Really, really pink. So pink that if I wanted to use any beads other than pink ones, the color would show through. Not being willing to spend my bead money on another undergarment, I decided I would paint it. This is the result.



I used a white craft acrylic paint on the cups. You can see how pink they used to be by looking at the unpainted sides and back. The straps are clear plastic-type stuff and they will be replaced. Even with the foam lining, the cups will have to be reinforced to hold the weight of the beads. Otherwise they will sag and look like....Oh, no, let's not go there...

I have just a few engineering details to work out--like exactly how to prevent the previously mentioned sagging and how to deal with the stretchy sides and back. I have some ideas, but as happens frequently with this sort of technical process, it will be trial and error.

The Traveling Bead Studio

Inspired by That Celticat Chick, I decided to make a Traveling Bead Studio, and here it is. It's a plastic pencil case, eight inches by five inches. The usual $1.00 item at the back to school sale. Note the interesting reflection on the top of the box. That would be me. And, no, I am not an alien from outer space.



The bottom half is lined with a scrap of velux blanket, aka beading mat. The beading mat is held in place by the ever useful masking tape donuts.



So far, my Traveling Bead Studio has taken a train trip to Chicago, a ferry ride to Wisconsin, and a plane flight to St. Louis. All right, all right, so I didn't bead on the airplane, but I did bead on the train and on the ferry. And I did bead in the airport and in the hotel.

The Traveling Bead Studio works quite well. It holds enough little bags of beads for a small project, kindergarten scissors, thread, a pencil, and the always essential seam ripper. As an added bonus, you can stick the needle in the beading mat for safekeeping. For a larger project, a person could bring along an auxiliary container of additional beads. The high edges of the Traveling Bead Studio prevent embarrassing spillage that could call one to the attention of TSA employees.

The Traveling Bead Studio is an Open Source device. Anyone may copy it.

Reflections on BJP 08-09

I lurked around the edges of the BJP 07-08, admiring everyone's work and wishing I could participate.

When I read about BJP 08-09, I wanted to join. But I'm not a real artist; I'm just someone who plays with beads. Could I keep up? Would I be comfortable making my beading public? How much would I be willing to share in my blog? What kind of response would I get from the bead artists?

Somewhat aprehensively, I signed up. And then I started to get excited. I was so excited that I started my September piece in August and finished it the first week of September. It was fun!

My original idea was that my year-long journal would be trying new techniques. That focus didn't last too long. By October, I had begun using my beading to process, reflect on, explore things in my life. I became more and more willing to share myself with other BJP members.

I'm a pretty reserved person, and I did not expect to make BJP friends. But I have, and that has been the most rewarding part. It has been wonderful to share experiences--sometimes about beading, sometimes about other things--with these new friends. Everyone has been helpful, encouraging, and affirming.

I continue to be in awe of the beautiful art made by the BJP members. I am already planning to participate in BJP '10.

Thanks to you, Robin, and your team for giving me this opportunity.

Confessions of an Iron Snob

My name is Marty, and I'm and Iron Snob.

I'll admit it. I'm picky about irons. I iron quite a bit, and I know what I like. Ordinary, run-of-the-mill irons are not for me. I want features, and I know what features I want. And I want them now!

Steam. Lots of it. Variable steam. Burst of steam. (Vertical steam not necessary.)

Spray. Reliable spray. A spray push button suitable for an arthritic thumb.

A control knob. An easy to use control knob. A control knob that doesn't fall off.

A skinny, pointed tip.

Automatic shut-off. Not that I would ever need it. What never? Well, hardly ever.

An extra long cord.

Light in weight. Even if I am Super Muscle Woman, I try to confine my weightlifting workouts to the fitness center.

A very stable heel rest. Very, very stable. Stable enough to be almost anti-gravity.

And this is what I've been using for the past few weeks. It's the garage sale iron.



It has no features except steam. None. But the price was right. $1.00. Take my word for it. You'll have to believe me because the price sticker on the handle is partly rubbed off.

This iron has been in the basement for more than ten years. I bought it for my daughter as she was getting ready for job interviews as a senior in college. For some reason I didn't remember I had given her a real iron earlier. It has had occasional use.

Below is the iron I wish I still had. The Steam & Reach. It burned out in a glorious blaze of... Well, not exactly. One afternoon I noticed that the handle had become quite hot. The next day, it made some clicking noises but wouldn't go on. Not to confuse anyone with references to multiple small appliances, but this iron was toast. The box is still here (available to store the garage sale iron) but the iron has moved on.



I bought this wonderful Steam & Reach one day in a snit. It was about 15 years ago. Imagine coming home from an exhausting (and not all that thrilling) work-related conference to have your associate homeowner confess right there in the airport terminal that your iron had been terminated. Violently thrown to the basement floor... Well, not exactly. Knocked off the ironing board onto the basement floor by an innocent (huh!) person looking for nails on the workbench. The old iron was toast. Little pieces of toast.

So I went iron shopping that week. The only other option was wrinkles, since the garage sale iron was still with its previous owner. I found the wonderful Proctor-Silex Steam & Reach. I didn't know how wonderful it was at first. And then I discovered the beauty of the Reach--the extra long cord. No longer was I forced to be adjacent to an electrical outlet. I could iron while I roamed! Of course, carrying the ironing board all over while ironing was a little awkward, but the possibility of roaming was so liberating!

The iron wasn't perfect. But that only made it more endearing. About halfway into its working life, the temperature control knob came off. That was a minor problem, only of importance if one wanted to control the temperature. I put it back on several times. Finally my associate homeowner glued it on with something powerful, no doubt to make up for the unfortunate incident with the previous iron. The Steam & Reach was just like new. And knowing that the knob might come off again just added some excitement to my ironing.

But I must come to terms with the fact that the Steam & Reach has moved on. So I say, "Good-by, sweet iron. I'll try to find a worthy successor."

The Indian Beaded Purse

The history of this apparently Native American Indian made beaded purse is unknown. It was in a box of other textiles that came from my mother. The outer fabric appears to be velvet or velveteen and the lining fabric cotton. The front and the back are exactly the same. The purse is about 7 inches tall and 5 inches wide. I'd measure it, but it's carefully wrapped in acid-free tissue in a textile storage box on the top shelf of the closet. The purse shows some wear. Some beads are loose or missing, and the fabric is nearly frayed in places.

Here is a detail of the beading. Perhaps you can see that there is a three-dimensional effect to the beading of the flowers. The outer edges of the flowers are farther away from fabric than the middles of the flowers. Look for the brownish sequins sewn on with beads. I wonder what color the sequins were originally.



The purse is like a pocket, open at the top with no closure. The flaps on the front and back do not cover the opening. They are just flaps. There is no string or handle to hold on to.



I know my mother purchased some things from the Indian tribes in Central Michigan during the 1930s as she traveled for her work. Perhaps this is one of those things.

The Beads Sang!

First they whispered. Then they hummed. And then they sang. I let them. And then I joined in the music!

After the determination to grow in April and the need for control in May, in June the beads were free. They were happy and they sang. This is their song:



This piece was completely unplanned. It was spontaneous visual music. I picked the colors and just started.

Technical Details:

The foundation is Lacy's Stiff Stuff painted with Dye-na-Flow.

The beads are 15/0s, 11/0s, 8/0s, a couple of 6/0s, some triangles, a few cubes, some crystals, and absolutely no bugles.

The page is done almost entirely in the backstitch.

I used blue Nymo B thread. Nymo is my all time favorite. I use B or D, depending on the best color match.

What I Was Thinking:

I wasn't. I just let the beads sing, and I joined in their music.

Issues that Came Up:

I wanted to learn to use a curved needle so I could use it to bead dolls. I decided to try the curved needle on some flat beading on part of this page. That was a good idea. Now I am finding it very easy to use the curved needle on my doll.

After April and May, this page was amazingly relaxing to do.

It energized me. I heard the music, and I felt like dancing.

A Tale of Four Busses: The Bus, The Replacement Bus, the Other Replacement Bus, and the Great Big Bus that Could!

It was a trip!

Part I: The Trip

On Wednesday I joined a group from the Grand Rapids Chapter of the American Sewing Guild for a trip to Chicago. Our first stop was the Textile Discount Outlet. We would then go to the Chicago History Museum to have lunch and see the Chic Chicago Exhibit. On the way home, we would stop at Hannah's in New Buffalo for dinner. This is a fun group, and I looked forward to the trip.

The bus started in Grand Rapids, but there was a stop along the lakeshore to pick up about 8 of us. This lakeshore stop meant that instead of leaving the house at 5:45 am to get to the other side of Grand Rapids, I could sleep in till 5:45 am and meet the bus at the Saugatuck commuter lot at 7:15. The lakeshore stop also meant that I would get home earlier--8:30 pm instead of 10:30 pm.

All went well until I saw the signs for the Saugatuck exit. That was when my oil light went on. Well, what do you do? I got off at the exit, pulled into the commuter lot and called my husband. If ever there was a time to delegate responsibility, this was it. After a few choice comments, he accepted the responsibility.

The bus pulled into the lot, and as I approached it I saw my husband driving down the road. We had a brief conversation through the car window as I stood in the light rain. We'd trade cars. But I didn't have a key for his car. (I had removed all unnecessary weight from my purse in preparation for the festivities.) He couldn't park his car without moving mine because all the spaces were full. Everyone else was on the bus. They were waiting for me. More delegation... I'll call from the restaurant on the way home.

We arrived at the Textile Discount Outlet before it opened. (Guess I could have done the car switcheroo after all.) The bus pulled around the block to park, and several travelers made an emergency stop at the Dunkin' Donuts on the corner. I resisted.

The Textile Discount Outlet is something else. Clearly it is not for everyone. To start with, it is not organized in what I would describe as a left-brained, sequential manner. And for the most part, prices are not marked. But for those of us who are on an adventure, who have a high tolerance for chaos, who are looking for the unexpected, and who have a good sense of direction so they can find their way out in an emergency, it's a blast. It's a mishmash of fabric, trimmings, notions, and remnants. No wonder it's known as The Dumpster Diving Place.

True confessions: I picked up three pieces of not-quite-UltraSuede to make jackets. It's really an almost upholstery weight moleskin. I also got some zippers, ribbon, and lace. And I found a treasure trove of Nymo thread. Most of it was very heavy weight, but I did find some cream D weight. The outer layer is a little dirty, but the rest is good.

Our next stop was the Chicago History Museum for lunch and a tour of the Chic Chicago exhibition. The exhibition featured gowns worn by prominent Chicago women from 1861 to 2008. If you are interested in fashion design, clothing construction, or the history of fashion, you will enjoy it. My assessment: Fabulous! There is nothing in the museum from Michelle Obama yet, but all of us predicted there will be soon.

Another fascinating exhibition showed the clothing and accessories of Bertha Honore Palmer, the most prominent woman in Chicago society in the late 19th century. She was known as the "Princess of the Prairie." If you read The Devil in the White City, you will remember Bertha Honore Palmer as the president of the Board of Lady Managers of the Columbian Exposition of 1893. One of the fascinating smaller pieces in the exhibit was a list of her purchases from Tiffany's during a five-month period. Over $107,000! Ladies and gentlemen, that's in turn-of-the-century dollars! $107,000!!!

The Chicago History Museum is an interesting little museum, and I would recommend it.

Part II: The Real Trip

It was 4:30 pm Central time, and the museum closed. There we were, 29 tired but happy women waiting on the sidewalk in front of the museum. And waiting. And waiting. No bus. And no cell phone number for the bus driver.

"He's run away with all our fabric," someone commented.

Our leader did have an emergency phone number for the bus company. After several calls and a 45 minute wait, we learned that the bus had broken down about six blocks from the museum. We decided to walk to the bus so we could at least sit down. Another bus was on the way from Someplace Else to pick us up. More waiting. We took advantage of the opportunity to have Show and Tell so we could all see what was purchased. That was fun. More waiting. The windows on the bus were propped open with empty water bottles. More cell phone calls. From everyone to everyone else at home. Some people were looking stressed.

Finally the Replacement Bus arrived. Yay! We grabbed our purchases and climbed onto the Replacement Bus. Charlie, our good-humored driver, started her up. Something was wrong. I don't know what except the word "air" was used over and over. The Replacement Driver got back on. He and Charlie had conversation about levers. I heard, "Really step on it...once you get going..." and little else. After about 15 minutes we went around the block. Apparently the problem continued. More cell phone calls. Lots more calls. More people were looking stressed, but everyone remained pleasant.

After a while a man in a blue cap and some sort of uniform knocked on the bus door. More conversation. More cell phone calls. And then a proposal surfaced: The 29 of us could squeeze into the Other Replacement Bus, a 24 passenger airport shuttle-type vehicle the man in the hat had parked across the street. More discussions. And a decision was made. We would take the Other Replacement Bus to our restaurant in New Buffalo, about a 90-minute ride. Still another bus would meet us there.

And so we did. The Other Replacement Bus may have had a sign on the outside that said Executive Transportation, but we weren't feeling like executives unless we were executives on the way to the clink. It was a little crowded three to a two-person seat, and the temperature controls were not the best--either hot and humid or absolutely freezing. But off we went. We may have been frozen, squished, hungry, and tired, but good humor prevailed.

And then the next issue: The restaurant closed at 10:00 pm Eastern time, and our estimated arrival time was a few minutes before 10:00. More cell phone calls. Should we try to get out of our pre-paid dinner? Should the driver of the fourth bus pick up the dinners to go? Or should we eat really, really fast at the restaurant? The restaurant manager agreed to stay open late, and we decided to eat at the restaurant.

As we pulled off the expressway into New Buffalo, we could see the fourth bus already there. Whew! We had a nice dinner at the restaurant, and the hot fudge sundaes really hit the spot. Everyone tried to call everyone else at home again, but most of us couldn't get a cell phone signal. Remember that if you ever go to New Buffalo. While we ate, the bus drivers transferred our belongings from the Other Replacement Bus to the fourth bus.

When everyone finished, the leaders did a head count to make sure everyone was on the bus. Oh, no! Only 28! Who is missing? Where is C? Is she in the restroom? She had joked about using the men's room because of the long line in the women's room (all us, as everyone else had left). Is she ill? Did she fall in the dark? Did she call her husband to come and pick her up? Where could she go? The leaders went back to the restaurant and searched the place. No C. Then they started walking around the grounds. Everyone was getting quite worried. And then a voice from the back of the bus: "C's back here." How could we have missed her? Because of two things--she's relatively short and not easily seen over the bus seats and she's somewhat hard of hearing so she missed the commotion. Finally, we were on our way home.

The Great Big Bus That Could arrived at the Saugatuck stop just after midnight. After finding the car key my husband had hidden, I drove home. At the very last stoplight before I got home, I was behind a police car. I could imagine the officer looking in his rear view mirror at me and thinking, "That woman should not be driving at this hour." He would have been right.

As I pulled into our garage at 12:30 am, my husband opened the door. "I'm back," I said.

"I hope you're not planning to do that again," he replied.

"Oh, yes, I am," I responded. "It was a blast!"

Afterward:

The Bus was towed to the bus garage.
The Replacement Bus was driven to the garage--slowly.
The Other Replacement Bus went back to Indiana.
The Great Big Bus that Could got us home.

My car is sick, and it has an appointment at the auto hospital with Dr. Leo on Tuesday.

The leader of this event left Friday to spend 10 days in Hawaii. She may need it.