I have been sewing. And sewing and sewing. An outfit for James. Venetian, late 16th century or early 17th century. An outfit for me. My favorite: Florentine, very early 16th century. There's this very specific style of dress that was popular for only about twenty years, betweel 1500 and 1520, in Florence. You can see it evolve, but this particular style, it was very brief, in the grand scheme of things. I am making it out of burnt orange wool. It's a light weight wool, but I still expect to roast. I will bring my red linen, just in case, but it was my first attempt and doesn't fit as well. I am looking forward to this event, oh so much. I am looking forward to this event, even if I am almost positive G will be there. But what does it matter? T will also be there, and I will sit in his lap and flirt like a maniac, and everything will be well. My fingertips hurt. They ache, like I am developing blisters. I suspect if I kept up this pace much longer, I would develop blisters. The tips feel like old leather, rough and smooth at the same time. ~ Sitting at work, in front of the sewing machine. Pushing red vinyl through the old domestic beast. Chunka chunka chunka. Right in front of the window. I can watch the traffic go by, the people walking by, not realizing there is a window just above them. Chunka chunka chunka. The sun blazes in, despite it being January. It cooks. It turns the vinyl sticky and hot. My hands sweat, stick to the plastic fabric. I drag the fabric through. I have to fell all the seams, or it won't upholster well. I flip the finished piece from the machine, trim the bulky corners, turn it right side in. The designer walks in. "Wow," he says, and I am pleased. "Wow, that looks fantastic." I am damned pleased. I like pleasing this designer. He's picky and precise, and it's hard to get such an exclamation out of him. The designer leaves. I have three cushions prepped. Only nine more to go. The afternoon is wearing on me. I sneak away. Down to the basement. Grey concrete hallways, silent fire alarms every twenty feet. I use my key to let myself into the dressing rooms. There is a cot in there, I know it. The actor's union requires it. I nap. Bliss. The darkness is so thick, it wraps around me so I don't need a blanket. ~ You know what? Vinyl sucks. . Rosie.
Before&After
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