When I decided to marry my darling dumpling, and that I was
going to have the finest and most spectacular dress I could possibly imagine, I
knew that he must have the finest and most spectacular suit he could possibly imagine. Luckily he already knew what he wanted, and
the first sketch I made in my school notebook looks a lot like the finished
product. We decided on a morning suit in
ivory, elaborately embellished somehow.
It seemed most reasonable that the embellishment be glass beads, and
such a thing only seemed reasonable because I had recently acquired an eight
foot long rolling quilting frame that seated six.
I had never made a full tailored suit before, so to practice
and also to time things out, as well as perfecting fitting, I made a full
wearable mockup in a dandy striped cotton.
I had already made him a shawl-collared double-breasted
waistcoat the previous year in the same fabric, so he had a smart suit going
on, and I had a waistcoat and coat pattern, both of which I adapted from the
Simplicity pattern. Here as well, full
historical perfection was not what was required, but I was not going to scrimp
on any technique!
Finding the fabric was a challenge; I could not procure an
ivory gabardine for even ready money.
Moire was too distracting, faille too ribbed. I was sincerely considering duchesse silk
satin and groaning at the thought.
Finally I discovered wool/silk gabardine which is carried at Fashion
Fabrics Club in a dizzying array of colors, including the perfect ivory. It cost about as much as the duchesse satin,
but for some reason seemed hardier. It
was.
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| Slk-wool gabardine from Fashion Fabrics Club. |
Sewing folks, use this fabric. It has an amazing subtle sheen almost like
satin, a dense weave, and a firm hand. A
tube stands up on the table. It presses
perfectly, and stretches on the bias. It
was quite expensive and worth every penny as the canvas for a glass and crystal
masterpiece.
I took my cue from historical embroidered garments where the
pattern pieces are embellished before they are cut. Bit by bit, I traced the pattern pieces on
paper and drew in the beading design in pencil.
This was then transferred to the fabric using a light box, or in my
case, a window as a leaf in a dinner table with lamps under it.
 |
| Improvised lightbox |
M chose the main iris motif of my own gown
for the back of his jacket, inverted, with the long curling fronds at the
shoulders, tapering to a point at the waist seam. The rest of the beading I made up, spots of
density to mark out lapels and collars, a smattering of vertical bugles on the
sleeves suggesting epaulets, a bright crystal at his heart. The rest was individual seed beads and bugle
bead stars spaced sporadically down the garment and tails.
 |
This frame is really big, hence its status as My Secret Sewing Weapon.
I got it for a latte and a pumpkin loaf |
After marking, the length was rolled onto the frame and
beading began in earnest. Never having
done such a thing, I went to Harlequin beads, our local bead store, and asked
advice. I came away with a bag of clear,
silver lined, and iridescent seed and bugle beads, crystals, glass pearls,
thread that looked like dental floss, and long thin needles that resembled
nothing more than wisps of steel.
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| First batch of beads |
We quickly discovered that a) the sheen of the fabric
rendered marks invisible when lit directly, b) it is hard to scoop beads out of
shallow containers, and c) even needle threaders weren’t small enough to thread
the needles. We solved the problems by
lighting underneath the fabric, which backlit the beads perfectly and helped
differentiate the silver-lined from the clear when it mattered. The beads were placed on squares of velvet,
and I threaded most of the needles, getting 10-20 at a time ready before a
session.
