Dressing the Courtesans of Venice: an Introduction

February 18, 2024February 22, 2024 / Tani / Leave a comment

Analyzing the clothing of the courtesan in 16th century Italy presents us with a myriad of complexities regarding representation in the contemporaneous visual culture of the period. In this post, I hope to unravel some of these intricacies regarding the dress of women who were in equal measure both mythologized and maligned in both visual art and print culture of the period.

It is my hope that this post will serve as a basic starting point for those interested in investigating and representing the courtesan in historical costume studies.

Who were the ‘Cortegiana Onesta?

The courtesan— often noted in contemporaneous sources as the Cortegiana Onesta (the honest courtesan) were a social class of highly-educated courtesans in 16th century Italy that was separate from the general meretrice— the sex workers of the lower-class.

The Cortegiana Onesta represented a threat to the male-dominated social order of 16th century Italy, as these women were encouraged to pursue literacy and education, and had a degree of independence afforded to them that ‘respectable’ women of Venice did not have in terms of social and physical mobility between the public and private social spheres throughout the city.

To be fashioned as a woman of cultural achievement, courtesans had to be well-read, capable of producing music, poetry, and dance— and without these skills befitting of a veritable classical muse, the courtesans would be no different than that of the meretrice, and thus insufficient of ensorcelling the attentions of men of the elite at length. The siren-song and musical capabilities of the courtesan was felt deeply in 16th century italy— The poet Antonfrancesco Grazzini (Il Lasca) even remarked on the Florentine courtesan Nannina Zinzera as such:

“Not even in heaven, among the happy souls,
is such sweet harmony to be found
Able to move mountains and still winds”

Veronica Franco and Gaspara Stampa were the two most famous courtesans of 16th century Italy. Both accomplished and published poets, they were notably compared to the mythological figure of the siren by their contemporaries; beautiful and dangerous— capable of luring men to ruin with their song. Their position in society was a precarious one; moving in and out male-dominated literary circles, Franco and Stampa had to constantly renegotiate the boundary lines of their gender and position within these spaces. Regardless of one’s actual profession, It was not uncommon for non-courtesan female authors in this place and time to be dismissed and disparaged by their male contemporaries as prostitutes due to the gendered lines being transgressed by crossing the boundaries of the private domestic sphere into the male literary sphere.[1] Courtesans had the mobility to move within these clearly delineated worlds, and were a constant threat to the social order. Still, despite attempts to regulate their practices and behavior, the polity of Rome and Venice merely tolerated their presence as a necessary evil that had the added benefit of courtesans existing as interlocuters between political figures who shared beds and divulged information.[2]

To understand their elevated position in society, it is helpful to look at what could be afforded to them in terms of the exchange of material goods and the domestic setting in which they lived and operated in. While this source is from a writer of the period describing a courtesan from Rome (as opposed to Venice) in the first quarter of the 16th century, it affords an interesting glimpse into the material lives of the Cortegiana Onesta:

“She lived in a most honourably appointed house, with many servants, men and women who continually waited on her. The house was equipped and provided with everything, so that any stranger who entered and saw the furnishing and ranks of servants thought a princess lived there. Among other things, there was a reception room and a chamber and a smaller chamber so grandly decorated that there was nothing to be seen but brocades, and the finest carpets on the floor.

In the little bedroom where she withdrew when some great personage visited, there were hangings covering the walls, all of cloth-of-gold riccio sovra riccio, ornately and delightfully worked. Then there was a cornice, all picked out in gold and ultramarine, masterfully made: pm ot were exquisite vases made of a variety of precious materials […]”
Matteo Bandello Novelle III, v2 pp 461-2

This exhaustive source describes the household goods in the inventory list of Julia Lombardo in 1569— a courtesan of Venice:

“In the chamber facing S. Caterina:

A painting of Our Lady in a walnut frame, with gilded columns.
Another large painting with Christ and various figures, with fittings of gilded stucco.
A painting with the head of St. John the Baptist.
A large lamp of gilded bronze
Five paintings with three different figures, imitating bronze.
A small painting on panel with a head sketched in.
A parrot’s cage, gilded all over, with a red cover
A walnut writing desk
A walnut bed, with columns for curtains gilded with several motifs, which the maids say comes from Madama Cecilia Colonna…
Two small lady’s chairs of old gilded leather
A green harpsichord
Pieces of spalliere panelling for the said chamber, with fragments of figures
Gilded leather to furnish the said room
Carpeting for the chests …
…and several chests containing chemises, scarves, and other clothing, bed-coverings and household linens, carpets, and furnishing fabrics, silversmith’s work and coins. The adjoining studiolo included:
A bronze figure with a bow in hand
A casket banded with steel, covered with black velvet, with a tin box with trinkets inside…
A bag with pearls… a bag containing a little gold crucifix, with four rubies, not very valuable, with five pearls
A gold needlecase
A small gold container, formed like a small dolphin…
A crown of blue enamel, with olive motifs and gold motifs
A crown of cornelian
An ebony crown, small with motifs gilded in Perugia work.
On the shelves of the said studiolo:
Vases and flasks of various kinds of reticella glass, 50 pieces.
Three porcelain dishes, two smaller dishes
Five porcelain bowls
A painting of Piera
A painting of Dante
Books, old
Three large Majolca dishes” [3]
Rogers, Mary, and Tinagli, Paola. Women in Italy, 1350-1650: ideals and realities: a sourcebook / selected, translated and introduced by Mary Rogers and Paola Tinagli. Manchester; New York: New York: Manchester University Press, 2005.

The luscious descriptions of these interior spaces makes it easy to imagine the set in which the courtesans existed as actresses entertaining their guests by leading them through a sensory paradise of visual and tactile pleasure. Lombardo’s wealth was not limited to this cross section of her inventory— she had owned a rustic retreat that paid rents in produce grown on the estate from the 158 campi (fields). [4]

These were not the ramshackle surroundings that existed for the meretrice who conducted business in the dark of the alley— these were the near palatial abodes of those who were entertaining noble guests.

So, what did the courtesans wear?

The courtesans of Venice wore clothing that was indistinguishable from those of the other Noblewomen, despite failed sumptuary measures enacted by the religious elite to distinguish them from the “respectable” women of Venice.

Cesare Vecellio comments in his famous work:

“Courtesans who wish to get ahead in the world by feigning respectability go around dressed as widows or married women. Most courtesans dress as young virgins anyway. In fact, they button themselves up even more than virgins do. But a compromise must eventually be reached between the wearing of a mantle that hides their bodies and their need to be seen, at least to some extent. Finally, courtesans are forced to open up at the neck, and one recognizes at once who they are, for the lack of pearls speaks loud and clear. Courtesans are prohibited from wearing pearls. Indeed, in order to remedy this situation, some arrange to be accompanied by a lover-protector, borrowing his name as if the two of them were married. In this way courtesans feel free to wear things forbidden to them by law.

Aside from this limitation, however, they dress in the most lavish manner, their underwear including embroidered hosiery, petticoats, and undershirts, and garments of silk brocade. Inside their high clogs they wear Roman-style shoes. I am speaking, of course, of the high-class courtesans. Those, on the other hand who exercise their wicked profession in public places wear waistcoats of silk with gold braid or embroidery and skirts covered with overskirts or silk aprons. Light scarves on their heads, they go around the city flirting, their gestures and speech easily giving away their identity.”
Habiti Antichi e moderni di tutto il mondo (1590)

Vecellio, Cesare, and Chrieger, Cristoforo. *De gli habiti antichi et moderni di diuerse parti del mondo libri dve / fatti da Cesare Vecellio; & con discorsi da lui dichiarati*. In Venetia: Presso Damian Zenaro, 1590. The Getty Research Institute (86-B2214)

Given, the various sumptuary measures put forth by the Venetian Magistrates (The Provedadori) were not limited to just the courtesans, but also of the women and men of the noble patrician houses in Venice. With growing concerns to the radical shift in sartorial display at the beginning of the 16th Century in Venice, legislation soon followed by the authorities. In 1512, the Venetian Magistrato alle Pompe (The high commission on Luxury) was founded, and began to enact legislation against the wearing of cloth of gold and silver, rare types of silk, and cut sleeves with decorative trimmings.
In 1562, a sumptuary law was enacted against the Courtesans of Venice, forbidding them from the wearing of silk, jewelry, and limited them to the wearing of cloth made of 50% wool— in addition to the regulation of luxury and display inside of their residences.[5] We know from the visual and textual evidence that this rule was flouted by the women of the Cortegiana Onesta, as Vecellio’s aforementioned account— in addition to the description of Julia Lombardo’s inventory— takes place after these sumptuary measures were put in place, and speaks of how they manage to get around these rules regarding dress in addition to how little the courtesans took these rules seriously.

The Clothing

In this manuscript illustration from Mores Italiae, a young woman— presumably a courtesan peers out from beneath her veil in the guise of a married woman or widow. Vecellio noted that unmarried young Venetian women would wear a fazzuolo of white silk when leaving the house, taking extra care to cover the whole of their face and bosom, and in the case of the print above, a married or widowed woman would don a cappa— a veil of black. In Florence, courtesans were mandated to wear a veil of yellow silk as a badge of their office after a sumptuary measure was enacted in 1546, though these laws naturally did not apply to Venice. Thus, in the print culture of the period, we rely on the cue of “looking”— that is of the woman lifting the veil to peer out at the viewer as a visual cue to her profession as one of the Cortegiana Onesta.

The woman wears what appears to be a sobering black silk sottana or veste ( petticoat dress, or overgown) in a style similar to the Florentine dresses of the period— a high-waisted closed-front imbusto (bodice), with a scandalously low décolleté front. It’s interesting to note that the courtesans of Venice did not always exclusively wear the ladder-laced style they are known for, but instead unsurprisingly adopted fashionable styles more broadly from across Italy. The Sottana would have been heavily stiffened at this point with a series of stiffening layers (the doppia) comprised of stiffened linen paste buckram, bombast, wool, and/or pasteboard/cardboard.

Paris Bordone Portrait of a Young Woman about 1545 Oil on canvas, 100.9 x 82.5 cm Bought, 1861 NG674 https://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/NG674

By the 1520’s and well into the 1540’s in Italy we see this shift towards the modification of the women’s silhouette to favor a flat-fronted look of the stiffened styles that would dominate fashion for the next several hundred years through the eventual adoption of stays and corsetry in the subsequent 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries. The painting above by Paris Bordone shows this change from the soft curved bodice silhouettes of the first quarter of the 16th century, into which by now favored the uniformly barreled silhouette. The visual evidence is supported by the (limited) extant examples of dresses from the period— namely, the funeral dress of Eleanora di Toledo, which the bodice was interlined with a stiffened linen interior, and a separate bodice made of velvet was worn beneath the overgown.[6] The differences in terminology between the sottana and the veste are vague when it comes to defining 16th century Italian fashion. Roberta Orsi Landini notes in Moda a Firenze that the Sottana is a petticoat usually always sewn with the inclusion of the bodice unless otherwise specified, and it came to replace the veste as an outer garment for 20 years between the 1540’s and 1560s, after which it remained an underdress for the outergown, or veste. [7]

Peeking out of the décolleté in the portrait above by Bordone in a rather haphazard way is the colletto. Landini defines the colletto as such: “Partlet. Decorative, independent garment, worn above the smock to veil low necklines and fastened at the waist with ribbons or cords.” These were often made with a either silk organza, net, linen, or lace. As Orsini notes, “The partlets were made up by the veil-makers, who not only wove veiling but also made the cloth up into garments” [8]. Another type of partlet was the gorgiere— a partlet with a collar and usually decorated with a ruff.

*Courtesan and the blind cupid*, Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active Padua, ca. 1571–1621), ca. 1588. The Metropolitan Museum of Art (55.503.30)

*Courtesan and the blind cupid*, Pietro Bertelli (Italian, active Padua, ca. 1571–1621), ca. 1588. The Metropolitan Museum of Art (55.503.30) (Interior of flap)

In this infamous engraving of the Venetian courtesan, we are afforded a view of the garments and accessories which often scandalized the elite of 16th century Italy. The flap of the engraving lifts open at her Falda (skirt) to reveal the courtesan wearing a pair of men’s breeches, or calzoni as they were known. As Lynne Lawner notes in The Lives of the Courtesans, “The ambiguity must have been appealing to the men of that time, who enjoyed mingling the natural and “unnatural” ways of making love, often keeping male lovers and alternating them with their chosen courtesans.”[9] It is interesting to note that in the wardrobe accounts of Eleanora di Toledo, there appears to be a pair of crimson calzoni listed among the items. Landini notes that due to their association with prostitutes, they were not common, but could have been useful for keeping warm and for riding horses.

(Above: and again, the view of the Courtesan by Pietro Bertelli in Diversarum Nationum Habitus, with the movable skirt flap affording a glimpse into the underclothing of the Cortegiana. I particularly enjoy the details in this rendition as you can see clearly how the Pianelle were fastened, with clear evidence of clocked stockings, in addition to the pinked and slashed fabric of the calzoni.)

The image of the *Meretrici Publiche* or *Prostitute in Public* in Vecellio’s work. Note the scandalously transparent *Falda* (skirt), Spanish-style vest bodice, and the high *pianelle.*

Adorning the feet of the courtesan are the high pianelle, or chopines as we commonly know them today. A direct evolution of the medieval patten, and inspired by the ornately decorated Turkish bathhouse slippers, the wearing of the pianelle to achieve an unnatural stature was a common target of criticism among the magistrates of Venice; as these shoes were richly ornamented and often covered in cloth of gold or silver. While these shoes often required assistance from servants to keep the wearer upright, they also served the purpose of keeping the hems and trains of dresses from dragging through the mud. Lawner notes that beyond extravagant expense, the wearing of the pianelle also produced injuries and very real risks to pregnancies in women resulting from falling over in the city streets while wearing these shoes. As these were worn by not just courtesans but by patrician women, their danger to the wives of Venice resulted in intense scrutiny and condemnation among the magistrates.

Pair of Chopines, ca. 1600, Venice. V&A Museum (T.48&A-1914)

Tekening in het album / van Bernardus Paludanus (1550-1633) – KB, National Library of the Netherlands, Netherlands – Public Domain.
https://www.europeana.eu/item/92065/BibliographicResource_1000056122788?q=bernardus%20paludanus

While it is unknown if the intent of the representation in the album amicorum illustration above is that of a courtesan, there are some interesting things here to note— this iteration was heavily inspired by the Vecellio woodcut in a similar vein of a woman bleaching her hair. In the 16th century, having lightened hair was synonymous with health, virtue, and therefore beauty. The dominant Neoplatonist philosophy at the time believed that beauty was a manifestation of the divine, and that when the humors were in alignment, blonde hair would be the expression of that unity.[9] Therefore, the bleaching of hair was a common cosmetic practice among the women of Venice. As Courtesans aspired to be veritable glimmering jewels within the ornamented boxes of both their abodes and covered gondolas as the human embodiment of desire, it can be assumed that the courtesans would have engaged in this practice.

Another interesting observation about this illustration is the camicia (shift). The voluminous almost “a dogale” sleeves would have no doubt angered the provedadori in the first half of the 16th century, though at the time that this time was more normalized into the expression of 16th century Italian women’s fashion.

These various iterations of dress remained the mode of fashion for the courtesan in Venice for a little over 100 years with very little change apart from hairstyles, bodice length, and the eventual introduction of other types of accessories such as the rebato at the end of the 16th c. as Venice became a powerhouse for lace production. While it is easy to glamorize the life of the cortegiana onesta from these sumptuous descriptions, we must also acknowledge that their path that was given to them was one of the very few that women could take with any sense of self-agency— and theirs was not an easy path by any means. Risk of disease, physical harm, or ruin by the state lurked around every turn like a monstrous serpent waiting to pull them by the ankles into the murky depths of the Venetian canals. Still, it is important to acknowledge the very real power that these women held as both art and fashion icons in their own right.

Author’s Notes:

Well, it’s been awhile since the last time I posted anything. I’m hoping to continue posting with some documentation for a recent gown I’ve made inspired by the Bordone painting featured above. If not that, I have a few other good things in the works for this site. I hope you enjoyed the little foray into the world of the cortegiana onesta.

Bibliography

[1] Quaintance, Courteney. Textual Masculinity and the Exchange of Women in Renaissance Venice. University of Toronto Press, 2015. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.3138/j.ctv1005cx3.
[2] Lawner, Lynne. Lives of the courtesans: portraits of the Renaissance / Lynne Lawner. New York: Rizzoli, 1987.
[3] Rogers, Mary, and Tinagli, Paola. Women in Italy, 1350-1650: ideals and realities: a sourcebook / selected, translated and introduced by Mary Rogers and Paola Tinagli. Manchester; New York: New York: Manchester University Press, 2005.
[4] Santore, Cathy. Julia Lombardo, ‘Somtuosa Meretrize’: A Portrait by Property. Renaissance quarterly 41, no. 1 (1988)
[4] Lawner, Lynne. Lives of the courtesans: portraits of the Renaissance / Lynne Lawner. New York: Rizzoli, 1987.
[5] School of Historical Dress. 2023. Patterns of Fashion 3 : The Content Cut Construction and Context of European Men’s and Women’s Dress C. 1560-1620 New revised paperback ed. London: School of Historical Dress.
[6] Niccoli Bruna and Roberta Orsi Landini. 2019. Moda a Firenze 1540-1580 : Lo Stile Di Eleonora Di Toledo E La Sua Influenza = Eleonora Di Toledo’s Style and Influence. Firenze: Mauro Pagliai editore.
[7] ibid.
[8] Lawner, Lynne. Lives of the courtesans: portraits of the Renaissance / Lynne Lawner. New York: Rizzoli, 1987.
[9] Stephens, Janet. “Becoming a Blond in Renaissance Italy.” The Journal of the Walters Art Museum, November 2, 2023. https://journal.thewalters.org/volume/74/note/becoming-a-blond-in-late-fifteenth-century-venice-a-new-look-at-w-748/#edn-7.

Other consulted sources:
Vecellio, Cesare, and Chrieger, Cristoforo. De gli habiti antichi et moderni di diuerse parti del mondo libri dve / fatti da Cesare Vecellio; & con discorsi da lui dichiarati. In Venetia: Presso Damian Zenaro, 1590. (digitized via the Getty Research Institute) https://archive.org/details/gri_33125012247702

Beinecke MS 457, Mores Italiae. (digitized via Yale University Digital Library) https://collections.library.yale.edu/catalog/2003570

The Burgundian Dress Project pt. 2

July 5, 2022 / Tani / Leave a comment

It’s done! It’s finished!
I entered the whole ensemble in this year’s Pentathlon in Caid where it placed 1st place Journeyman. I also constructed a new supportive underkirtle since the previous v-fronted design wasn’t enough support for me.

This project consisted of:
– One gown in brocaded silk, appropriate for 1480 – 1490, trimmed in (faux) sable, silk velvet, and silk taffeta. All visible seams handsewn in silk thread.
– One underkirtle, handsewn, of black worsted. Lined and trimmed in emerald taffeta, with fingerloop braid for lacing.
– One belt and gorget in black velvet, handsewn.
– One truncated hennin lined in buckram and covered in blue taffeta, with velvet frontlets, handsewn.
– One veil of silk gauze, hand-hemmed.

To see the construction of this project, please download my pentathlon submission documentation here:

Pentathlon Documentation Download

A Simple 1550’s-1560’s Italian Sottana (Part 1. Sans-Sleeves.)

August 30, 2021August 30, 2021 / Tani / Leave a comment

Having fallen in love with a green kersey wool I ordered on impulse from Burnley & Trowbridge, I decided it simply had to be something 16th century. I really enjoy the idea of having a variable wardrobe with the ability to change up the look and (possible) geographic location of the individual I am dressing as (depending on how I choose to accessorize, wear a sleeve style, etc). That’s one thing I definitely love about the kirtles and sottanas of the mid-16th century you can really “travel” through much of Western Europe depending on how you sport a few accessories that tie it in to a particular region.

Most recently, I just came off a V-fronted Burgundian-era kirtle sewing-spree, and I desired to shift gears and focus more on the decades of my SCA persona— which is firmly mid-16th century. Due to my complicated shape, I am a fan of self-drafting the patterns for all of my close-fitting style garments, but 16th century style costuming sort of necessitates that anyways. For this project, I started with my 15th century kirtle toile from my last project, and modified the drafting lines using two resources: The Eleanora di Toledo dress pattern in Janet Arnold’s Patterns of Fashion, as well as the kirtle pattern from The Tudor Tailor. I used the toile from the century prior as a base pattern since the garment was already closely-fitted to my torso, and it was a matter of moving some lines around to match something mid-16th century.

Libby was very helpful with the drafting process!

One of the first drafting iterations, when I was trying to decide how I wanted it laced: on the back sides, the front, or the back. I think this was draft 2 of 10.

Once I decided that I wanted to be true to other types of Italian dresses of this period with the side-back lacing, I got to work making the interlining of the bodice (imbusto). While boning did not appear in wardrobe accounts until the end of the 16th century and beyond, we do know that stiffened bodices were likely around since the beginning of the 16th century due to inventory accounts listing buckram[1][2], as well as the wealth of the visual evidence that we have in paintings, woodcuts, and engravings of the time. Period buckram made with hide glue/rabbit skin glue, is very stiff but I was not interested in making my own buckram linen due to 1) material constraints (not a fan of using rabbit-sourced glue products) 2) as well as a desire to have a garment that is easy to clean, alter, and won’t become brittle. I have a very modern (see: 5’11”, broad-shouldered, “fluffy” ) figure, so I wanted a supportive garment that gives the impression of a flat-front. So, I stuck with a few carefully placed heavy duty zip-tie bones.

The straight lines for the boning channels are some of the only machine sewing I implemented in this project

I based my pad-stitching and boning placement off of the extant Pfaltzgrafin Dorothea Sabine von Neuberg stays illustratred in The Tudor Tailor.[3] The boned center channel allows for a lifted and separated look, while the pad stitching on the top creates a gentle curve to the silhouette. I used to fully bone bodices of this period without pad-stitching, but I have to say that I now much prefer this technique. Some of the boning channels are splayed in a fan-shape on the diagonal because I find that this gives a desirable impression to the 16th century Italian style. The blue fabric is some leftover heavy-duty linen from a project I was working on last year. Waste not, want not.

Next, I worked on covering the imbusto with my fashion fabric. Rather than stick with my preferred method of binding all the edges, I decided to play it a little bit dangerous and added seam allowances on all sides, pinned it to within an inch of its life and whip-stitched it down. The advantage to this is that you don’t have to deal with the process of creating self-made strips of bias tape, and do twice the stitching. The disadvantage to this is that it is much more difficult to navigate curved seams, deal with buckling fabric, and everything needs to be nearly exact tension-wise.

After the bodice was constructed, I began skirt construction. I don’t want add a train to my sottana since I do a lot of outdoor events, so I made a skirt of two 60″ panels of fabric, and lined it in this beautiful chocolate silk taffeta I had in my stash (Libby is ever-helpful):

Many of the gowns of the period appear to have knife pleating, cartridge pleating, or box pleating. I went with the style of pleating in the Toledo gown illustrated in the Arnold pattern book with a wide-set front framed by pleats. This style helps flare the gown out at your hips without adding too much bulk towards the front. This style can be seen in this portrait by Giovanni Batista Moroni (Fig. 1):

(Fig. 1) Moroni, Giovanni Batista. “Woman in a Red Dress.” c. 1560 Found at https://www.wga.hu/frames-e.html?/html/m/moroni/index.html

(I may take inspiration from this portrait to make the sleeves for the sottana this week.)

I had to pleat the gown twice to the waistband and back piece of the bodice before I was finally happy. I ended up spacing them roughly an inch in size; using the tip of my index finger to first knuckle as a guide, it turned out pretty well! After the pleating was done, I moved on to hand-sewing eyelets. The gown was laced at the side-back just like the toledo gown, and required me to sew around 40 eyelets to accommodate spiral lacing. I used a heavy cotton thread, and binged on time team for 8 hours.

After the eyelets were complete, it was time trim the dress! Apart from the Toledo gown, I was inspired by two other sources: Moroni’s Portrait of Isotta Brembati Grumelli (Fig. 3), and Jacopo Zucchi’s Portrait of a Woman.

(Fig. 2) Moroni, Giovanni Batista. *Portrait of Isotta Brembati Grumelli* c. 1560

(Fig. 3) Zucchi, Jacopo. *Portrait of a Woman.* Mid 16th c.

I had a surplus of black velvet ribbon, and I loved the look of it with the green wool, so here was the finished sottana in action!:

At Festival of the Rose at the end of the day during cleanup. The bodice point got lost after 9 hours of on and off sitting, but I will try and fix this before the next event.

The Chemise was also made last minute, with machine-embroidered blackwork cuffs and pearl button closures:

[1] Johnson, Caroline, Jane Malcolm-Davies, Ninya Mikhaila, and Michael Perry. 2016. The queen’s servants: gentlewomen’s dress at the accession of Henry VIII : a Tudor tailor case study. Lightwater, Surrey [England]: Fat Goose Press.
[2] Small, Kimiko. Bodies: 16th Century Support Garments (Class Handout) https://www.kimiko1.com/files/GWW2012_Bodies.pdf
[3] Mikhaila, Ninya, and Jane Malcolm-Davies. 2015. The Tudor tailor: reconstructing 16th-century dress. Hollywood, Calif: Costume and Fashion Press.

Other Sources consulted:
Cox-Rearick, Janet. “Power-Dressing at the Courts of Cosimo De’ Medici and François I: The “moda Alla Spagnola” of Spanish Consorts Eléonore D’Autriche and Eleonora Di Toledo.” Artibus Et Historiae 30, no. 60 (2009): 39-69. Accessed August 31, 2021. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25702881.
Vecellio, Cesare, Cristoforo Chrieger, and Damiano Zenaro. 1590. De gli habiti antichi et moderni di diuerse parti del mondo libri due. In Venetia: Presso Damian Zenaro. https://dds.crl.edu/crldelivery/12240.
Weigel, Hans. 1577. Habitus praecipuorum populorum tam virorum quam feminarum singulari arte depicti: Trachtenbuch. Nürnberg: Weigel.

Artwork:
Figure 1: Moroni, Giovanni Batista. “Woman in a Red Dress.” c. 1560 Found at https://www.wga.hu/frames-e.html?/html/m/moroni/index.html
Figure 2: Moroni, Giovanni Batista. Portrait of Isotta Brembati Grumelli c. 1560
Figure 3: Zucchi, Jacopo. Portrait of a Woman. Mid 16th c.

Burgundian Project pt. 1: A Foundational Kirtle

May 14, 2021May 15, 2021 / Tani / Leave a comment

After working on a large commission later last year, I took a little break from making anything that involved needle and thread. That changed with the start of the new year, and offering to teach a class for ‘Fiberuary’— a series of online classes offered through the Facebook group with the same name. Offering to teach a class on Kirtle Patterning 101 (because of an individuals request) had spurred me into action; I had 7 yards of wool and various linens in my stash, but it had been years since I had last made a kirtle.

Not satisfied with just a mere kirtle, I wanted to aim larger and create a 1470’s-1480’s Burgundian gown. However, I still needed to make the kirtle as the foundational layer, and I decided on the v-fronted styles shown here:

[From left: 1) Woman and Unicorn; illustration (vellum) by Robinet Testard (fl.1470-1523) from the ‘Book of Simple Medicines’ c.1470
2)Unknown, c. 1470
3) Adoration of the Shepherds (detail) by Hugo van der Goes, 1476-1478.]

So, what is a kirtle?

As we know it today, the kirtle is a supportive dress that was worn from the 14th – 17th centuries.

Tailoring techniques became more complex with the expansion of a nearly globalized trading network bringing in new materials— specifically the production of wool in England, as well as silks imported from Lucchese merchants. Before 1330, dresses and men’s clothing were made in a T-shaped construction, but it was theorized in 1980 by historian Stella Newton that the invention of set-in-sleeves gave rise to the closely-fitted bodice.[1] This new tailoring technique, coupled with the anxieties of the plague, hundred years war, and the imported luxuries from Italian silk merchants into France gave rise to the courtly fashions of the 14th century as a form of sartorial escapism.[2] In a nutshell, high fashion was borne from anxieties and expanded consumerism.

The word “kirtle” during the period was used interchangeably with the masculine words cote, coteron, corset; as well as the feminine nouns cotte, and cotelette. [3]

Even more interestingly, a cote and kirtle/kyrtel could describe a fitted garment for men of the period:

“(ca. 1390): Ande al graythed in grene this gome and his wedes: a strayt cote ful streght, that stek on his sides, a mere mantile abof, mensked wythinne wyth pelure pured apert, the pane ful clene[…]”
“(trans) And all arrayed in green were this giant and his clothes, a well tailored straight cote that clung to his sides, a merry mantle above, adorned within with fur skillfully trimmed […]”
Buren, Anne van, and Roger S. Wieck. 2011. Illuminating fashion: dress in the art of medieval France and the Netherlands, 1325-1515. New York: The Morgan Library & Museum.

However, the word kirtle continued to be used well on into the 16th century to describe a supportive dress for women, as opposed to either a masculine or feminine outer garment of the 14th and 15th centuries. When we say “cotehardie” in the study of historic dress today, we are referring to a type of dress (both feminine and masculine) from a specific time from the 14th through 15th centuries. The word Kirtle is more broadly defined across a few hundred years as a type of supportive garment that later became gendered specifically for women. [4]

The Process:

The best way to get any supportive kirtle is to pattern the whole thing from the ground up. After refreshing myself in kirtle construction thanks to Morgan Donner’s tutorial, as well as La Cotte Simple, and The Medieval Tailor’s Assistant I got a working pattern from draping and pinning. This was extremely challenging due to it being the pandemic— I had no friends to help me out with the pinning portion. I got creative by making use of my sewing machine and making educated guesstimates with a sharpie. I also padded out my dressform using layers of quilt batting, a bra, and nylon stockings stuffed with lentils all smooshed together under a stretchy tank-top to hold it all in place. Surprisingly, it worked, and I have no plans of immediately dismantling my dress form any time soon… at least, until I can drop the Quarantine-15.

If you would to see what worked for me to achieve a bust-supportive pattern all on my own, please check out my slideshow for my kirtle patterning class here: Kirtle Patterning 101

This was the end result: a bust-supportive pattern on the left that is good for many eras from 1350 onwards. On the right is my modified result for the V-fronted kirtle.

To achieve the length of the gown, I made sure to mark my waist on the pattern and then measured downwards. I decided to cut the gown with a full bias hem and train with two gussets for a good amount of “swish”. Cutting on the bias complicates the hemming process, so I let the gown hang in the closet for a few weeks once it was assembled. The outer shell of the gown is 100% Worsted Wool I ordered from Burnley & Trowbridge a few years ago.

[Libby is a great assistant]

As I am a rather top-heavy individual— in total contrast with the fact that this style of dress was outwardly worn without an overgown by primarily young unmarried women (who do not have a larger busty frame pushing into middle-age territory), I needed to make some further structural modifications using a period technique: pad stitching. I pad stitched the inner foundation of the dress with unbleached heavyweight linen and thick embroidery thread. After doing this technique, I am never going back to using a simple lining for a medieval kirtle ever again. The support results were phenomenal.

[I tried to get the wrinkles out where I could before I took this image, but this linen had been pressed in a closet for 3 years. I flattened it out later under a heavy amount of steam and angry cursing.]

As you can see in the image above, the garment is lined in a green colored linen. While colored linen is not common to my knowledge in the medieval period, I wanted a contrasting lining effect that is seen to be so prevalent in the illuminations and altarpieces of this period (which seems to be silk or wool). Linen would also add a nicer drape to the garment, and it would keep me cooler at outdoor events. I also am a fan of stashbusting, and if it appears to be reasonably period, then why not? Waste not, want not— plus, I think it looked rather lovely with the merlot purple of the wool and reminded me of the color scheme of a Northern Renaissance altarpiece painting.

I assembled the shell of the dress by machine to save on time, but I hand-sewed all visible seams and finishes. In the image above is the interior of the dress with a strip of straight-cut wool facing tacked down with madder linen and chestnut silk thread. The armscyes are also bound with a straight piece of wool as well for strength purposes as well as in lieu of creating a bulky and unwieldy seam.

I felled the hem by hand all along the bottom edge of the gown. This was slightly challenging with a train belling out from the back of the dress.

[Small train in the back is nice for day events: not too long, not too short. The brocade fabric hanging for my hasty last minute photo background is the planned fabric for the future Burgundian overgown.]

For now, I have woolen stomacher inserted in the front panel of the dress, but I am beginning to lean towards a two-kirtle theory for a fully supportive v-fronted gown, with the innermost layer being flat-fronted and/or side laced. More on that theory here: https://cathelinadialessandri.wordpress.com/2016/03/12/the-open-front-two-kirtle-theory/

The stomacher didn’t want to stay put and looked rather buckled under the lacing, so for now, I may line it with buckram and stitch it with temporary tacking stitches to the lining. I’m not sure if I want to wear a fourth layer under the eventual Burgundian, considering I live in Southern California, but we’ll see.

All in all, this was a challenging project to work on. Having being used to making open-fronted garments with boning (a later invention), making one that is flattering for my soft-bodied figure with only interlining and careful tailoring was definitely something out of my comfort zone. This is something I will definitely do again, and I am looking forward to further developments with the Burgundian project.

(1) Newton, Stella Mary. 1980. Fashion in the age of the Black Prince.

(2) Buren, Anne van, and Roger S. Wieck. 2011. Illuminating fashion: dress in the art of medieval France and the Netherlands, 1325-1515. New York: The Morgan Library & Museum.

(3&4) Ibid.

Album Amicorum in the Early Modern Period

August 7, 2020August 7, 2020 / Tani / Leave a comment

While interning at LACMA in 2017, I came across a curious collection of 16th c. illustrations during an inventory project for special collections resources related to Costume & Textiles. This grouping of illustrations immediately struck me— one because of their small pocketbook-like size, and because of their depicted content:
preserved together in an archival box, the illustrations portrayed people and various scenes across the (mostly) upper echelons of society in Europe during the later half of the 16th century. Ascribed to each hand-colored illustration was a description for the viewer to contextualize the images:

Venetian Courtesan, from Album Amicorum of a German Soldier, Italy, 1595. LACMA (M.91.71.1-.101)

Album/alba amicorum (also known modernly as Stammbuch), grew to popularity in German universities of the 16th century as an autograph book and friendship album between students and scholars. This is the origin of our modern yearbook tradition in primary school education in the United States, as German immigrants imported this custom in the 18th century. [1]

Moving outside of the sphere of universities in the early modern period, the album amicorum served a purpose that was not unlike our modern social media as a means of recording, and in a sense— a way of maintaining a recorded social network across Europe to gain favor and display social capital. Just like a Facebook timeline, these books took on a collaborative nature in terms of text. As Raashi Rastogi states in his essay Early Modern Alba Amicorum and Collaborative Memory: [2]

“[…] June Schlueter, the definitive authority on early modern alba amicorum, explains, the album was traditionally passed around among students and teachers at university; it would “accompany its owner on his travels or was sent by messenger to a friend, an acquaintance, a nobleman, or a king with an invitation to sign.” Each contributor would reproduce a commonplaced quotation, offering the album owner advice or a meditation on friendship, together with a short dedication, the contributor’s signature, and the date and/or location of the autograph. In his treatise on alba amicorum, Philip Melanchthon describes the friendship album as a memory-aid, designed to “remind the owners of people.”

Beyond these textual relationships and recorded sentiments, album amicorum also served as a visual travelogue for the wandering scholar, soldier, and aristocrat to preserve memories of foreign places. For us, this can help serve as a looking glass into the past when it comes to a visual aid for the purposes of historic costume. However, this is not without its flaws: album amicorum of the period often contained professionally illustrated and pre-printed “stock” characters that one would expect to see on their travels— such as the Venetian courtesan, papal figures, and nobles in various continental dress. [3] The 16th century saw the emergence and popularity of the costume book, and it was no coincidence that these two genres became interrelated and vastly popular; as Western Europe at the end of the century became invested in printed works that created visual taxonomies of people, social strata, geographical areas, and professions to neatly arrange social knowledge in a rapidly expanding world. [4]

It is hard to delineate truth versus constructed perception in these visual travel narratives, and in a way they all serve as a curious curation of the reality of the book owner. This is not dissimilar to the way in which many social media “influencers” of our current world carefully craft a visual narrative about their lives to gain social capital; posing with cars they sometimes don’t own, being seen with people they are barely acquainted with, and posting photos of places they have never been. It is likely that many album amicorum creators participated in a construction of a similar idealized account.

As an example, note the similarities of the Gentlewoman of Venice depicted in the Album Amicorum of a German Soldier with the salacious interactive engraving of a Venetian Courtesan by Ferrando Bertelli in 1563:

(Images courtesy of Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

The Album Amicorum of a German Soldier was produced in approximately 1595, while this widely-circulated engraving by Bertelli was made in 1563 (note the same Chopine posture, overall silhouette, fan, hairstyle, and kerchief.) I suspect that this image created by the German Soldier was likely a copy of Bertelli’s work, with some liberties taken for originality’s sake.

These images of costumes (both national and international) became widely available by the mid-to-late 16th century, and would have been an easy resource for traveling scholars and courtiers to fill up the pages of their album amicorum. These images often contained exoticized stereotypes of other nations, and served as an early form of a highly problematized ethnographic survey. [5]
(Note even the visual hierarchy in Jost Amman’s Costumes of the Visual Nations of the World and how Europe is framed above the other continents (which include scenes of cannibalism)):

Image from Jost Amman’s Costumes of the Nations of the World, 1577. Image Courtesy of the British Museum. For a full and detailed view, follow this link: https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/P_1854-1113-173

‘Mauritana in Domestico’ From Trachtenbuch von Nurnberg (Costume Book of Nurnberg), co. CLXIII. Jost Amman (Switzerland, Zurich, active Germany 1539-1591) Germany, 1577. LACMA (Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Marvin M. Chesebro (M.87.164.3)

This image from Jost Amman’s Trachtenbuch is another example of the classification of people through printed works that came about in the late 16th century. This book contains images of people from around their known world, but with a heavy emphasis on individuals living across Europe. These costume books are heavily flawed in terms of their depiction of non-european cultures through a eurocentric and orientalized lens, so it is always best to view these sources with a heavy amount of skepticism in mind.

Keep in mind that for nearly 100 years before Amman’s Costumes of the Nations of the World Africans were being captured and enslaved by Portugal on account of their “Moorishness”, which was soon followed the enslavement of other ethnic groups. The first enslaved African Peoples were forcibly brought to the newly established colonies in North America by the English in 1619, but the slave trade was alive and well in England beginning in the 1560’s when Sir John Hawkins began his capturing of slaves with the support of elite English merchants.[6] These proto-ethnographic illustrations to classify the “other” served as a visual reminder to reinforce burgeoning ideas of white supremacy that manifested into the classifications of peoples, and the destructive scientific racism of the 17th through 20th centuries.

I am digressing here from the original topic and into the realm of the costume book, but I think it needed to be said that every source should be approached with these points of caution: what purpose does this image serve? who was the intended audience for this image? and who was the “authority” behind the image? These questions should continuously be asked when evaluating primary sources.

That being said, let us return to album amicorum.

Some of my favorite viewable album amicorum online offer up a wealth of delights:

Album Amicorum of a German Soldier, LACMA.

Since it has been the focus of this blog article, I recommend viewing the complete Album Amicorum of a German Soldier, which is available online through this link.

Album Amicorum of Jean le Clercq. 1576 – 1589

This Album, available for full viewing on HathiTrust is a beautiful example of an Album Amicorum being illustrated within an earlier printed work. There are many full-color illustrations throughout, including that of some delicious heraldry. (As an aside, I am very much not a fan of French styles of this period. The super-high plucked hairline, and wasp-waisted look is a bit much.)

Venetian Courtesan peering out from behind a veil. Album Amicorum of Paul Van Dale, 1576. The Bodleian Library, Oxford University. MS. Douce d. 11

This album made by Paul Van Dale is available online through the Bodleian Library at Oxford university, and includes beautiful illustrations of people across (mainly) Italy.

Album Amicorum of Jacob Heyblocq, 1645 – 1678. National Library of the Netherlands

This album is later than the period I am focusing on in this blog post, but it is a perfect example of an album amicorum: it contains hundreds of signatures and quotes from students and scholars of the period, with many in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. It also contains beautiful pencil and ink illustrations of Jacob’s travels as well, and I am a complete sucker for 17th century landscape studies— there’s just something so distant and moody about them.

[1] https://www.kettererkunst.com/dict/album-amicorum-stammbuch-memory-book-or-friendship-book.php

[2] RASTOGI, RAASHI. “Early Modern Alba Amicorum and Collaborative Memory.” Shakespeare Studies (0582-9399) 45 (January 2017): 151–58.

[3] Keller, Vera. “Forms of Internationality: The Album Amicorum and the Popularity of John Owen.” In Forms of Association : Making Publics in Early Modern Europe, edited by Paul Yachnin and Marlene Eberhart, 220–34. University of Massachusetts, 2015.

[4] Ibid, 224.

[5] Carvalho, Larissa. “Contact, Perception and Representation of the “American Other” in Sixteenth-Century Costume Books.” in The Myth of the Enemy: Alterity, Identity, and Their Representations, edited by Irene Graziani and Maria Vittoria Spissu, 235 – 244. Edizione Minerva, 2019.

[6] Thomas, Hugh. The Slave Trade : The Story of the Atlantic Slave Trade, 1440-1870. Simon & Schuster, 1997.

Resurrecting the Blog, Pt. II.

July 26, 2020July 26, 2020 / Tani / Leave a comment

Well, it’s certainly been awhile.

Throughout 2018 through 2019, I got very busy with finishing graduate school, scrambling to establish my new career, and dealing with heavy issues related to the terminal illness and loss of a beloved pet.

Thus my blog project took a leap onto the backburner.

To follow up on the last costuming project I blogged about during my two year absence:

Yeah, remember my 1630’s project? I finished it will little time to spare, and It came out okay-ish! I will have to say that if you’re a top-heavy person like myself, the 1630’s bodice pattern from the V&A needs a heavy amount of guesswork and modification. I think in the future I will remake the stomacher with more boning, and perhaps pad it more with a linen base. The chemise also needs some work as well, which I admit was a bit of a rushed job.

The bodice definitely needs a falling linen band and some pearls— perhaps even large sash. If I have an opportunity to wear mid-17th century again, I will definitely pursue these improvements.

Currently, I am working on slowly chipping away at a Trossfrau-inspired ensemble, starting with the Hemd. For those that are not familiar with German or the German Renaissance period in general, the hemd is their equivalent of the smock/shirt worn beneath clothes. Drafting a similar Hemd based on Katafalk’s (Cathrin Åhlén), I have managed to squeeze about 100″ of linen into a smocked redwork collar:

The hemd is 100% hand-sewn, and the linen is Burnley & Trowbridge‘s shirt weight linen which has such a lovely drape. The collar lining is stiffened with a band of their Cambric linen, and the sleeves are a current work in progress. I have made the Hemd a bit multipurpose: it is not as long as a standard women’s smock would be, as I would also like to be able to eventually fence in this while wearing menswear… Someday, when Covid-19 allows us to gather again.

The goal of my ensemble is to make a complete look that is inspired by these images:

(Basel Woman Turned to the Left by Hans Holbein the Younger: Which I admit is decidedly not Trossfrau in origin, the Wulsthaube, Hemd, and overall look is what I am aiming for.)

(Artist is unknown to me, style appears to me as likely 1510-1530)

While keeping stash-busting in mind, I plan on using some claret-brown/russet colored worsted wool for the main body of the dress, and perhaps some bright red velvet of wool felt to make the contrasting bands similar to the picture.

My last German Renaissance dress I made was about 6 years ago, and there are many things I hope I can improve upon.

Anyways, on a completely different note (and to keep the momentum going) I plan on writing about Album Amicorum in my next post!

In hope,

Sibylla de Haze (Tanya Yvette)

Buckram: Not just for books!

January 15, 2018January 15, 2018 / Tani / Leave a comment

Continuing on with my 17th century ensemble, I did not get as much done today as I had hoped due to mechanical issues related to my sewing machine. I can say that taking apart the tension assembly, re-calibrating it, and oiling all the moving parts has seemed to fix my problem for now… But I’m afraid that my trusty machine that I’ve used—nonetheless abused—as it was the first machine I learned on for the past 14 years, is now on borrowed time.

The bodice shell I have constructed is based off of the V&A example I posted about in the prior entry, which consists of two layers of canvas, carefully placed buckram pieces, and light boning. I have chosen to use heavyweight linen, a moderate amount of boning, and full pieces of buckram on each of the two front pieces, since I need a bit more support than the average woman of the 17th century. The interior of the bodice is machine-sewn, as I have less than a week left to finish this dress, and as someone with carpal tunnel issues, I am really not fond of hand-sewing garment interiors, with the obvious exception being nicely-laid linings. I believe that sewing—especially historical sewing should be accessible and enjoyed by all, and if a machine aids that process, then great!

It is unclear whether in the original example if the bodice was designed to be worn over a set of stays, but I am of the opinion that it would have been unnecessary; as minimal as the bones are in the original example, I think that an extra set of stays would have been overkill considering the short-waisted nature of this style of bodice makes heavy modification of the torso shape unnecessary. During the later years of the 1630’s and into the 1680’s, the tight-waisted nature of the dresses had stays integrated into the bodice foundation for many of the more formal gowns, but as not many surviving examples exist, we must look to primary sources and extant examples for evidence. One such surviving dress with full-boning is the famous silver tissue dress currently housed in the Fashion Museum in Bath.

Silver Tissue Dress, 1660 (Image credit: National Maritime Museum/ Royal Museums, Greenwich/ Fashion Museum, Bath)

As an aside, I looooove how the National Maritime Museum used this dress in an exhibition related to Samuel Pepys’ diary. Read more about that here.

Today’s progress:

Boning channels sewn, pad stitching placed.

I have pad stitched down the front of the bodice in the empty gaps where no boning is placed; in the V&A example, there is similar pad stitching holding the buckram pieces down. But as I sewed the channels through all layers, I found that the stiffness of the buckram was fighting with the highly tensile linen layers and caused some bunching issues. The pad stitching helped tack the buckling down and turned the unsightly bubbling into an evenly distributed layer. I find myself slightly amused that this bodice—fully lined in buckram—holds the contents of the wearer in the same way that buckram used in book arts does for the contents of the book.

The bodice will be boned with extra-large cable ties, as I have found that the large cable ties and whalebone feel very similar to one another. When I first discovered this while examining original whalebone in bodices while working in museum collections, both myself and my wallet breathed a collective sigh of relief; my cheapness is period! The only caveat to zip tie boning is that I recommend replacing them every few years; plastic off-gases over time depending on environmental conditions and can discolor your fabric and anything it touches. I’ve yet to have this happen, but after working with various plastics in archives and museums, it’s amazing how synthetic materials can really do some nasty things. That being said, for costuming, I am team zip-tie all the way.

To prepare the cable ties for insertion, I recommend cutting them to length with a cheap pair of heavy duty scissors, donning a vapor mask/respirator, and sitting in a well-ventilated area (or outside if possible). Then, cut each of the corners to round out the shape, and hold the very tip of the edge over a flame. The plastic will quickly melt and soften the sharp corners and within about 15 or so seconds, it should be ready for placement within the stays!

Presto!

Tomorrow, I assemble and bind the bodice, cut and sew the silk exterior, and maybe start on the sleeves…

A Hollar-inspired dress for a grand party

January 14, 2018 / Tani / Leave a comment

Well, it has certainly been quite some time since I have last made an entry—nonetheless sewed! (Ahh, graduate school.) But as I have been approached by my boss to make and wear an ensemble for the Grand Reopening of the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, as well as run a booth on early modern material culture, I naturally agreed to do so with much excitement; because geeking out over material culture is something I simply live for.
As I wanted my ensemble to reflect the early modern holdings within the Clark Library’s collection—many of which are printed matter and manuscripts from the 17th century, I naturally looked to one well-known set of bound plates that has proven indispensable for Caroline and Stuart-era costume research; Wenceslaus Hollar’s Ornatus Muliebris Anglicanus.

A few weeks prior, I had stumbled upon this volume of plates in the stacks, and Hollar seems to follow me everywhere it seems. It was as if the the universe (or Hollar’s ghost) was screaming at me to summon up enough resolve and finally make wearable dedication to my most beloved era of costume history; the late 1630’s, as I have been yearning and meaning to do for the last few years. For the sake of this project, I have decided to not stick with a faithful reproduction of a single plate, but draw up my inspiration from these two plates in particular:

Loving the jacket-style bodice and falling band on the left, but I also love the muted simplicity of the one on the right…

Another inspiration is this painting of Queen Henrietta Maria by an unknown artist after Van Dyck:

Copyright Warwick Shire Hall / Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

The lace! the pearls!

I could seriously get lost in the 17th century. But as I’ve spent most of this week stumbling about in imagery and research-ville, I had to get seriously started on this.

I have acquired 7 yards of heavyweight dark silver silk taffeta, and a few yards of look-alike bobbin lace for the falling collar:
silk

I am basing this bodice after the fantastic and rare 1630’s example in the V&A, and patterned out in Susan North and Jenny Tiramini’s Seventeenth-Century Women’s Dress Patterns v.1:

2010EB2875_2500 2010EB3075_2500

I am however taking some liberties: I will not be slashing the silk since most events I do are outdoors and it would be liable to snag. I am also on the fence over whether I want to have open tabs or a closed-peplum style with gores.

While the bodice itself is a simple construction of only 3 pieces (two fronts, one back) I have spent the majority of today trying to get the fitting just right—which I must say, is a hard thing to do when you’re full-figured and drafting from an extant example. I will have to draft my own stomacher (easy-peasy) as none have survived with this dress example. Maybe I will add some pearl swags in the style of Queen Henrietta…

After 7 attempts, we have a working foundation! Hurrah!

More to come tomorrow…

Of redingotes, Costume College, and buttons.

July 13, 2017July 14, 2017 / Tani / Leave a comment

After a long hiatus due to the demands of graduate school, I am thankfully back to sewing again (hurrah)!
I’ve also been accepted into the Early Modern Studies program at my University, where I will be honing my focus on representations of 17th century costume (double hurrah)!

And now to get back to our regularly scheduled programming:
This summer, I had planned to make a Redingote based on LACMA’s exemplary piece from their department of costume & textiles.

LACMA’s Redingote. Ahh, 1790’s deliciousness! Squee!

For the past year, I have had the privilege of interning in their department, and working directly with the collections– of which, I must say, has been an amazing experience. Having a costuming itch for some time now to make some late 18th century attire, I was super excited after finding out that they had created a pattern for it for the Fashioning Fashion exhibition, which can be found here.

While I am only 2 or so weeks away from Costume College, i’d love to have it completed in some manner. While I am not looking to make an exact replica of the dress, the palette will be similar. Having already ordered fabric, I settled with a golden-olive-cream striped silk taffeta for the main body of the dress, and “fretwork” muslin for the petticoat. Both were ordered from Burnley & Trowbridge, and I cannot sing enough praise for how excellent their quality and selection of fabric is.

Figured muslin and the main silk fabric

Though this brings me to my next problem: the fabric is a mere 6.5 yards long (at 60″ w.). As a “fluffy”-bodied woman at 5’11, piecing the stripes and having enough fabric for the revers and falling collar will prove to be a challenge to say the very least. I’m a bit nervous, but I may have to resort to using a russet velvet for the collar and revers. We’ll see.

What must be done before CoCo however is a new set of 18th century stays for a riding habit pattern fitting class that will be taught by J.P. Ryan. I wanted to hand-sew the stays, but the most handsewing they are going to get is eyelets for lacing and leather binding. I modified the J.P. Ryan half-boned stays pattern to be laced in both the front and the back, since I have been (or at least trying) to lose weight. I also added more boning channels for more support.

Very much in progress.

When the stays are completed, they will be bound in white kidskin leather, and laced with pink silk ribbon. I’d like to call them my Sweetheart, or St. Valentine’s Stays, since they will be pink, white, and red all over.

I’ve also completed some ‘death’s head’ style buttons for the redingote:

Silk floss and a wooden shank base from again, Burnley and Trowbridge.

I’m still not sure if I want to use these, but we’ll see. I used the tutorial found Here to make them. More to come later.

Scanfest 2017 at CLU

April 8, 2017 / Tani / Leave a comment

Last weekend I had the pleasure of doing a Viking-age Scandinavian fiber arts demo at California Lutheran University’s Scanfest– a festival of as you would probably guess, is comprised of all things from the lands of the midnight sun (and Denmark, too!).

I went with my dear friends Robert and Cat, where I spent both days doing viking six-stranded braiding and some spinning on a drop spindle. For dressing for the event itself, I found myself in a quandary; years ago I had constructed an outfit for a Viking-themed wedding for two of my dearest friends, Christine and Steve. Being now of the age of 30, I have noticed the interesting phenomenon of clothing magically shrinking in my closet as the years have progressed– and especially now, since I have entered graduate school and have spent long nights being comforted by pizza and ramen noodles. Beyond the original outfit just not quite fitting right, I had adorned the yoke of the tunic with fantastical embroidery– and while it was fantastic embroidery, it had firmly established itself in the realm of fantasy viking land:

That tunic! Yikes!

This year, I didn’t want to wear my ratty shrunken apron dress with fantasy hare motifs, I wanted to give a more realistic interpretation of a 10th century woman of the Viking era. There is very little evidence as to what actually was worn in the viking period due to limited extant garments. I based my design after some evidence in the Hedeby find, as well as the evidence presented in Hilde Thunem’s lengthy research. While the base construction is machine-sewn, I am currently in the process of hand-finishing or covering each seam with hand embroidery. As a busy student who also works, I managed to assemble my outfit in a total of 20 hours split over two days.

The new outfit– a step in the right direction! I just have to cover all the seams with basic embroidery or trim. Also, please ignore my non-period hair… On the day prior I was wearing my hair Rus style with a head covering and temple rings, and I just didn’t quite feel like doing that again.

In a post to come, I will enumerate and reveal my documentation for making the new apron dress and tunic. But for now, I will post some photos of the event itself:

Robert Seutter (AKA True Thomas) working his magic with the crowd.

True and Stina Fagertun. Stina is a Saami storyteller who flies all the way from Norway each year to tell tales and sing joiks.

Cat Ellen (Elidh Swann) giving a spinning demonstration on a great wheel. Yes, great wheels are not from the Viking era, but Cat gave an amazing demonstration of iron age to modern age fiber arts and textile construction methods. Many expats commented fondly on her great wheel, saying “My mother from _____ used to have one in her living room!”.