Where Two Oceans Meet

As a young girl, I recall my mother carrying a green composition notebook with her, sketching any garment or detail that someone would be wearing in 1990s Melbourne. She’d come home, rifle through her (it was not yet ‘our’) pattern collection for something similar enough, pull out the cutting mat, the pin cushion, the tape measure, the shears. My mum sewed all of my clothes. All of them. I loved it.To this day, this is still (one of the ways) how we both create.

I vividly remember my favourite ‘mum-makes’, as a child, were the ones where she would seek my input. I would be taken to the fabric store, be told to look around and decide on a fabric. Perhaps most of all,I loved my fleecy winter dress. With a floral print so big the pattern never once repeated across my tiny body. Once it was outgrown (as all children's clothes are, no matter how precious) mum made a second fleecy dress, in the exact same fabric, in the exact same cut. I adored my gold silk dress with three roses embroidered across the front, made for my aunt and uncle’s wedding. At just 4 years old, mum’s method of remembering detail and garment construction had started to rub off, as I still to this day remember the pleats in my aunt’s wedding dress; the hidden pockets, the button placket.

When I turned 7, it was time to move up in the world, to sit at the machine for the first time. I’d always been encouraged to craft with a needle and thread and with whatever scraps we had lying around, but this was the first time I sat at my mum’s vintage Brother. The treadle sat atop an upturned box for my short legs to reach, and my chair pushed so far in for my short arms to reach. It was terrifying, yet at the same time - exhilarating. How little did I realise then: that this was it, this was the skill I was made for, this is the thing I would always do.

And now, 20 odd years later, with mum’s skill and knowledge embedded into my mind, and with a textile design degree, I find myself where two oceans meet: sewing and weaving.The making of garments and cloth from complete and utter scratch. How easily these go hand in hand, how perfectly these two skills compliment one another. How honourable of centuries old craftsmanship to know and use both, together.

My hands don’t work best with a pen and a ruler in pattern construction, they work best with calico and shears. My hands work best in pattern making when I skip a few steps: the tracing, the grading, the ruling. And whilst I was not formally trained in these skills, my hands work best when they are simply a conduit of what is happening in my mind. This is one thing mum and I do not agree on. She’s always lived by measuring twice, cutting once. But, after many years of practice, my bashful yet methodical technique pays off, rarely making a mistake, rarely getting it wrong. It is now a confident exercise in trusting my instincts. Trusting my calculations, my skill, my cutting. Trusting myself.

Weaving came to me like a duck to water. Weaving and sewing are somewhat akin to one another. That satisfaction of creating something from nothing. Being a weaver has made me a better sew-er, allowed me to better handle on the behaviour and understand the nature of cloth. It grants me complete control; complete autonomy over the fit, the drape, the density, the fibre.

Forging a bond between myself, the process and the product is core to what I do, how I work. Alongside the dressmaking process, the handweaving process leaves no portion of a piece untouched. No inch of fibre, thread, yarn, hasn’t passed through my hands. This imparts an unbreakable bond between myself and any piece I make, leaving me with an immense sense of pride with each and every piece I wear. I made this. No piece can be reproduced as the one that came before it. No one can recreate what I have made.

Weaving and sewing bring me a sense of purpose, harnessing not only the mind but the body too, and over the years, I’ve committed these skills and movements to memory. While it may be loud and physical, throwing and catching a shuttle while treadling on the loom is calming, meditative, gentle. Muscle memory. My hands, my body’s rhythm will take over. It is almost instinctual to me. While it may look messy and chaotic, stitching, sewing, and dressmaking is so peaceful. My hands know how to gather, to slip stitch, to unpick, to pleat, to bind, to face.

While my creating and my happiness go hand in hand, it would only be fair to say that much of what I know and what I do have been gifted to me, I have inherited it. I owe so much to those who taught me. To my mum, to Susan, my high school textiles teacher, to Kim, my university teacher. To all of the women who encouraged me, championed me, stood by my side. Who led me to where my two oceans meet.

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