Dear Hamletmachine Tech Week (Dresses 180-189)

Dear Hamletmachine Tech Week,
OMFG.

Exhausting.

All my love,
IP

Dear Tailors, (Dress 179)

Dear Tailors,

I would have to employ you to make this. There is no way in hell I could.

All my love,

IP

Dear Graziella (Dress 178)

Dear Graziella,

Your support of your son is heart warming. For all that you don't understand a lot of what he does, you try, in your way, to encourage him in his love of theatre and film. I assume it is you that bought him the clapperboard.
All my love,
IP

Dear Idea (Dress 177)

Dear Idea
A) Day 150! I am most excited.
B) I have had to postpone the making of this month's dress. What with Hamletmachine eating my days, and trying to keep house while my mother is away, I have no time.
BUT.
C) If I do another 365 next year (after a couple of months break.) I want to do a jewellery 365. It's broader, so there is more variety in what I can design, and therefore more freedom. This dress is based on a ring design I had, which i've seen in real life since then (someone else thought as I did.)
All my love,
IP

Dear Casa Tsipos (Dress 176)

Dear Casa Tsipos,

You're a strange collection of roccocco, rustic and bizzare aesthetics. Everything is embellished or curliqued, embossed and engraved. There's always another inspiration point- always something else to find. Today: the embellishment on the coffee table.

Strange to find it there, but it's actually a sort-of nice dress.

All my love,

IP

Dear Catherine (Dress 175)

Dearest Cathi,

I miss you so much, I hope you're having a simply wonderful time in Italy, I'm sure you're learning stacks, and seeing all manner of amazing gorgeous things. From the things you said just before you left, I understand it'll almost be like you're the proverbial blank slate, your artistic understanding rewritten by a connection to the heart of all that you've ever learnt. That's how you say things- this intense love of the history of art. It's been wonderful to have seen you grow and mature and find love in this work. I'm insanely proud of you, furball.

(Starched cotton covered in a synthetic coat- white-board style.)

All my love,

Sister,
IP

Dear Ms Baulch (Dress 174)

Dear Ms Baulch,
You were my art teacher at high school- doing your very best to coax any artistic skill out of girls who took the subject out of laziness, and gently pushing those girls who genuinely loved the subject out of their comfort zones. In year ten I did my final (an exercise in pattern and oil pastel) on bats- a capture of my childhood, sitting in the moonlight cinema at the botanical gardens, as hundreds of fruit bats wheeled above, diving at the flickering lights. This dress comes first as birds (but is available in batman print as well)
All my love,
IP

Dear Meat Market Milliner (Dress 173)

Dear Meat-Market-Milliner,
I do not remember your name. I was very young, and spent the majority of my time toddling around my parent’s ankles at the artists’ market, a collection of odds-and-ends housed in the guts of an old meat market, big bluestone shell, honeycombed with little shops, an art bookshop, the Hungarian goldsmith with the waxed moustaches, the puppeteer who also made masks, the glassworkers, and the milliner. She’d let me into her lair, the back room where she stitched a hundred tiny flowers into the brim of a Oaks’ Day hat, or repair the crown of an old man’s fedora. There is something beautiful about the meeting point of felt and silk, waxed flowers and fruit, netting and feathers.

I was reminded of you by an article in the paper about the tiny workshops in Paris. Embroidery and Featherwork ateliers, where Lagerfeld’s creations are brought to life by little collections of old women, where young girls are introduced to the skills handed down between gossip and political debate over a workstation littered with silk chrysanthemums. What I would do to spend time photographing these women at their work.

Today’s dress is in homage to the skill of feather-pinning. The collar and embellishments are spotted turkey (?) feathers.
All my love,
IP

Dear Sudden OpShop (Dress 172)

Dear Sudden OpShop,

You popped up in a cobbled side street for a couple of hours. You had ancient lace, a sheer spotted shirt, and a silk scarf. And you were cheap and lovely, even if you smelt a little odd.

Today’s dress has printed spots on the stomach region, and cuffs. There are buttons (but they are hidden.)

All my love,
IP
P.S. Apologies for what I think is my worst drawing yet. Going straight to pen is always an error.

Dear Stranger (Dress 171)

Dear Stranger

I lent you the shade of my shoddily made spotty umbrella, before the wind turned it out- I think we must have made a lovely image, two girls, laden with bags, holding an inside-out umbrella for dear life- somewhat like an alteration I made to a statue in the gardens once. It’s a Grecian copy- A hammer thrower mid-swing.

There was an article in the paper about it, and how every day someone stole the brass hammer, until the authorities, sick of the expense, replaced it with a spray painted length of broom handle and Styrofoam (or something equally cheap). That got stolen too- It seems it was more mischief than brass. I went past that statue twice a day for four years- and like clockwork, there he’d be; straining on the weight of cheap plastic in the morning, and then, in the evening, the hammer-thrower, straining on the weight of air. One day, at the death of my umbrella, I brought a couple of friends with me to give him the upturned object. Needless to say he looked rather silly. So did we (I suspect).

In the morning, my umbrella was gone.

This is all that is left.

(I’m ok with that. I think it is my nicest design to date.)

All my love,

IP

Dear Caulfield Op-Shop (Dress 170)

Dear Caulfield Op-Shop,

I found a cape in your dusty innards. Looking for shoes I found her, hanging amongst drab coats and pilled bed-jackets. Long and woollen, and fire-engine red. There’s a faded circle on the left breast. Turns out you’re not just gorgeous and warm- you’re a part of history, a relic from WW2, when nurses wore red capes. I cut you down 13” before I knew. I’m going to use your excess to make a hood, and now you’ve got pockets, and you’ll get arm-holes soon.

I get the feeling I’m going to wear you for a long time.

Here was one hypothesis as to the alterations:

All my love,
IP

Dear Fashion, Image and Advertising (Dress 169)

Dear Fashion, Image and Advertising,
After a discussion on the nature of capitalism in Performance Class, going to a lecture on the elements of consumer culture was a no-brainer. The straps (and continuing lines) are thick satin ribbon, the ‘fringe’ ribbons at the base also. There are enamelled black numbers at the base of the dress.
All my love,
IP

Dear Hamletmachine (Dress 168)

Dear Hamletmachine,

Your aesthetic is more capitalist signposts than the mechanical post-industrial feel I thought we were going for. This would have been a nice bridesmaid costume if that had been the case.

The cogs in the middle are real cogs, and the rectangles are open to the skin.

All my love,

IP

Dear Abbotsford (Dress 167)

Dear Abbotsford,

Oh my.
Oh wow.
Can you say French architecture? And Victorian plasterwork? And Gold-Rush Era bluestone gorgeousness?
That doesn’t fix the fact that this dress looks more Playschool than a homage to architecture.
Oh well.
All my love,

IP

Dear Jess (Dress 166)

Dear Jess,

You expressed a profound love of clothes celebrating the beauty that is underboob. This one’s for you, (http://somethingimpractical.blogspot.com/ or http://sideofcake.blogspot.com/ )

All my love,
IP