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 Korean Girl on the Train (Dress 152)

Dear Korean Girl on the Train,

You were adorable and inquisitive, and you asked me all sorts of questions about my drawings, and then proved in about 4 seconds how insanely far I have to go when it comes to drawing- hell but you draw fast, and accurate, and pretty!

This dress reminded you of a traditional Korean dress- and I see what you mean, but with a twist.

(Blue matte satin, and silver matte satin in the middle, seperated by 'bands' of rubber tubing filled with something vaguely mercurial.)

All my love,
IP

Dear Yoska (Dress 95)

Dear Yoska,
You saw my wallet on the train- sitting on the seat, long after I'd up and left.
You googled my surname, and called my parents. And less than 8 hours after i'd lost it- I had it back in my hands. Relief unparrallelled!
I sat outside your apartment imagining what you'd look like- we'd exchanged a fair few textmessages and I wondered who this kindly soul would look like. Turns out you look like a very young slightly frightened male version of my friend Zahra- and you're a student pilot, which makes the socially responsible good samaritan thing make a little more sense. Honestly I expected to have my identity stolen or something- not have it returned with embarrassment at my thanks.
So in honour of those badges trainee pilots wear (although I think any pilot wears this one)
And in thanks to all kind strangers,
(Printed cotton for the dress, structured metallic-blue-grey for the 'badge' with a space for a brooch in the centre.)
All my love,

Dear Eduardo (and other strangers) or: Dress 66

Dear Eduardo (and other strangers)
You make travelling interesting, and humbling. You make leaving the house exciting and full of possibility and potential. Who might I meet next? Where are they from? Where are they going? Will I ever see them again? (probably not.)

Thankyou for the thousand conversations,
All my love,