|
Workroom to Window A Designer's Guide to the Sewing Workroom by Marina J. Morgan, Decorating Fabricator ISBN 1-891429-22-1 Skills/Sewing, 149-pages $19.95 |
|
plainly put, the designer and the fabricator in the workroom are too dissimilar to communicate well without knowing what to expect from each other. For the most part, the communication between them is poor. The designer has the idea and plan for the drapery client, but usually has little or no in-depth knowledge of how the drapery and accessories are actually constructed. The fabricator knows how drapery of all kinds is constructed, but may have little or no design experience, does not know the drapery client, and can’t “see” the plan in the designer’s mind. It is my hope that by presenting this book, I can step into the breach between workroom and designer with the kind of knowledge that the designer needs: formulae, tables, knowledge of what to expect from drapery construction, an idea of the kind of problems inherent in the sewing process, and what clear, plain statements about the drapery plan are needed to construct it. I would like to provide the workroom fabricator with a guide to the kind of problems the designer comes up against when choosing fabric and design plans, what specific questions to ask the designer relevant to the construction of a particular drapery, how to help the designer be clear and direct in writing orders for the workroom, and how to provide the designer with a guideline of what is and is not possible with drapery sewing. I would like to help both the fabricator and the designer understand and deal with the inevitable problems that occur in the process of implementing the design plan in a way that is ethical, positive, and nonjudgmental. It is my hope that I can clarify the relationship between the designer and the technician, the idea person and the fabricator. They must be, after all, on the same page, the page that is titled “Satisfied Drapery Customer.” If this book begins to help these two communicate, I will feel that I have written something worthwhile. I once saw a cartoon-like drawing that illustrates the problem of “workroom to window” exactly. It included four pictures, each one of the same planned decorating idea, each labeled as belonging to the different people involved in making the window or room plan a reality. We will be spending our time discussing the triad components of the design team – the designer, the fabricator, and the client. I have devoted some time to the installer, and included him in various aspects of the following chapters. The Story of the Four Pictures deals with the perspective of the client, the designer, the fabricator, and the installer. The first cartoon showed the concept of the drapery client, the person who wants to change something about her original decor. This cartoon showed a beautiful, coordinated, homey, comfortable, well-designed room with a lovely window treatment and stylish furnishings, pleasing to all the family and costing the minimum, and having been installed yesterday after a wait of three days. None of the items in the room will ever wear or become soiled, and there were no problems with planning, construction, delivery, or installation. It did not snow while the plan was being implemented, impeding the flow of traffic and thus, delivery of any item needed for the plan, and no one became ill and unable to work on it. The well-pleased family members sit companionably in their newly decorated room, gazing out of their beautiful and light-maximizing window at their first-rate view. The dog lies on the wing chair. A well-known home-fashion magazine rests demurely on the coffee table. The second cartoon shows the concept of the designer whom the client contracts to accomplish her plan. This cartoon shows the same design – on the order of an increase to a power of ten in magnificence. The draperies are of the latest cutting-edge design with imported silk fabrics, interlinings, tassels, buttons, and trim. There are at least four types of coordinating fabrics with blended yet fresh and new colorways that unify this particular room with the rest of the house and probably the neighborhood, at a conservative estimate of 50 yards in quantity. The upholstery on the sofa is new and adds dimension plus 15 more yards of fabric to the plan. The carpeting is Middle Eastern, of hand-woven silk threads and natural dyes. The room has either been freshly painted in one of those coordinating colors, or wallpapered with imported silk paper or, preferably, grasscloth. There are 35 new accessories in brass and three strategically placed floral arrangements. NO ONE will be allowed to stand, let alone sit, in this room. It is unfortunate that it is the family room. Everything is, of course, “high-end”, that term that is well loved by the trade, and priced accordingly. The designer is looking into the distance: she is seeing the seven other rooms of this home. Five home fashion magazines, four of which are known only to the trade, and three storyboards were used to accomplish the design. None of them will end up in the room, and neither will any type of dog. The third cartoon shows the concept of the workroom, the fabricator of which will implement the plan. The fabricator stands within a circle of question marks, order sheets, papers, and the 50 yards of expensive fabrics and trims, scratching her head and chewing her pencil. Fractions and higher mathematical formulae including trigonometric ones are scribbled on worksheets, scrap papers, and bathroom tissue. Her calculator repeatedly flashes an “error” message after having attempted to calculate the value of pi ten times in succession. A not-in-perspective line drawing of the room is placed on the worktable with measurements and placement values nearly obscuring the lines. Written in whatever margins remain are various notes that say things like, “Custom hem depth – add to the repeat size.”, “Who will supply the pillow forms – are the clients allergic to feathers?”, “4 or 5-inch buckram?”, and “2 inches above the frame with a 3-inch header, large rings on the bottom of the rod.” There are three memo samples of that expensive fabric on the floor with which the fabricator is trying to plan for repeat sizes and pattern placement. The fabricator and (when she wasn’t looking) her dog have stepped on them three times already and they must be returned to the company in undamaged condition. Floating above in the cartoon speech-bubble are time and dollar calculations, hourly rates and figures representing labor intensiveness. The fabricator is glancing off into the distance as she chews her pencil. She is looking at the calendar. She has just returned the designer’s fashion magazines and storyboards, declaring that such things are never allowed in her workroom. She has not been pleasant in the process of the return. The final cartoon depicts the design concept of the installer, that essential person who will place the design in the room. There are no colors, furnishings, accessories, home fashion magazines, or plans present. The dog has been tied up outside. There is only the installer, a tool kit, and five bundles of compacted, plastic-wrapped fabric on the floor. The installer is looking at two pencil marks placed on the wall at either side of a blank window and at his wristwatch. When I first saw this cartoon, it made me laugh. It still makes me laugh. Of course, I have exaggerated the four scenarios to the maximum and beyond in order to make you laugh also. When you have finished laughing, I hope you will also see that the basic illustration of the four people involved in getting a plan from the workroom to the window all understand what they want: the plan. None of them sees it the same way. This book is about communication, the communication between the people who are most significant to this plan, the designer and the fabricator. It is also about the kinds of terms, measurements, equipment, techniques, and ethical considerations they each must be familiar with in order to communicate effectively about the plan. They must learn to see the ultimate plan, using all the above things, perhaps not in exactly the same way, but in a way that produces common ground for them all and makes the plan achievable...
The author, Marina Jacukowicz Morgan has been sewing and working with thread and crafting materials all her life. She has forty years’ experience with garment and drapery construction, and has owned and operated a sewing workroom for the past nine years, both part and full time. She conducts her business, Marina Morgan, Decorating Fabricator, in a house she designed to include a 400-square-foot custom sewing workroom. Marina plans to continue sewing as long as God allows her hands to remain attached to her arms.
The illustrator, Philip G. Morgan has been drawing since childhood. He is a graduate of the Class of 2000 from Marywood University in Scranton, Pennsylvania, having obtained a Bachelor’s Degree in the Fine Arts. Philip is currently working on a comic-illustration portfolio and plans to pursue an illustration career in Arizona. |
|
Workroom to Window A Designer's Guide to the Sewing Workroom by Marina J. Morgan, Decorating Fabricator ISBN 1-891429-22-1 Skills/Sewing, 149-pages $19.95 |
|
Drunkalogue: The Road to Recovery By Louise Medulan Froehlich, MA ISBN 1-891429-43-4 Health, 215-pages $14.95 |
|
Chapter 1
What does it mean to be addicted? It means giving power to something in your life. As time goes on, you may call it a “problem,” but it is actually a power that has been established. Something has been pleading with you “Make me a power. Let me be like God.” Whatever it is, has pleaded for power, and you have said “Yes!” We all have reasons for doing what we do. Good ones. Bad ones. Still, they are reasons. There is a shadow side to human nature. Through the years, many names have been attributed to it: the disowned self, the lower self, the dark twin, the repressed self, the alter ego, the id. Something in the way it suffers and attempts to circumvent pain has led to a rather surprising discovery. The fact is, people will do considerably more to avoid pain than they will to gain pleasure. It is a rather sad statistic but anyway, there it is. I might have argued with it once, but no more. Owning the shadow side of myself, finally confronting it and assimilating its contents into a larger self-concept has been the journey of a lifetime. At its worst, I would have to say it was most accurately and succinctly described by Dante, who wrote: Midway upon the journey of life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost... So bitter is it, death is little more. Addicts know all about that dark forest. They cannot really imagine a world beyond it, and yet there is such a world. As a recovering alcoholic, I eventually learned that I would have to reside in various regions along the way to that better world. The first region was the region of total hopelessness and despair. It offered little comfort except for the next drink, and the next, and finally, a numbing stupor that led to eventual unconsciousness—a kind of temporary suicide. My life at this time was totally chaotic, and when I was sober enough to feel anything at all, I felt guilty and ashamed. The second region was a grey little world without any clear rewards. While I lived there, I exerted all the will and strength I possessed in order to avoid slipping back into the region of chaos and hopelessness. I was not always sure if I would make it, or even if I wanted to make it. Rehabilitation seemed to hold some kind of key, but the future was too far-off to place any great amount of faith in. The last region in which I came to live was one of empowerment, where I have found new meaning and purpose for my life. I have been fortunate enough to regain my vitality and enthusiasm, and am grateful for each and every day. From this vantage point, it is hard to explain or even understand what sent me into that death spiral of alcoholism. The beginning of a habit is like an invisible thread. Every time we repeat an act, we strengthen the strand, and add another filament. In time, it becomes a great cable that binds every thought, every feeling, every act. I cannot really say when I first became a person who compulsively engaged in self-destructive behavior, despite the harm that I knew it could cause. I did not think of it as self-destructive behavior at first. I felt I was engaging in a form of self-medication, something that would make me feel better, even happier for a time. I did not expect to feel vulnerable, and helpless, and alone. Inside of me, I knew there lived an angry child — a child who had worked on black-dirt farms since the age of seven, for $1.25 a day. And because I was the oldest, the care of five sisters and a brother was often entrusted to me. I cannot recall that I felt any particular way about my childhood. All I was told was that my parents had promised to take care of my Uncle Stanley’s fields while he was away in the service, and that this would mean a lot of work. So, every summer I weeded vegetables. In August, I picked cucumbers, harvested corn, and cut lettuce. I also cooked, and ironed and cleaned house, while I baby-sat my siblings. I suffered with constant backaches and headaches, and sometimes wondered if all the children in the world had to work as hard as this. Still, children are resilient, and they learn to live with the things they cannot change. Another of those things was the way I felt about myself. During my years in parochial grammar and high school, I thought that God had deserted me because I was so bad. I felt I had to be bad if I could never do anything to please my mother or the nuns. I have no doubt that whatever went wrong began in those very early years. My emotional reasoning eventually led to an “all or nothing” polarity in my thinking, so typical of young children. If someone didn’t like me, then they must hate me. If my parents thought I should work and never play, then I was being punished. And if I was being punished, then this could only mean that I was bad. My thoughts had become so totally distorted by the time I was eighteen that I married in an effort to escape my life at home. Joseph, my new husband, got drunk and raped me on our wedding night, and that was the beginning of our marriage. It didn’t occur to me that Joseph might be psychologically traumatized until I met his family. Then, I was surprised to find that his father was the truly domineering one. One day, when Joseph needed a tooth pulled, his father argued, so convincingly, that a different tooth was causing the problem, that the dentist ended up pulling the wrong one. Joseph’s father also attempted to keep his son out of the service, but in this case, the government won. Nonetheless, Joseph graduated as the valedictorian of his high school class, and tried in every way he could to be the model son. Meanwhile, his younger brother made no effort to obey the rules, but was rarely scolded or reprimanded for anything he did. Joseph was totally intimidated by his father, even as an adult. I never understood why until I was told by a therapist that he had been victimized by his father when he was barely five. Joseph’s mother died when he was thirteen, succumbing to the effects of cruel beatings and broken health. This, then, was the situation I had married into. Whatever I had imagined for my future certainly didn’t include any of this. Still, it seemed to me that the future could be different from the past. I began to think in terms of a family of my own. Divorce was out of the question. As my mother so tersely expressed it: “You’ve made your bed. Now, lie in it.” Our first child, born one year and two months after our marriage, was a girl. Joseph and his family were deeply disappointed. Two years later, another daughter arrived. While I was still in the hospital, Joseph reacted in anger, insisting it was all my fault. A nurse, who happened to overhear, calmly informed him that it was the man who determined the sex of a child. Soon after the birth of this second baby, I was forced to go back to work. After graduating, Joseph had continued to work on his father’s farm, but the farm wasn’t prospering. The bills had been piling up while we waited for a better season and a better crop, but it simply never happened. Because women’s salaries were so pitifully inadequate, I decided to go into sales, where commission rates were firmly established, and gender played no role. As my earnings began to increase, Joseph’s gradually decreased. He spent more time at the bar, where he often would stay until closing. The children were living with an absentee father, who rarely saw them, and who seemed to take no interest in them. Because of his own childhood, he did not know how to relate to his children, but soon, he had two more. First, another daughter was born, and then finally, a son. By now, I was working incredibly hard, both at work and at home, trying to care for the family. I felt guilty, as many working mothers do, about being away from my children. In an effort to make things up to them, I would cook elaborate meals. And I often spent my weekends cleaning the house until it was literally spotless. I can’t really say what I was hoping to prove with all this. Perhaps I simply thought this was my role in life. I know I wanted to be a good wife and mother. Our family had grown to three girls and two boys when I was told that I was pregnant with twins. I had always wanted twins, and so, I did all that the doctor ordered. In the past, I had suffered several miscarriages, but was determined to carry these babies to term... |
|
Drunkalogue: The Road to Recovery By Louise Medulan Froehlich, MA ISBN 1-891429-43-4 Health, 215-pages $14.95 |
