a city of random beauty

In late 2024, after weaving a shawl, I decided I wanted to weave something I could sew with. Only one tiny obstacle stood between me and my goal: I had zero sewing skills.

Buttons I attempted to sew back on always inevitably fell off. My mother had once, apparently, sewn her own maternity clothes when she was pregnant with me, but the pillow I'd sewn in elementary school with the stuffing poking out between every stitch was the pinnacle of my skills.

Not one to be deterred by a lack of knowledge, I decided to enroll in a class. (Alas, for me, passion and interest always fail in the face of unstructured learning and procrastination. To ensure success, I seek out classes, co-learning, and similar situations).

In late 2024, only one class in all of Chicago had an opening. Unlike other classes, this one didn't have a curriculum. Instead, the classes are capped at 6 people and the instructor helps you complete whatever project you bring, teaching you new skills as you need them. Considering I did not yet have a project, I very swiftly found a dress pattern online I didn't hate that was simple enough for a first project.

Since that first dress (which I still wear, but usually under a sweater so it looks like a very fully green skirt), I've made a button-down (...just need to finish the buttons...), a pencil skirt, two skorts (LOVE these), a failed dress that I 'rescued' into a top that is nearly indecent, a tank top, several bags, and a headband.

Sewing a precise distance around a curve still confounds me. I sewed my first zipper last night (into a welt pocket; I screwed up the first one and had to re-cut the lining piece and pocket to try again). I've learned that sewing with rayon is a pain and that basting is never to be underestimated. I now own both a sewing machine and a serger, and have used both.

When I was laid off, I stopped sewing. Partially I was frustrated because I could not get my woven tank top to fit right. Partially because doing something fun when I had jobs to apply for and a story to write filled me with icky guilt feelings, even as I reminded myself how irrational those feelings were.

As my machines gathered dust and my planned projects (a pair of sunny linen trousers!) fell off my to-do list, I started wondering if sewing was going to be like other interests and hobbies: an intense rush of interest and obsession followed by apathy.

Then, the instructor from my class in 2024 and 2025 emailed out new dates for the winter sessions starting in January. I didn't have the money, but my mother convinced me to use the money I'd saved for buying Christmas gifts (and then didn't spend because I basically skipped Christmas this year) on the class. I'm so glad I did. I finished my third or fourth session this past Saturday. 

When I went in, I bought the muslins for that tank top I never finished and explained what I'd worked through. The instructor complimented the work I'd completed so far and then helped me fix the last one. One more muslin and I finally had my pattern (note: It is a Cashmerette pattern, but several points weren't right on me).

That tank top (light yellow, covered in butterflies) is what I finished during class yesterday. This energized me to try making a bag I'd long put off. That bag was finished just before 4am this morning. I love it. The shape and size fit my body well. The pockets are generous. The outside is a cotton canvas printed with maps; the inside is scrap muslin. My computer fits easily.

I used scrap this morning to make a headband. 

This hobby fuels my needs to learn and create. Classes give me a weekly social outlet. How did I almost lose this?