Like Homemade Soup.

If you were up early and gazing out the window yesterday morning, you'd have seen the most glorious sunrise as I did from my curl up chair - in the studio - by the window - where I was re-reading The Thoughtful Dresser: The Art of Adornment, the Pleasure of Shopping, and Why Clothes Matter by Linda Grant. If you just don't get fashion or shopping or even if you do, this book is an interesting read especially on why clothes matter. They do. Terribly. I thought these paragraphs from the chapter To The Shops were relevant to our re-occurring financial times.

Lately, perhaps under the influence of advancing age and economic uncertainty, I have started to shop not like a teenager but like a grown-up. Instead of saying, "Ooh, look, I've got to have it," I am starting to buy like a person not so much with caution but with advance thought.

In a recession there is the temptation to stop buying clothes, and at first this can be superficially soothing, for the soul can sicken on consumerism, shopping and spending. There is a mother load of comfort in making your own soups at home instead of going out to a mediocre restaurant to pick over a lukewarm starter slapped on the table by a waiter who is adding up in his head how much he's going to make in tips. With fewer occasions to go out, who needs to dress up anyway? The simper life of jeans and a T-shirt can seem a radical new approach to living, the clothing equivalent of moving out of the city to the country.

You look, with satisfaction, at the deserted shops. You feel the puritan virtue of the nonspender flowing like ice water in your veins. You sell off your collection of It bags and then close down your eBay account. You realize you have not bought a copy of Vogue for months. You have no idea what they showed in Paris or London or Milan. You do not care. You have no idea why Keira Knightley is wearing a demure high-necked blouse with a bow. You no longer have a clue. You have fallen off the edge of fashion and will have to be rescued at some point down the line by a pair of bossy posh women who will force you to look in the mirror at a middle-aged frump.

The you I am writing of is not me but a creature of the imagination because in a recession the last thing I want to feel is depressed, and depressed I would feel if I was wearing dreary, cheap clothes, if I had abandoned, in a mood of austerity, the very notion of style. So shopping must happen less often, but with more thought, for in an economic downturn you cannot afford to buy cheap, disposable clothes.

... So I have a plan; to go and buy the most expensive and most beautiful winter coat I can afford, not the cheapest.

On Saturday, after a day of shopping, I bought one garment, a cropped sweater with a fur collar. I wore it Sunday with a black t-shirt, the Guatemala pants, and high heeled, Victorian, button up boots. I may not buy another garment for weeks however, I will enjoy this one thoroughly. It is so very me. When I slow down and am proactive rather then reactive, the results are typically far better. This is good learning.

Yesterday, I went to the mall and wandered around looking at purses. I looked at how big they were, what shape they were, and how they were constructed. I zipped their zippers, snapped their snaps, checked out their linings and balanced their weight on their handles. The price tag - irrelevant. I never even looked. I was there to absorb the pleasure of purses before starting the next bag and then...

... I went home and chopped vegetables into large chunks tossed with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt that were baked until sweet while simmering chicken stock. I love home-made soup. I love vegetables. The same could not be said for the picky people I eat with therefore the vegetables were pureed into a cream base to maintain the nutrients and the flavour while hiding all that wonderful vegetable goodness. Yum.

And then... finally... after a day of resting and thinking and rejuvenating, I starting sewing. It was already after supper. At the beginning of purse seven, I'm feeling a dip in energy which is typically of a project like this so I've decided to record all the steps and thought processes of creating this seventh piece in an effort to increase my concentration. I may include that information in the book I'm putting together about the project. The steps would be an example of how I think, of what I used to teach. I'm planning for the book to accompany the handbags. It's a way for me to learn more about photography and page layout. I'm debating whether I will make it available publicly if - of course - it actually happens. It depends what else happens in my life so only time will tell.

The Susan bag is finished. Above is the high contrast side and below is the low contrast one. I've noticed this same occurrence with almost all of the bags. While it is mostly a result of the hand placement on the original quilt - whether on the beige or the green or the blue of the background - it also seems to speak to the words themselves, to their contrast. To remind you of how the project began...

... the hands are cut from a quilt I made following my 39th birthday party and ten years later have no idea what to do with anymore. I'm cutting it up and making handbags from the pairs of hands. Each hand has a small label with the person's name and a word that they chose to go with the hand fabrics that they also chose to represent a contrast in their personality. Our lives are full of contrast - like spice. Without it, how blah although sometimes plain porridge with a sprinkle of sugar and a dash of cinnamon seems just right. Cozy. Enough. Like homemade soup.

Talk soon - Myrna

Grateful - a much needed day of wandering, a bit of a break, and some moments of inspiration before starting the next hand bag.