Category: My favourite makers

Nov 12

Scrap of the week #25

 

These deliciously vibrant wool and silk Wallace Sewell ribbon-like woven trimmings were being sold on the Ray Stitch stall at the Selvedge Winter Fair at the weekend. I see that you can buy them on the Ray Stitch website too (though I got a better deal at the Selvedge fair – another good excuse to go next time, should you need one!).

Wallace Sewell ribbon trims

 

There’s so much you could do with these strips. I can see them gathered simply along their length to create elegant ruffles, or knife-pleated. They could be applied to a cushion, or the front of a jacket.  Or turned into corsages, or buttons. The zingy colours are so rich that a little goes a long way, so I’d like to try cutting some  of the silk ones into short lengths as tabs or tags, or jewel-like visible mending patches, making a prominent feature of their frayed edges. Or I could just wrap them around the gifts of fortunate friends.

Wallace Sewell woven strips

 

And what would you do with them?

 

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Nov 11

Selvedge Winter Fair

 

Yesterday I had a really magical day in London at the Selvedge Winter Fair.

It was my first time at a Selvedge event though I’ve been hoping to get to one for years. Selvedge magazine — in case you haven’t encountered its square format, matt paper, and distinctive print scent — has to be the read of choice for the textile cognoscenti. It’s always creatively stimulating and often delightfully obscure. The visuals are exemplary, and the tone of the text is knowledgeable, direct and unpatronising. Published six times a year, Selvedge is available infrequently enough for you to work up an appetite for the next issue, and to make the £9.95 cover price just about affordable (though, of course, you get a better deal if you subscribe).

So eager was I to be at the head of the queue for the Winter Fair’s 10am start that, blearily clutching my Earl Grey, I caught the 7.13 train from Bath Spa. The fair, by reputation, fills up fast, so getting in early to a relatively uncrowded hall is worth making the effort for. It wasn’t just the fair; I was looking forward to meeting up with a handful of friends there too. And, according to plan, there were just a couple of people ahead of me when the doors opened.

The Chelsea Town Hall location was a new one for Selvedge, much bigger than those previously used. It is grand and capacious and did the job, though the lighting in some areas left something to be desired.

As I wandered around I was a little starstruck by some of the craftspeople and their beautiful wares, many  familiar from the pages of the magazine. Ellie Evans pincushions, for instance. They are marvellously weighty in the hand, being full to the brim with emery.

IMG_2605

And I have long been drawn to these felt clogs, spotted on the Selvedge Drygoods stall…

Selvedge Winter Fair 2012

Julie Arkell had a stall. I didn’t speak to her, but one of the joys of an event like this is being able to deal directly with the designer/maker, to hear unmediated how they have created an item you are interested in buying. That is a really charming experience. As was getting to spend so much time with talented and delightful fellow visitors Ruth, Alison, Jo and Jo’s sister-in-law. Thanks to all for hanging out  – I really had the best time.

Having resolved not to buy anything, quite predictably all of my good intentions went out the window in the face of such extreme textile temptation. Most of my purchases were gifts and I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but here are some of the things I enjoyed seeing:

Abigail Brown‘s birds

Dyed blankets from Sasha Gibb

Knitwear by Di Gilpin

Knitwear with scrap textile strips by Mary Davis

Welsh loveliness from Damson & Slate

Upcycled blanket wares from Matilda Rose

Painted textiles from Emma Bradbury

The redwork embroidery of Stitch by Stitch

However, rest assured that I’ll be able to show you some more Selvedge Winter Fair delights in tomorrow’s Scrap of the Week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Jun 13

Curiously Enough

 

Textile artists’ group Brunel Broderers has an exhibition entitled Curiously Enough running at Ruskin Mill, 1 Mill Bottom, Old Bristol Road, Nailsworth, Gloucestershire, GL6 0LA. It finishes tomorrow, Thursday 14th (note: closes 1pm on final day, otherwise 5pm). If there’s any way you can nip along to it, I’d recommend it. Here’s a glimpse from my visit yesterday.

Susi Bancroft patchwork artSusi Bancroft piece from Curiously EnoughFrom Curiously Enough exhibition, Ruskin Mill

 

 

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Feb 15

Sea Sew

 

I found this delightful little music video while searching for sewing-related films. Turns out I Don’t Know isn’t about sewing at all. The song captures perfectly all the delicious little unknowns you experience when falling in love (apologies Valentine’s Day phobics – just when you thought it was safe to venture out again!). As a bonus there is a pair of scissors at the beginning and some energetic snippety-snipping of paper throughout. Like.

I hadn’t heard of the singer before, though it’s three years since the very charming Lisa Hannigan‘s solo album Sea Sew was released.  Somehow I managed to miss her appearances on Jools Holland, Steven Colbert,  the Mercury Awards, and also her vocals on Greys Anatomy. But, hey! Better late than never!

There’s a Daily Telegraph interview with Lisa over here. It begins: ‘ She knits the artwork for her album covers with her mother, and plays broken-down, wheezy old instruments. Her blog posts contain not bitter tirades, but cake-making recipes.’  What’s not to love?

Fabulously unstarry, she says that her genre is best described as  ’plinky plonk rock’. More of her very watchable videos over here. Am I really the only person in the universe who hadn’t heard of Lisa before today? Do let me know if you like her too and feel free to point me in the direction of any favourite songs.

 

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Dec 08

More Rag Rugs

Jenni Stuart-Anderson has written a sequel to her first book Rag Rug Making. More Rag Rugs is hot off the press this very week (it’s published today, in fact), and if you hurry you can get a signed copy just in time for Christmas.

More Rag Rugs

Jenni Stuart-Anderson's new book is published today

Jenni really knows her rag rug techniques and was taught by one of the last-and-best traditional exponents of the craft of progging, a method of pulling small pieces of scrap textile through a hessian backing, for which you need a splendid little tool called a bodger (the sprung device featured above which Jenni also happens to sell, by the way). Well, Jenni’s first book has been selling like proverbial hotcakes over the years. I haven’t seen this new one yet but am delighted to tell you that one of my own earliest efforts (see below) is featured in the gallery section.

If you get the chance to see Jenni at work (she’s a fixture at most of the big UK textiles shows) do seek her out and watch her closely. Better still, attend one of her workshops. I went along to one earlier this year, and there’s no substitute for seeing an expert manipulating the materials in front of your eyes, and having the luxury of a whole day to pursue a project and begin to really turn your own hand to it. 

I took along some yellow & blue shirting – mostly my husband’s worn-out work shirts and PJs – which I hoped to plait into a rug, inspired by a doll’s house mat made by my Pennsylvanian grandmother some time around the early-to-mid-20th century (you can see it in that earlier post of mine). It was exciting seeing how first the plaiting and then the coiling and lacing (sewing the long plait together) altered the look of the shirtings. I don’t know if you can see, but I used both vertical and horizontal stripes to varying effect. It’s rather hard to predict how the plait will look, but I found the final peppered result pleasing.  Apologies for the dull picture quality, by the way. Can’t you tell that this was taken in a typical British summer? Only the UK in July will do this for you! [Note to self: you really must get on top of those Photoshop image-brightening tools.] Incidentally, plaiting as a rug technique appears to have originated in New England (known there as braiding), really taking off in the nineteenth century, the happy offspring of a boom in straw-bonnet-making. You learn something new every day.

2011 Jly Minolta 210

Plaited rug made from striped and chequered shirtings

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Sep 07

Waxing lyrical

Welcome back to the new autumn term here at Scrapiana Towers! My pencils are freshly sharpened, my needles have become almost dangerously pointy (OK, I won’t mention strawberry needle emeries again for at least 24 hours, promise), and I’m wearing big pockets, eagerly anticipating a crop of shiny new conkers.

Having apparently spent so much time since my last post in the company of bees (I haven’t actually been sitting on that bench quite all this time), it seemed right to return with one of my favourite topics: beeswax.

The application of beeswax is a time-honoured thread-improving technique. I often wax lyrical about it (most recently when asked to list my sewing essentials for Cross Stitcher magazine – out soon, I think) because it’s such a beautifully simple and thrifty idea. Drawing cotton or linen thread along the edge of a block of beeswax before hand-sewing renders it stronger and more resilient, less inclined to twist, knot or fray, and more likely to run smoothly through the fabric. Sewing guru Ruth Singer recommends it in her excellent manual Sew It Up, mentioning its history as a traditional tailor’s aid, and that it’s particularly helpful with long hand-sewn seams; she suggests running over the thread with a warm iron to melt the wax into the fibres slightly before use, though I must admit I haven’t tried that. Dollmaker extraordinaire Mimi Kirchner says that beeswax turns an ordinary thread into super-thread, and is fantastic for the sturdy attachment of coat buttons. And so it is.

Cobblers and sail-makers of old would have routinely coated their thread with beeswax, its waterproof qualities an added advantage. Up the social scale among the leisured classes, Georgian ladies could obtain cakes of wax decorated with gold-paper stars and other motifs. A Georgian lady’s sewing box might also contain a natty little device aptlycalled a thread waxer, designed to hold a small cake of wax on a pin between two protective ends of ivory or mother-of-pearl: think of wafers round an ice-cream sandwich and you get the idea. These were sometimes incorporated into another device, such as a tape-measure. The Victorians favoured a wooden wax box, sometimes carved in the form of fruit. And presumably these were perfectly suited to house the balls of white and yellow beeswax mentioned in an 1869 domestic guide by American author Harriet Beecher Stowe and her less famous sister Catherine. The extra refinement of white (‘bleached’) beeswax was often preferred as it was less likely to stain the palest of fabrics.

But beeswax isn’t the only product that has been used for thread-conditioning. Once upon a time, especially if you didn’t happen to have access to a hive, it was de rigeur to use your own earwax for the job, harvested with the aid of a device called an ear-spoon. I’m guessing I just exceeded your “Eeuww!” threshold, and if you now have beverage-splatter all over your screen, I apologise. Our stitching forebears may have been resourceful, but I confidently predict no comeback any time soon for earwax-based sewing aids. Double-dip or no, the trusty Q-tip is here to stay. Though, on behalf of ENT specialists everywhere, I feel beholden to add that you really shouldn’t put anything in your ear that’s smaller than your elbow.

If you can overcome your squeamishness, the notion of the pre-cotton-bud era is intriguing. Ear-spoons – or ear-scoops as they were also known – were essentially just a tiny bowl on a disproportionately long handle. They were made from a variety of materials: silver or gold, ivory or bone. They cropped up in ancient Roman beauty-sets (presumably just for personal grooming, but who knows?) as well as Georgian sewing etuis. In the seventeenth century, they were often incorporated into the end of a silver bodkin, that indispensable status symbol required to lace a lady into her wardrobe; if there had been such a thing as a Stuart Swiss army knife, I like to think that it would have featured a flip-out ear-spoon among its crop of bespoke blades.

A silver bodkin-cum-ear-spoon makes a surprisingly attractive item, but happily you don’t have to acquaint yourself with one intimately (at least, not for sewing purposes) because beeswax isn’t hard to come by. It’s best to use 100% beeswax as paraffin wax can misbehave. I happen to offer prettily shaped and packaged morceaux of stitcher’s beeswax over here on Etsy. And, for the rest of September, I’m offering them on a BOGOF basis – buy one, get one free! They make great stocking fillers for keen needle-persons, I’m told. Here’s what someone said about them a little while back.

How do you feel about beeswax? I confess to being heavily biased. That honeyed tang just can’t be beaten, and I love it in almost any product, from lip-balm to soap to furniture polish. Do you use beeswax for sewing, or for other purposes? Perhaps you can’t abide the stuff. Whatever the case, do tell!

Scrapiana beeswax

Stitcher's beeswax

 

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Jul 18

Mama’s got a brand new peg bag

I had a busy time at the It’s Darling! Vintage & Artisan Fair on Saturday in Bath’s Guildhall. It was good to see so many ID! regulars and old friends, both stallholders and visitors alike (including Faith of Something Fabulous, and Shirley who generously donated me various old sewing bits & bobs which she doesn’t need any longer). It was also a pleasure to meet new people (such as Susi, who kindly featured me there on the Brunel Broderers blog, helpfully mentioning my stitcher’s beeswax – it works, by the way!).  I was very happy to see that Abby Harris of Bubs Bears made it (despite feeling very poorly indeed last week) and that she brought this ticking peg bag with her…

Peg bag

…which I made sure she didn’t have to take home with her again. I’d eyed it up at the spring It’s Darling! and admired Abby’s meticulous workmanship, then kicked myself for not buying it. Incidentally, you might be interested to read Abby’s My First Sewing Machine interview over here. Sorry about the quality of that picture; when it hasn’t actually been raining it’s been dull and overcast in Bath today. There were many other lovely things at the fair too, some of which I hope to mention another day.

 

 

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Jul 14

My first sewing machine #6: Faith Caton-Barber

 

Faith Caton-Barber of Something Fabulous

I’m truly delighted to introduce bespoke dress designer Faith Caton-Barber to my regular sewing-machine-memoir feature, My First Sewing Machine. Faith and I have had adjoining stalls at each and every It’s Darling! fair in Bath to date (the first one was a year ago), which has been a very great pleasure — for me, at least. I’ve coveted her rich, jewel-coloured silk slips, purses, capelets and corsages. She’s been so tolerant when my clutter has encroached onto her territory, and very generously offered me many a gem of sewing wisdom too (there’s always, but always more to learn) and I’ve been able to watch her painstakingly hand-sewing corsets etc during the occasional afternoon lull between visitors. If you haven’t been to an It’s Darling! yet, you’re in for a treat. The next one’s all set for Saturday 16th July from 9.30am-5pm in Bath’s Guildhall (head for the Brunswick Room off the entrance hall). The room is beautiful, and the event is relaxed, friendly, full of lovely stuff, and (even better) FREE to get into. Without further ado, on with the interview!

Scrapiana: Tell me about your first sewing machine, Faith. What was its make, model and colour? Did it have any distinguishing features?

Faith: My first sewing machine was an old black cast iron Singer, remarkably similar to many on display in the windows of All Saints. It had (and still does have) the lovely gold writing familiar to many.  The main distinguishing feature on that machine is that it had been converted and modernised at some point in the 1960s or ’70s with an electric motor and placed in a mildly unattractive bluey-grey plastic case.  It only does straight stitch, doesn’t reverse, but boy can it go at a rate of knots!  Long seams were a doddle and pretty much every pair of curtains in every home I lived in up to age 19 were made on that machine.

A very similar machine to Faith's old family Singer

Scrapiana: Was it gifted to you or borrowed? If you learned to sew on another machine, but then got your own, feel free to describe both.

Faith: My machine belonged to my mother who very generously shared it with me.  It was a friend to both of us, producing so many things from duvet covers to pretty party dresses.  It was such a familiar part of the furniture that no-one seems to quite remember when it arrived and where it came from.  There were so many women with sewing machines (and some men too) in my mother’s family and we have always been a swapping and sharing kind of clan, with various bits of furniture and sewing machines getting used and passed around, some losing their provenance and some gaining an almost mythical status.  For example, my maternal great-grandmother May had a big old cabinet treadle machine which she had upgraded in the 1930s with an industrial motor so that she could do even more sewing in her spare time to earn extra money.  This meant she was able to supplement her factory earnings enough to buy her own home, something almost unheard of in her class and generation.  It also meant that my grandfather and great-aunts and great-uncle had to lend a hand with hems and alterations too… you could say the sewing is in our blood!  That almost revolutionary sewing machine seems to have disappeared and yet my little anonymous Singer is still around, waiting patiently to be used again.

ScrapianaWho taught you to sew? Were they a good teacher?

Faith: My mother Helen taught me to sew although I don’t recall her sitting me down to teach me, I just remember us sewing together and her giving me tips as I went along.  Clearly she did a good job as she got me interested and it all felt perfectly normal to stitch.  I particularly remember her reminding me to leave a seam allowance, and to measure twice and cut once when I was trying to make doll dresses. I’d completely failed to do either.  The thought of the wasted fabric still makes me feel uncomfortable now, even though it must only have been small scraps from Mum’s sewing projects.  Mum often sewed my dresses and knitted all sorts of things so there was always a textile stash to rummage through.

When we did a sewing and embroidery project at school, aged 8 (I appliqued and embroidered a sailing boat which my mother still has in a frame), I was pretty confident and didn’t need much ‘teaching’ except when it came to French knots (who doesn’t need reminding about those from time to time?).  When I stayed with my grandparents in the holidays I do also remember sewing with Irene, my grandmother, although that was always by hand as I didn’t learn how to use her beautiful 1920s treadle powered machine (something I mean to change next time I visit).  Grandma used to have a cupboard full of fabric that I’d go through again and again imagining what I would make with each piece.  I still do that with my own fabrics, although I’ve got a lot more than a cupboard’s worth!

Faith's silk purses

Scrapiana: Oh, yes, I think I’d need a quick how-to reminder before embarking on French knots.What’s your earliest memory of using that first machine? What did you make? Do you still have any of your early creations?

Faith: I don’t really remember my first machined creations although I do remember making some summer dresses and a recreation of an 18th century bodice from one of Janet Arnold‘s books, complete with a patchwork diamond stomacher of my own design.  My textiles teacher didn’t think much of it, she seemed to want me to make cushions.  I find it difficult to part with anything that I make so I have all sorts of odd bits and pieces knocking around both in my flat and at my mum’s secreted amongst her sewing things.

Scrapiana: I’m pleased that you persevered, in spite of your teacher. Do you still have your first machine? If you got rid of it, did you give it away to someone you knew? Do you know where it is now?

Faith:  The old Singer is currently somewhere in the depths of Mum’s garage as it hasn’t really been needed since the advent of the Janome XC33 Special Edition with fancy computer beeps and 30 odd stitches and many interchangeable feet.  The Janome was such a good machine that in 2002 when I was in my final year at University, I got another one all to myself.

Faith's workspace: sketches & pictures of gowns, and her Janome machines

My mother and I may have matching machines of a similar vintage, but mine has been much more heavily used, and it shows, with scuffs and dents from being carried about for jobs as well as the many costumes, corsets, wedding dresses and whatnots being sewn together. I hate to think how many miles of sewing it has done in only 9 years!  I am very happy with it and there are only one or two points that mark it down for me.  I am going to reclaim the Singer as soon as it can be excavated from the garage so that I can get those long seams done in half the time.  The Janome is a great machine but the top speed is not great when, for example, making 1950s style ruffled petticoats with around 80 linear metres of seams to stitch and bind with ribbon.  It takes an absolute age.  Still, it’s faster than handsewing…

Scrapiana: What did your first machine do especially well, or especially badly? Did you like it or loathe it then? What do you make of it now, with hindsight?

Faith: The Singer didn’t have an arm which meant I could take fewer short cuts when making things (no machine finished cuffs on sleeves for me) so I learned from an early age about proper hand finishing of garments. I still stuggle to do what I call mass production finishes although I am learning that there is always a time and a place! I liked the Singer but it was pretty limiting only doing straights stitch. When the Janome arrived with the zig zag, blind hem stitch and automatic buttonhole (I could go on), life became a lot easier.

Scrapiana: What machine did you get next? And can you run us through your subsequent machines and their merits?

Faith: I have a Janome 9200D overlocker that I bought in 2009 which turned out to be one of those ‘why didn’t I do this YEARS ago?’ moments.  It’s easy to use and thread, it doesn’t take up much space, and has made working with both lycra and duchess satin, to name but two fabrics, much easier.  When I’m in a hurry or tired, it starts to play up and that’s when the threads continually snap and the tension won’t do what I want, but then all machines are like that aren’t they?

Over the years I have used many different machines both domestic and Industrial whilst studying and working in various theatres.  1970s and 1980s Berninas pop up a lot because they seem to be pretty good work horses but I’ve never had the urge to get one as I’ve heard the quality isn’t as good as it was and they are generally just plain ugly.  One machine I have used that is both pretty AND performs well is my dad Mike’s Brother machine.  He got it from some friends of his that clearly had barely used it since they bought it back in the late ’50s or ’60s.  It is baby blue, with lots of different useful stitches and still has it’s proper carry case and instructions.  It’s a dream machine and raced through the sewing I did on it whilst still maintaining a feeling of control.

One of Faith's bespoke dresses

One of Faith's bespoke evening gowns

Scrapiana: Do you have your dream machine? If not,what would that be, if you could wave a magic wand and money were no object?

Faith: In Warwick there is a fantastic sewing machine shop that has loads of beautiful old cast iron machines that I yearn to own. The man who runs the place said his collection had got so big he couldn’t justify not selling them although I imagine he is like a book seller who does everything he can to avoid making sales of his treasures!  He also had some amazing modern machines, that while not looking as beautiful as the machines that drew me in in the first place, could do some amazing things. I would love to have a machine that can do programmable embroidery although the four figure prices means I can’t justify it just yet. If money were no object I would like to say I’d get a fancy bespoke machine built for me but to be honest, I’m happy with a good old sturdy machine that can be relied upon.  If a fairy godmother gave me a sewing wish, to be honest, I might wish for a magic wand like hers because sometimes I really get tired of the back ache and eye strain that often come with sewing for hours.

Scrapiana: And finally, I have to ask this…have you named any of your sewing machines? Do you talk to them – or even swear at them if they’re behaving badly?

Faith:  I haven’t named my sewing machines and yet the close relationship between woman and machine suggests maybe I should, after all I’ve named my musical instruments whose ‘voices’ I hear less often. I wouldn’t want my trusty machines given names that associate with or suggest unpleasantness, weakness, tragedy or failure, that might be tempting fate when it comes to my sewing. Sewing rooms are often where I’ve heard the worst language and most awful abuse hurled at the poor machines. A poor workman blames his tools but bad days happen to us all sometimes.  Well, my self imposed anti potty-mouth rule really does become more of a flexible guideline. What’s the point of having a rich Anglo-Saxon based language if you can’t fully make use of it from time to time, when under extreme duress?

Scrapiana: Thank you, Faith, for sharing your sewing-machine stories! It’s wonderful that sewing has played such an important role in your family history; I can see it’s definitely in the blood. See you at It’s Darling!

Faith Caton-Barber can be found on Facebook here at her Something Fabulous page and over here on Twitter.

Faith

Faith and her glorious capelets at the Christmas It's Darling!

 

 

 

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Jul 12

It’s Darling! Summer Spectacular

It's Darling! summer fair 2011

 

 

It's Darling! summer fair flyer back

I’ll be at the It’s Darling! vintage & artisan fair again this summer on Saturday 16th July, bringing my specially selected batch of Scrapiana vintage haberdashery, textiles, handmade items etc. Oh, and lots and lots of strawberry emery grit, just in case you’ve got a yearning to make your own vintage strawberry needle-cushions (as featured in Mollie Makes magazine). Last summer’s It’s Darling! event was the very first of its kind, and the fair is really going from strength  to strength. I hope I’ll be sitting next to the lovely Faith Caton-Barber again (and her glorious bespoke wearable Something Fabulous creations). I’ll be featuring Faith in greater depth on the blog very soon.

If you’re planning a day (or even a weekend in Bath), don’t forget that there’s a new exhibition of film costumes (Dressing the Stars) opening at the Fashion Museum, Marilyn’s costumes are still on show at the American Museum, and the Roman Baths are open till late (10pm in July and August – last entry 9pm). Hope to see you on Saturday!

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Jul 01

FArTHER

Scissors of my dreams

Scissors detail from FArTHER by Grahame Baker-Smith

I’ve just heard the delightful news that Grahame Baker-Smith has won the CILIP* Kate Greenaway Medal 2011 for his book, FArTHER, which he both wrote and illustrated. The award was established in 1955 and represents the UK’s most distinguished award for children’s book illustration; previous winners include Janet Ahlberg, Edward Ardizzone, Quentin Blake, Raymond Briggs, Anthony Browne, John Burningham, Lauren Child, Michael Foreman, Shirley Hughes, Helen Oxenbury, Jan Pienkowski, Chris Riddell and Brian Wildsmith. Having known Grahame for several years, I can tell you that he is a total delight. I had the pleasure of commissioning artwork from him in a not-for-profit context, and he was extremely generous with his time and talents. I would even lay a bet that whoever first coined the expression ‘it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy’ had precisely Grahame in mind.

FArTHER is about a man’s dream of attaining flight, the tenacity of that dream, and how the dream is passed down from father to a son. It’s a wistful book, suffused with loss, disappointment, but also hope. Grahame’s illustrations are immensely detailed (the images shown are just small sections of a much bigger spread) and manage at once to capture both the substantial and the ethereal. Grahame’s writing is lyrical too, with lines that Emily Dickinson would have been proud of:

Day and night, he sewed and stitched, and sawed and hammered, and trimmed the feathers of a thousand hopeful wings.

 

Paper bird

Paper bird detail from FArTHER by Grahame Baker-Smith

FArTHER also functions as an investigation of the creative drive: the faraway look the son sees in his father’s distracted face (‘I would sit on his lap until he remembered me’ ).  The book begs all kinds of questions. How long do you pursue your creative dream? As a parent, do you feel concern when you see that your child is absorbed by the same dream? Do we exercise any meaningful choice over these matters?

FArTHER by Grahame Baker-Smith is published by Templar Publishing. It’s temporarily out of print, but you can read more about it here. Grahame tells me that it will be reissued (with a slightly more elaborate jacket and emblazoned with the Kate Greenaway medal, of course) in September.  If that’s farther than you can wait, please borrow it from your local library.

 

*CILIP: the Chartered Institute of Library and Information Professionals

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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