Took a field trip downtown today to the
LA Fashion District with my friend Donna. We'd been planning this trip for several weeks, beginning in October when by a fluke I'd successfully made a hat and decided that millinery was my new calling. We had to postpone that trip and by November, I was obsessed with designing and making handbags and hoped to travel uptown to discover new sources of material and inspiration. November came and went and our trip was delayed further. Finally, this week, we set our date in stone as Donna's mission to put together a set of pattern-maker's tools for a friend living in the Solomon Islands could wait no longer. I, having stashed my sewing stuff to make way for Thanksgiving company, had taken the opportunity of an unoccupied dining/cutting table to sort out my jewelry-making stash after the holiday, looked forward to hunting down some fresh findings in the adjacent Jewelry District once Donna had accomplihsed her task.
It turned out that Donna's original destination had relocated just last week to Baldwin Park, so our plans changed a bit. We tracked down another designer supplier downtown and she was able to get most of what she needed. I marveled at the array of Santa-hatted dress forms and acquired a few small sewing tools -- thread clipper, replacement rotary blade, pin-cushion in the shape of a dress form -- not that I needed them, but because I tend to want to support retail environments that delight and inspire me by giving them some of my money. My justifications for such spontaneous acts of acquisition run the gamut of reasons from "completing the set" to "I know I'll need this someday (soon)". This parallels my justification for adding books to my library: anything that earns a place on my shelves must have "reference value". There are of course no hard and fast rules for the "R.V." designation.
After the supply house, I figured I was done shopping for the day, as it was clear we'd not have time for the jewelry district and still hit the road home before Friday rush traffic. Donna had another errand, this time to the heart of the Fashion Fabric in Santee Alley. We parked on a roof-top lot and descended into a sensory surprise I was not prepared for.
It's been 20 years since my sister's wedding, the one I sewed the bride's maid's dresses for which were very chic 1940's retro-inspired two-piece numbers with that big '80's shoulder accentuation, in this case giant round lapels framing deep
decolatage. And it had been that long since I'd been to "the District". It was my sister's idea at time to let her maids wear something they might actually wear again (didn't happen, at least not for me), she had a neutral palette in mind and the three of us had identical suits of fabulous light cream on cream embroidered taffeta with taupe moire collars.
So Donna and I emerged from the parking lot stairwell into a sea of fancy wedding fabric, shiny, gossamer, sequin and pearl studded, rainbow colors..... one shop after another. We ducked into a small
decorator fabric shop which was devoid of customers, but welcoming in its warmth and designer home appeal. I remembered my living room sofa. It took me years and about 1/2 a dozen tries to get a sofa I liked in form and comfort but from the beginning it's needed new upholstery. Since then I've used the Victorian Drape technique to disguise its shabbiness. Now, today, this small shop offered the potential of solving that problem. As his first customer of the day, the proprietor made me an offer I couldn't refuse on 12 yards of exquisitely elegant and almost luminous ultra-marine blue fabric with a small golden diamond pattern. Umm. I hadn't planned this project, but it might be interesting for a future blog post.
After trotting my yardage upstairs and stowing it in the trunk, we continued to Donna's chosen destination, the famous yardage & trim mecca of L.A.,
Michael Levine's. As if 360 days of sunshine each year were not enough, if you love fabric like I do, this store is another reason to love L.A. A huge selection of fine designer and imported silks, brocades, velvets, over-the-top costume stuff of every description along with standard and unusual suiting, shirting and canvas. I was on sensory overload and had to avoid the store-long trim counter all together, though I did linger awhile around the leather rack and almost succumbed to the temptation of a 50% off selection before I was reminded that I have a sizeable stash of non-bookbinding skins purchased on spec several years ago and still unused.
As I wandered the store, I reminded myself of my current fabric purchase rule: If it's not a marked-down remant, or a garage or estate sale find, and I don't have a specific project in mind, I am not allowed to buy any more fabric. Cupboards and drawers of my home are bursting with fabric of every description, I told myself again in a confession to Donna. Just about then, we'd arrived at the fine fabric department, where many bolts reside in locked, glass cabinets, and we immediately spyed the silk remant rack and proceeded to examine each cut. Donna could not resist an incredibly beautiful burn-out silk swath at half price, and I found a yard of feather-light creamy silk printed with an architectural theme very reminiscent of
Ludwig Bemelman's drawings in his
Madeline series, and other books. For $10, it was mine, and I remained within my purchase parameter. But then, I had to get away from there and my attention was diverted to .... Blue Velvet, the Fabric of My Dreams.
There is a particular shade of blue that is only achieved with a fine silk velvet. It's deep, rich, like a pigment ground of Lapis Lazuli and applied by the brush of Vermeer or a handfull of Italian Masters. Seeing this on a bolt on the velvet shelf, I can't recall my feet touching the floor before I reached to it and felt the coolness and fluidity of its hand. Uncontrollably, I began to weep. My friend looked at me, perplexed, then looked away. I felt I should attempt some explanation, but what?
Did I weep for its beauty? Yes, but Beauty is not so simple. In those tear-filled moments, my fingers stroking the cloth, it was a symbol of the loftiest human potential in craft and art to the end of exhaulting one's surroundings as one's spirit might be lifted to Heaven. Simoultaneously was the awareness of the incredible bargain I'd gotten on the upholstry fabric, probably less than cost, from the hurting merchant a block away and just a few blocks further, the cardboard condos on the sidewalk that lean against the chain-link fence of a parking lot. Not so simple at all.
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