Bayou Linen Dresses

I had 6 yards of linen in a shade of muted blue called "Bayou" which I absolutely adore - so much so that I've already got a Eura dress and a Skjoldehamn hood out of the same stuff.  I forget why I originally bought this particular yardage, but I've had it for years and hadn't done anything with it, so I decided to use it to flesh out my Viking wardrobe a little bit more.

First I made a new Viking apron dress - almost the same pattern I always use (more on that in a sec), with thin loop straps.  This one is full length instead of short, since I had enough fabric this time to make it long. (Nothing wrong with the shorter apron dresses; I just prefer mine longer).

It's also unadorned so far, since I didn't have anything to use as trim around the top of the dress.  I'm hoping to find some nice trim at the event.














In an effort to be as frugal with my fabric as possible (because I wanted to get a second dress out of it), I went looking for more conservative cutting layouts online. And I discovered something:  apparently the entire known world makes apron dresses with 3 panels and 3 gores!  I've been making them with 4 panels and 4 gores.  The heck?   I honestly don't remember where I even got my pattern, but I think I figured out what happened:

This is the standard pattern that it seems everyone uses - both halves of this picture are identical, except for the colors.  On the left is the three-panel pattern, on which the two smaller (blue) panels are meant to be seamed together to make a full third panel.

On the right is the interpretation of the pattern that I've been using, where the blue side panels are used separately as TWO side panels (blue and purple) - each a quarter of the dress, instead of being combined into a third of the dress.

Obviously, somebody read those side panels wrong.  Was it my mistake, or was that how the pattern was drawn when it came to me?  I really don't remember. It's just as likely to be either one, I guess. It really doesn't matter; both ways of patterning the dress are equally valid.  I just thought this was neat.  I kind of love being shown that I'm wrong or that I've been doing things slightly differently without knowing it, because it means I get to learn new stuff and try out new ways of doing things.

So, I tried the three-panel dress.   I have to say, I really like the way the skirt lies with this method. It's less full, because there's one less  gore to make up the skirt circumference, but it's a smoother lie, and it's still plenty swishy.  The way I cut it uses a little less fabric than my four-panel method, too - which is what I'd wanted in the first place. 

From the remaining 3y of linen I squeezed out a new smock. It's a plain rectangular-construction T-tunic with 4 gores like all of my smocks (inspired by the Birka  and Haithabu reconstructions).This one has a wide, oval neckline (almost a boatneck but not quite as wide) finished with a narrow edge binding in the same fabric. The sleeves are a little extra long so that I can wear my new bracelets over the fabric.

True, I've got a Eura dress out of this same fabric, and I really don't need two smocks in the same color.  But I hardly ever wear my Eura dress anymore, since it's too early to have been worn with the apron dresses we know and love (9th century, whereas the apron dresses are 10th-11th).   So this isn't a second smock in the same color, it's a replacement for the Eura dress, which I think will be relegated to life as  a nightgown, or maybe something to wear to the showers.   

What's Next?  

Q.  Whatcha doin', Mady? 

A. Destroying priceless heirlooms, you?   

Oops.

(It would probably help if my
mannequin wasn't too tall)

Here's the second of a pair of new cotehardies, made from stash fabric (the first was the pink one):

(The white and purple ribbons aren't sticking around; they're just here for the photo. The whipcord that I'd been planning to use to lace this dress was too thick for the eyelets I made, so I'll need to weave a new one).  

Notice anything about the hemline in this photo?  I didn't see it myself, not until I tried the thing on - the left side of the hem was a full 5" shorter than the right side.  Whaaaat??  I have no idea HOW I did that.  But hey - screw-ups are period, right? 

( >_<)

Lots more stuff coming up, really soon!

About A Bag

The Hedeby Bag that I made for the A&S table at the Quest for Valhalla event last weekend:

with documentation, whipcord spool, and sewing/embroidery samples

It went over pretty well.  And I REALLY love it, and can't wait to start using it. (We'll get to that in a minute).

The bag started with two ideas: (a) more embroidery practice, and (b) I wanted to try out a period seaming technique.  The embroidery is very simple, and uses only three stitches - chain, stem, and blanket (for the teeth on the green guy).

close up of the embroidery

The embroidery motif is an amalgam of time periods:  the stuff-inside-circles was inspired by an embroidered fragment from Oseberg (9th-10th century), but the faces inside my circles are from the Isle of Lewis Chessmen (12th century). Meanwhile, the bag itself, based on handles found at Hedeby and at Birka, is 11th century.  There's a little more leeway for "artistic license" and whimsy in some areas, and this was one of those; so this project is a bit all over the place, but the end result is still a Really Cool Thing. :)

The seam technique is one detailed by Mytte Fentz in her analysis of the shirt found at Viborg.  I really want to make a Viborg shirt for one of my clients (as soon as I can afford to buy the right fabric for it), but looking at the construction and piecing of the shirt, and at several recreations of it, I realize that although I could probably whomp out at least 60% of the shirt on the machine, it will be a much better piece if I sew it entirely by hand - and I've never made a garment entirely by hand.  There are three kinds of seams in the Viborg shirt.  Two of them are easy, but one I'd never seen before, and wanted to try out on something small, so I chose this bag.  I'm seriously impressed with the seam - it's really strong and flexible, which is exactly what you want in a garment that's going to see serious and regular wear.  (It's almost like the Vikings knew what they were doing, eh?)

Fentz's diagram of this particular type of seam.
Lining and outside, front and back, are all stitched
together at once, and the raw fabric edges are auto-
matically concealed between the lining and outside.

The seam edges are decorated by a "Viking whipcord" which I wove, and stitched on.  The documentability of whipcord is sketchy at best.  We have ample evidence of four-strand braids identical to what's produced by the SCA whipcording method, and several warp-weighted looms for weaving cloth, so we know they had the technology - but we've found no actual bobbins we can tie directly into the process of weaving whipcord.  So it's one of those "SCA-isms" that we accept because it's fun and also hey, maybe, right?  The strap of the bag is also a whipcord. 

Whipcording is meant to be a two-person activity; I usually
do it alone, with my cord suspended from a curtain rod in
a hallway doorway. 

Like.

The handles were pretty tricky, and nearly gave me a heart attack at one point.  I need glasses pretty badly, you guys - little details are starting to get away from me.  Little details like, oh, say, "Hey, this isn't solid wood, it's very thin plywood!"  which nearly cost me this entire project (mostly because I was so frustrated that at several points I nearly burned the entire thing and mailed the ashes to Sweden).

L-R:  tracing the design on my wood;  design cut out;  drilling holes for the slots where the bag would be attached

L-R:  shattered the wood while making the first slot, which is how I realized I had PLYWOOD. Argh.
Glueing the wood back together;  sanding it VERY VERY CAREFULLY.

Fortunately, it all worked out okay.  Once the handles were stained and then sewn to the bag, you couldn't even see where the break had occurred.

Yay!

I love the way this thing works.

Unfortunately, Friday night at the event (the competition was Saturday), I snapped one of the handles in half, right in the center.  I made a note on my documentation, and entered the bag anyway.  I'd already resigned myself to replacing the handles with thicker ones made of, you know, actual wood; but several people came to me at the event very excited about this opportunity to do some period, Viking-style repairs on the wood - because you wouldn't have simply thrown something away and replaced it back then, you'd fix it!  I'm kind of excited about the ideas I got; but I'm also on the fence about it.  The fact is, the wood is too thin for this application, and it's very flimsy.  I think I'll probably just replace them. I'm hoping I can scare up some nice pieces to use next week after payday.

Anyway, I freaking LOVE this bag, you guys.  And I'm really proud of it, warts and all. :)

Seriously. How can you not adore these
little guys?  <3

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