Dear Wine and Cheese (Dresses 67 and 68)

Dear Wine and Cheese
you are the only things i have ingested today. not feeling so good.

All my love,

Dear Red Wheelbarrow Books (Dress 39)

Dearest Red Wheelbarrow Books,
I've never been happier to work than I am amongst the mustyish smell of books. Tomorrow night you become something more than that, from a church of literature, to a (nondenominational) place of happiness when two people get married there. I'll be bartending the reception- and when I was thinking of what I could wear that was both pretty and splatter-safe it seemed inevitable that they become one item of clothing (now with 20% free splatter.)

Dye-washed cotton with a pieced-in black cotton/something stain resistant blend apron. 3D bow fixed at the back, zip down the side.

All my love,

Dear 13-Year old IP (Dress 36)

Dearest 13 Year old IP,
You thought it would be a good idea to paint your ceiling lots of different colours, didn't you. Well you weren't prepared for the angsty bland years of 15yearold mopeydom, or the minimalism-crazy year that followed that, or the antique-minimalist-colour-happy-oversaturated strangeness that remains, were you.
Oh well. It still looks pretty interesting if you don't really focus or have particularly refined taste.
(Dress specs: one piece of dark purple cotton blend for the sleeves-under-bust-curve routine, and scraps into a corset-belt, lavender cotton all the way down. For a picnic or small child's birthday party.)

All my love,

Dear Mondrian (Dress 34)

Dearest Mondrian,
I meant today's dress to be a subtle tribute- it turned out just kinda silly; but I think it'd be a nice summer staple. Light cotton with white lining.

All my love,

Dear Lady Cottington C/O Brian Froud (Dress 31)

Dearest Lady Cottington (Care Of: Brian Froud)
I devoured your book as a child, enveloped in the idea of exploration and discovery and (most important; for an eight year old) Fairies.

I'm a little older, and nevertheless, although the fairy phase has been and  gone, and taken with it a host of other childhood obsessions, I always come back to the book- perhaps because of the beautiful calligraphy, more probably it is the stunning watercolours by the genius Brian Froud- their delicacy and blend is simply stunning; and so we have:

Dress for a pressed orchid:

All my love,

 

Dear Joan Holloway, (Dress 27)

Dearest Joan Holloway,

An inspiration to curvy gals everywhere not to dress like those stick figures they (rather annoyingly) get to advertise clothing lines inspired by your look....

(via: this is london.co.uk, L-R, Paula Ke, Victoria Beckham and Marks and Spenser.)

All my love,

Dear Chekhov (Dress 16)

Dearest Chekhov,
You're REMARKABLY boring. It does not help that the lecturer looks like a marine biologist. Maybe next tuesday you'll get a dress with a turtle print or lizard scales or something. It would not surprise me: anything to distract myself from the brain-corroding boredom of this class.
I'm not particularly pleased with how today's dress turned out- it was meant to be more opulent and ridiculous, but I think i'm saving that for something Mcqueenesque and/or Baroque in the coming week.

Costume for one of his silly-girl characters. The upper portion of the flower is held in place with a choker-style ribbon tie. Muslin and Silk.

All my love,

Dear ShoulderDusters (Dress 8)

Dear ShoulderDusters,
You're kind of silly, and over-the top, but between a girl in my classes' Art Nouveau diary, and the tutor's earrings, I got some sort of strange costume.
(The piece to the left is the continuation of the back of the dress' 'top layer'. Detachable so that the bottom layer can be washed thoroughly, while the top layer is more slowly-delicately-hand-washed.) The piece to the right is a side-view.

I'm not sure what the costume is for, a personification of the moon or an elf of some sort.
All my love,