Natalie

As my business grew, I began to consider finding someone to help me. I had moved my sewing space around inside our house on Twenty-First Avenue to accommodate my business until I’d transformed the living room into my shop, with the dining room becoming the dining/living room.  Sarah and Paul each had a bedroom, the breakfast nook was the massage therapy room, and the basement was rented to a painting contractor for storage. I slept on a day bed in the living/sewing room, which was filled with a large work table, an industrial Bernina, an overlock and a Viking sewing machine.

I went to the “Sewing Workshop,” where sewing classes were taught to see if the owner knew of anyone looking for a job.  She responded doubtfully, but a Russian immigrant woman came into her shop looking for work – a coincidence that benefited both of us.

That was how Natalie found her way to my door, shyly trying out her few words of English to let me know she was looking for work. She was wearing a stylish outfit, pointing out her tailoring skills as she modeled the suit she had made. I knew without a doubt that this kind, unspoiled woman loved the craft of sewing.

Although I had not spoken to Natalie about my business motto, “Always say yes,” she instinctively knew the philosophy, having survived life in Russia and maneuvering her family through immigration to a new life in San Francisco.

Along with dress-making she had studied tapestry restoration and classical drapery-making at the Hermitage, and, though words were few, we were kindred spirits as we learned to work together.

Not long after her arrival, I chanced upon a new drapery project for a large arched window. Standing on ladders with a huge sheet of paper, together we traced the arch of the molding. Then we took the drawing back to my work-table to plot out the changing heights and shape of the arch as it curved around for the drapery’s straight drop to the floor at its widest point. There was the plotting of the French pleats to correspond to the inset tracking along the arch with its hole to slip the drapery hook into, and the challenge of making a good-looking pleat that was higher on one side than the other—not to mention applying stiff buckram to a curve! We managed to accomplish the task, though the home-owner grumbled, thinking that $350 for our labor was a lot of money.

As we sewed, Natalie told me stories about living in Communist Russia. I learned that everyone who had the potential was required to become a scientist or an engineer. The three Russian women who worked for me at different times were all highly educated engineers of varying disciplines, none of them interested in the work they had a degree in.

As the sewing projects evolved, we took on a request from an attorney who had purchased one of the big Tudor homes at the top of Divisadero and who had been invited to be part of an elegant home tour. The most interesting of our projects was to construct a canopy for a four-poster bed. A wooden frame was built, and then it was a matter of attaching the fabric around the frame in such a way that we could draw it into the center in a starburst series of pleats.

Working in people’s homes exposed me to a look into my clients’ lives. I had glimpses of families ranging from well-run to unhappy dysfunctional ones, with depressed, indifferent wives - neurotic individuals who were afraid of germs or even the fact that something would get dirty.  In these unhappy families there were people obsessed with perfection who were unable to be responsible for their decisions and liked to have someone else absorb the costs of their mistakes.  There was a lecherous man who wanted to grope me while I was on a ladder and tried to sneak a kiss when his wife was in the other room. His wife was a psychotherapist, and he had been one of her patients.  And there was the poor, nervous, rich woman I did so many hurried projects for, only to hear that her husband had been charged with embezzlement.

My psychic assessments of people became fine-tuned because I learned that in the eyes of a con artist or opportunist I was an easy mark. If my budget allowed, I would try to take heed as I considered a new client, listening to my quiet inner voice that was saying to me, “You don’t have to say yes this time!” Over the years I became more aware of how sensitive I was  especially toward those with superior attitudes who put forward an aura of false authority founded on their large, arrogant egos. I’m sure my sensitivity and malleable value of myself was the result of growing up in my strange, stingy family! Then there were the clients who had an inner attitude which embraced life; they fostered joy and abundance and creativity with their accepting attitudes. Between these opposing outlooks there were varying gradations. I responded to these variations as if I were a creature who opens and closes with the availability of light.

My learning process took me and Natalie through the making of pillows and cushions, banquettes, bedspreads, shams and bed skirts, all with variation in style, fabric and embellishment.  Also all manner of window treatments (drapes and shades).  All these experiences made possible new and often pleasant opportunities.  For example, when one of my very nice clients asked me if I would make a slipcover for her couch, of course I said yes and found myself spending the day, all alone this time, in a sunny bungalow in Noe Valley with an extensive collection of 1930s jazz to listen to as I worked with a large bolt of fabric and her large couch. There I was, having been given an opportunity to try something new in an atmosphere of possibility. I spent several days with the project, working away with the couch, which I thought of as “the elephant I am making a suit for”, remembering the golden rule of sewing—“you can take it away, but you can’t put it back on”.  All the knowledge I had acquired came forward as needed till there I was, presenting to my pleased client the finished couch, looking quite elegant in its new suit.

Natalie and I worked together on a number of bridal gowns. My brides tended to be unorthodox in their projects which included transforming a 1920’s  grandmother’s wedding gown ; reproducing a Victorian riding habit; learning how to make silk roses to embellish a bride’s shoulders; the remaking of the gown of a deceased sister; and the recycling of the bride’s own gown from a previous wedding.

But the work on my most important wedding gown took place after I moved to Petaluma and Natalie went on to have her own sewing business.  My daughter Sarah and I began planning in September 2005 to be ready for her wedding August 12, 2006. We began the project by looking in magazines, and then we visited high-end bridal shops, keeping secret the fact that I intended to make my daughter’s gown. Visiting those shops was a necessary step in selecting the style suitable for this bride. I tend to be particular, but my daughter’s critical eye  knows what is best without a moment’s hesitation.

After several explorations at different shops, we finally found the right style.  I was then faced the challenge of translating a finished gown back into its beginnings.  I went back twice more to add to my knowledge of detail, taking a friend with me so she could secretly write down details as I dictated them to her. The only problem was her lack of stealth, as she nervously looked around to see if the saleswoman knew what we were up to, the equivalent of spying in the bridal gown world. The notations were vague, with remarks like “width of train sixteen hands across”,  and my hurried sketches on a napkin provided only a hint of how the gown was made.

Moving on to the next phase, which was more grounded in reality, I worked from patterns with similar lines and then on to a muslin mock-up, gradually adding to my knowledge till I felt reasonably confident about cutting into the glowing creamy white satin silk we had selected after an extensive search.

And so the project progressed, as Sarah planned details for the ceremony at St. Dominic’s and the reception to follow at the Pacific Union Club. There were countless details and budgets to adjust, lists of guests, menus, the band, the cake, the flowers, the bridesmaids—and my labor of love. 

The gown’s neckline made a sweetheart curve over the breasts to end with a narrow, almost off-the-shoulder strap leading to a low “V” at the back, fastened with a series of tiny covered buttons. The front of the gown was cut on the bias with a sarong drape at the waist, creating soft folds across the bodice and hip before falling to the ground in a simple line. The back, fitted over the hip, had a gathering of silk below the covered buttons, forming a bustle which cascaded to the floor to become the train.

The veil outlined the gown and train with an edge of scalloped lace which I hand-beaded. At the reception, when the veil was put aside, there were gardenias for Sarah’s dark brown hair, and I constructed the train with an inner mechanism akin to a roman shade, with cords on the inside which pulled the fabric so that, when shortened, the train became the graceful gathering of the bustle. Tucked away under the bustle was a humble recycled blue zipper, eliminating the need for finding a blue object for Sarah to carry down the aisle.

The years of learning by saying “yes” to opportunity has made me familiar with taking on the unknown.  Although often uncomfortable, I can recommend it as a way to approach life, finding originality even within repetition.