You're welcome to pick your way through threads and stitches, but I'd be really grateful if you could be kind enough to refrain from pinning.
Tag Archives: remembering
Some of you might think you know what this will be. Watch and wait a little longer, quietly please – no clues!
This is the front cover of one of the little books of lace: layered fabrics and lace over vintage French linen with silk binding and fastening with silk ribbon. I hope to have these ready for the shop by the end … Continue reading
This is the first page of the first cloth book of old lace. The pages are black dupion silk, which is helping to show the detail of the lace. I do like it when fabrics help each other like this. … Continue reading
Another collar: Crocheted, or tatted – I’m not sure – but very finely worked. The inner neck circumference is just 11″, so this was for a very small person.And just under a yard of very fine cutwork lace, measuring about … Continue reading
Luckily, no arsenic. As far as I know, I have no lace-making ancestors, so there’s no ‘genetic’ reason for my attraction to old lace. Handling very old textiles – just looking at them, in some cases – elicits a feeling … Continue reading
A brief update: my mother has been researching our ancestry, and tells me that my great-grandmother’s sister Louisa married into a French Huguenot family of silk weavers, who had left France in the 1700s. They (and successive generations) worked as silk weavers … Continue reading
I spent most of yesterday studying these fabrics in some detail. One of the things I find most interesting is the width of the cloth. This one measures 19″ from selvedge to selvedge. I understand that this was the standard … Continue reading
I’m ready to call Monolith finished. It seems to have taken a long time to complete this cloth, but that somehow seems appropriate for a subject so ancient. I think there will be more cloths featuring stones and their cup … Continue reading
This is the sky I began last week. The ancient stones dotted around Britain fascinate me, and for some reason I suddenly remembered a primary school trip to Rudston Monolith, Britain’s tallest standing stone. I like words that literally translate, like this … Continue reading