That Mattress isn't Filled at the Gas Pump. But It's Petroleum-based.

Petroleum is a fossil fuel associated by even the most casual consumer with gasoline. Gasoline, however, is hardly the only ubiquitous substance in our lives derived from this fossil fuel. It's a component in foams: the savvily named "memory foam", in car seats and home furnishings, sneakers and soccer balls. Many synthetic textiles use petroleum including spandex and vinyl, as do plastics and cosmetics.

Completely avoiding petroleum by-products is almost impossible. Limited acquisitiveness is an achievable, appropriate response, even though it falls short of a solution. To do nothing is to acquiesce.

Magnificent Mile/Cabrini Green/Life on Oak Street in Chicago 1990s

 

 

 

Swingset, Cabrini Green Playground, Oak Street  

 

One Magnificent Mile Apartment Towers, Oak Street

 

I briefly lived in Chicago in the early 1990's. I was unfamiliar with the city and walked all over exploring.

Cabrini Green Playground, Oak Street

Here are some of the photographs I took documenting Oak Street, the only street I photographed in this manner. It stretches from Lake Shore Drive where it housed some of the toniest shops in Chicago to Cabrini Green, a housing project that was later demolished. The disparities were striking. Between them, as though nothing else could bridge the severe divide, was an abandoned lot with wild grasses and flowers and a collection of refuse.

I've wanted to share these images for a long while. Reading about Oak Street in the news I post them now.

Out on the Town, Oak Street

 

 

Jumping Rope, Oak Street

Rodier Paris Valet, Oak Street

 

Corner of Oak Street

 

Side of Building, Cabrini Green Neighborhood, Oak Street

Two Mannequins in Window, Oak Street

Doctor's Office, Oak Street

Sidewalk Café, Oak Street

Northern Trust Bank, Oak Street

Between Cabrini Green and Magnificent Mile

Oak Street Divide

Don't Throw Away Your Vote

Voter's Declaration (bracelets and pendants), 2020 ©verysweetlife

 

 

Your vote does matter.
It is URGENT.

The struggle continues worldwide for the right to vote in free and fair elections. Some journey far, wait in long lines under adverse conditions, even risk personal safety to cast their ballot. Disenfranchisement is not a distant reality.

 

Don’t Throw Away Your Vote.

Voting is at the core of democracy. Without it democracy collapses. Democracy derives from the Greek words demos, ‘a group of people belonging to a particular nation' and kratia, ‘rule or power’. Vote comes from the Latin word votum, 'a vow'. And franchise, or the right to vote, originates from the French noun franchise, meaning 'freedom, right or privilege’.


 “Freedom is the continuous action we all must take,
and each generation must do its part to create an even more fair,
more just society.” --John Lewis Across That Bridge

Sabbatical

For nine years every stitch of material I've worn has passed through my hands as I assembled it. Some designs I've made once. Others I've tweaked and remade in variations.

• Blankets, sheets, pillowcases.

• Towels and washcloths too.

• Necklaces, earrings and pouches in which to store them.

• Cloth totes and leather satchels.

• Belts. [I do love a belt!] I've made a variety, from a tool-belt design to corset belts (long before the one put out by Prada last year--oh ask me for a critique of that design) and others.

• Waterproof mittens with liners. Scarves. Rain pants.

• Wool felt & straw hats. Sewn silk hats with wide brims. Rain hats (the favorite lost outside a bus station). A faux-fur extravaganza that took a month to engineer, creating a frame of millinery wire and buckram handstitched between the lining and faux fur to support the heavy material and keep the brim horizontal.

• Toys: bunnies and bears, elephants and turtles.

• Half slips and full. Camisoles. Underwear. Warm long johns. Bras and corsets.

• Nightgowns--a favorite made in linen, remade when it wore thin. Then a third. The current version has been patched. (Oh dear.) Pajamas.

• Day dresses. Special occasion dresses. Mini skirts and full-length skirts.

• Tees, sweatshirts, turtlenecks, blouses.

• Leggings and pants. A raincoat and jackets.

Much of the clothing I've worn for years with joy reflects who I was. Putting on a dress I have loved and gazing into a mirror, I appear to myself to be dressed as a child. Not literally a child but a past version of myself. It feels stagnant.

We evolve. To make space and clear the decks from this nine-year endeavor I have put my serger and a sewing machine in storage where they can hibernate. The bulk of patterns I've made are there too. Who I am and, more significantly, who I'm becoming, will inhabit a different design framework.

I need styles that break free from the design vocabulary I've developed and to which I'm accustomed. ('Need,' a powerful word, I use cautiously.) Some garments I've made over the years are eternal: bloomers--better than any underwear I've ever bought. A blue dress I may have into my nineties wearing it with as much ease then as now. A nightgown I love that is almost more me than myself naked. And pajama pants as comfortable as can be, a basic, developed from a pattern I used when teaching sewing. Though I continue to imagine garments I'd like to design and make, I want to explore from the outside.

Seven years into my Slow Style project I thought about taking a sabbatical. I entered clothing shops in New York for the first time in years. I was untempted by what I found. In one distinct moment I carried a few garments into a fitting room. After trying them on and finding none appealing, I put my own clothes back on: a long navy blue pinstripe bustled skirt and a white linen blouse with a wide neckline, puff sleeves at the shoulder that tapered into a narrow column from bicep to wrist. Leaving the dressing room I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. These clothes were utterly unique in contrast to the homogeneity of the department store’s merchandise. Grateful to be dressed in a style more authentic to myself, I contemplated a sabbatical with less conviction. In another fitting room I found myself studying the construction of a pocket in a dress I tried on, thinking about how I might modify a one of my patterns to incorporate similar pockets. I wasn't ready to be a consumer; it was enough of an exploration at that moment.

Two years later, a full nine years of Slow Style completed, the sense there are other projects on the horizon persists. To resist the urge to gentle veer from this course is to deny what may come of exploring. It would betray the authenticity I’ve cultivated. Here in this tiny pocket of the web, I declare I am easing away from one thing toward another.

Mending: The Underwear Edition

Three Pairs of Bloomers (mended), 2017

This morning I set about mending underwear.  These bloomers are wonderful to wear with dresses and skirts. I've sewn a few pairs over the years--for winter using soft merino wool and in finely ribbed cotton jersey for summer, trimmed with lace (see photo). Good design, good material--worth mending!

The channel that holds the elastic at the waist had come unstitched in incremental sections on two pairs. A third pair of bloomers had a couple small runs in the lightweight knit fabric--leaving horizontal lines of thread like a ladder missing the vertical threads. Usually when getting dressed in the morning, extracting one of these pairs of underwear from the drawer I'd notice the flaw and reflect, "this needs repair." Meanwhile they were wearable.

Yesterday I washed three yards of navy blue linen fabric in warm water to pre-shrink it before working with it, and added the unmended bloomers to the laundry load. Hanging them to air dry overnight, the cotton jersey fabric was slightly crisp in the morning, a perfect texture for sewing. Swapping the red thread in the sewing machine to black, I alternated between a zigzag stitch to close the gaps in the elastic channel, and a straight stitch to repair the runs in the material (sewing a virtually undetectable fisheye dart to encase the fray). With a few snips of thread it was done! Kind of cathartic. 

Tassels

Lozenge Tins Hold Beading Supplies, 2017

Have been making leather tassels beading the neck of each one. Initially I wrapped the neck of the tassel. On an impulse I used beads for the next tassel. And the next.

A car's alarm is braying in the street where I have a studio. It's protesting being hitched to a municipal tow truck. On a block with a middle school and a high school, daytime parking is mostly limited to cars with education department permits. This regulation is posted on signs positioned next to trees that are now in full foliage. Parking regulations in leafy camouflage ensnare many a vehicle. I hardly intended to write about this; it's difficult to focus while a car alarm sounds.

Cutting and Assembling a Tassel, 2017

Tassels--entrancing to make and soothing to hold. Good thing...

3 Tassels, 2017
(suede, leather, beads)

The Burden of Marie Kondo's Joyful Crusade

Close the Door to Your Untidy Home, Our Messy World Needs Your Magic

 

Legions of households have taken Marie Kondo's advice as detailed in her best-selling book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. She prescribes evaluating all one's worldly goods by asking about each possession: “does it spark joy?” Kondo promises transformative magic will result from eliminating any possessions that elicit a “no”. 

This approach has perilous consequences to the environment. If you get rid of whatever fails to give you a zing then happen upon other objects you love, acquire them and when their magic fades eighty-six them from your life you’ll still be participating in a never-ending cycle of acquisition and disposal. Over 10 million tons of textiles and 25 million tons of plastics end up in landfills according to the EPA. Our landfills are clogged with joyless refuse.

The range of prices for consumer goods has widened in recent decades. Goods are plentiful and acquisition has become easier. The pendulum’s lengthened arc swings from mass-manufacturing at rock bottom costs to luxury goods priced to add cachet to a brand by making it ”exclusive” (i.e. obtainable to very few). Today a tee shirt can be had for $3.90 at Forever 21 or $990 at Barney’s New York. Even if you can afford to spend $50 on a tee you might be tempted to buy three for $15 instead. Americans have come to regard shopping as entertainment and almost a form of patriotism.

The planet depends upon conservation. We must extend and preserve the usefulness of objects we own. If you’ve ever rewired a lamp or replaced a button you know fixing something to make it usable again is immensely satisfying. We can create beauty by transforming what is broken into something useful, in the process both personalizing it and restoring its value.

Follow Kondo’s advice and your home may achieve a minimalist chic, leaving others to sort through the bags of your charitable-minded donations to find the useful or to haul away your curbside garbage dumping much of it into a landfill. For stewards of the earth there is a hazard to seeking possessions that “spark joy” and jettisoning ones that don’t meet that ephemeral standard.

Buying everything we need deprives us of the happiness found in being resourceful and in the experience of making. Since late 2008 I’ve not bought clothing. I’ve been designing and constructing everything I wear. This might appear an austere practice. On the contrary, it has been fortifying and exuberant. Making adds value as it simultaneously slows acquisition. It presents challenges, requires developing techniques and offers the opportunity to connect with a community. It hones observation skills. If you see me staring at you, it’s not you I’m looking at per se--it’s the construction of your clothing, the seams, the fabric, curious about the elements of its design. As you learn to craft or repair something whether as a baker, woodworker or mechanic, you’ll gain greater awareness of and appreciation for quality materials and workmanship. You will attune to your surroundings in new ways.

Kondo insists in a tidy home will “allow us to clarify our ideals, and help us gain confidence in our ability to lead productive lives and develop a sense of responsibility to those around us…” (The New York Times, Dec. 2016)  The tidiest man I know has burned through countless relationships. A musician I admire whose career has extended into her 70’s, has piles of books on the floor throughout her home. Joyful possessions perhaps, but certainly untidy. A sense of responsibility for our world cannot wait for our closets to be neat.

Acquire less. Find ways to transform what you do not love into something you value. Mend and repair objects to extend their usefulness. We are makers and builders by nature. Close the door on your imperfect home. Go out into the chaotic world. The responsibility to those around us has never been more urgent. Make a difference.

Women's March New York

Protester with Lady Liberty: Women's March NYC 2017

It was unlike any protest or parade I've known. Others expressed the same. The streets were designated for the marchers, the sidewalks for spectators and pedestrians. But everyone was marching, filling the sidewalks and the street. Thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands. It was peaceful, united, as diverse as anything I’ve seen in New York which is already a fantastically diverse city. Children, people marching on foot and in wheelchairs, women wearing hijabs, a man in a tallit, the full gender spectrum and humans with ancestry from all places on the planet. In short: the human race.

Because leading up to the Women's March there had been an emphasis on making signs to carry, messages were on constant parade, a visual roar. All their humor, ferocity, frustration, anger and love funnel into a power-fist raised for humanity and liberty. Marching was like walking in sunlight though it was mostly a cloudy day.

The outcome of the election feels unreal. Today light radiated. It dispelled the dark fog that had dispersed into the hushed streets in the days following election and has kept the mood sombre for months. More light, even. Organizing is happening. It has been taking place since November. Anytime I'm working and get "in my head" too much I go outdoors quickly to move my body and interact with others, putting some air and light between myself and my thoughts. The Women's March brought us out into the open and let us see each other and breathe together.

To Have & To Hold: A Memory of David Antin

Tales of Angels Spirits and Demons

When I read David Antin’s obituary in The New York Times in October, 2016 I thought to share with you my memory of meeting him many years ago

I moved to New York City in the summer of 1995 after finding a tiny sublet in SoHo I could afford. One hot evening I was sitting on the floor working at my desk (a board elevated by cinder blocks on either end). I was using a computer program to balance my checkbook when I swiftly and inadvertently deleted two years of financial records. All the data I’d painstakingly entered each month was gone. There was no effective “undo” option to correct the error. As I frantically attempted to retrieve the files to no avail, the small apartment suddenly seemed smaller .

I decided to go outside for air. There was a second-hand bookstore on Mercer Street, around the corner from the Angelica Theatre. I headed there hoping to find a computer manual that would guide me through steps to retrieve the files. It was late, but the bookstore was still open. I entered the shop full, full, full of books, stacked on tables, on shelves almost floor to ceiling high, and in carts and boxes. I headed to the cart that held computer guides and looked through the titles. There was nothing relevant.

As I made my way to the exit I stopped before a bookshelf near the door. Though still alarmed about the files being deleted, I’m ever alert to books, like a pigeon to breadcrumbs. The fiction stacks, my customary haunt, were in the rear of the shop. Here in the front was a Judaica section. Resting horizontally on top of wider bindings was a pocket-size book, hardly larger than a postcard folio. I lifted it from its perch. Its cover was moss green, made of a heavy, uncoated, cottony paper stock. A quiet book. It fit my hand. Tales of Angels, Spirits & Demons by Martin Buber. I like Buber’s writings and opened the book. As I began reading it was like entering a verdant forest. I stayed no longer in the bookstore. I bought the book without hesitation and headed outside with lingering panic about the technological failure on my mind, the book of Buber stories in hand.

My next stop was the Kinko’s on Astor Place to buy a backup CD before returning to the apartment to try to recover the deleted files. Along streetlamp illuminated sidewalks as a way of keeping other thoughts at bay, I read the book as I walked from Mercer Street to Great Jones then up Lafayette. I found myself reading aloud. The language was beautiful. I savored it, transported out of the momentary into the unending--Art.

At Kinko’s I found the counter where I could purchase a CD. (In those days one waited in line; it was pre-self-service.) The customer in front of me was agitated, loud and impatient. He’d experienced some sort of computer frustration too. When it was my turn I obtained a CD then went to stand in line to pay the cashier. The very vocal customer had effectively ‘broken the ice,’ so while waiting to pay I chatted with the person standing behind me. He was holding a stack of photocopies. Picking up the thread of the frustrated customer’s lament, I spoke about our growing dependence upon computers. I mentioned deleting all the files of financial records and the ensuing panic. The man in line sympathized. Then I told him about my dash to the bookstore for a computer manual where instead I’d found a book that changed my perspective and mood with its enchanting language that caused me to read it aloud as I walked from the bookstore.

“What is it?” he inquired.

I held it up.

“I wrote that!” he said.

I paused unsure how to respond. The book was written by Martin Buber, after all. (Buber was both distinctive in appearance and long deceased.)

“I’m David Antin,” he clarified, “I’m the translator.”

I opened the cover. On the title page I read, “Tales of Angels, Spirits & Demons by Martin Buber, Translated by David Antin.”

“I haven’t seen a copy of that book in years,” he said in wonder. He asked whether I would like him to sign it.

Yes, yes, I would.

I treasure the book. Through multiple moves in New York City it has remained a constant, immune to the shedding of possessions. Crossing paths with David Antin one summer evening, first through his exquisite translation of Buber’s stories and then the man himself was remarkable.

Democracy in Action

 With Congresswoman Nydia Valzquez. Vote Sashes, 2016

Democracy is more than a concept: it is an action. I made a version of this sash in 2008. I redesigned it this year. Here my friend Elizabeth and I wear them. Congresswoman Nydia Valazquez is between us and on my right is a new pal. 

Throughout the world and in the country where I live, the right to vote has been hard won. Less than 100 years ago women in the United States achieved suffrage. Saudi Arabian women voted in their first election in 2015. (A monarchy, voting in that nation occurs in municipal elections.) In nations where public voting takes place, citizenship and voting rights have been denied variously to the children of immigrants, to those who do not own land, to specific ethnic or religious groups, to native inhabitants by settlers/colonists who built structures of ownership and power which excluded them. All this you know.

It is a duty and a honorable responsibility to vote. It isn't about one election. Each choice [a vote is nothing more or less than a formalized choice] we make by casting a vote in an election sets the trajectory of history in motion. It connects us to the thread of humanity's desire to realize its greatest potential.

It's a sash. Letters appliquéd onto denim. You'd never know it stands for so much conviction.