Jehossee Rides Again: Part Two

Yes, I had WAY too much fun with the mannequins. Ahem. Moving along...

On the day of the set-up, assembling and dressing the mannequins required about 3 hours of work. At least half of that time was spent trying to figure out how to cram the arms into the sockets, followed by trying desperately to keep the arms from falling back out of the sockets. Dressing a mannequin with a full compliment of limbs requires skill and coordination. I do not possess these qualities, so I had to rely upon profanity and non-traditional dressing procedures that resembled the Heimlich Maneuver.

Boobs. They happened.

Every garment presented a new challenge. The most difficult was the Harriet Aiken dress, which had to be arranged on one of the lovely boobalicious mannequins. These mannequins belong to a nice, modern design firm which uses them to display nice, modern clothing to represent the nice, modern feminine ideal. Which meant that the nearly 6-foot tall mannequins had 25-inch waists and 38-inch bosoms. I had already decided to display Harriet in a seated position, if possible. Luckily this was the ONLY posture that allowed the dress to close at the waist and sit more or less correctly on the form around the... intrusive interior objects.

 Before the nerds among us get bothered by the sight of the 1849 dress arranged on the 1880's love seat, you should know that this was for an 1863-themed event. Bwahhahaha!!

None of the mannequins was designed to "sit," so this was an engineering marvel. Ultimately, Harriet was jacked up in a sitting position through the artful use of a fleece blanket from my car, three books that I relocated from the library shelves and one of her own legs.

The rest of the garments were arranged on the standing mannequins, with an eye towards giving them a "reason" to be wherever they were. The dress below was oriented next to the pianoforte as though the intended wearer (French Governess Pauline Boudet, in theory) was at attendance on a pupil.

I really did not want to have the mannequins lined up in the hallway, or clumped in a convenient corner. It was my hope that as people wandered through the house on the day of the event, they could catch glimpses of the garments in a "natural" setting. (However natural a gaggle of decapitated plastic women can be.) Despite the invitation to display the clothing and address the tour groups about it, I wanted it to be in the background. People came to see the house, not my stitchery. And truly, since I designed every garment to be as close to average day garb as possible for the intended wearer, the clothing made more sense "walking around" than it ever could have in a glass box.

 Plus, it was fun spooking people. (Including myself). Walking quickly from one room to the next was a perfect recipe for "finding" one of the mannequins unexpectedly. As I look at these pictures, I can still hear Pearl the housekeeper screaming as she came around the bottom of the steps...

 What mannequins, Pearl?

Next time: A little less talk and a lot more of my mother in a polyester dress!

Jehossee Installation: Part Two

UPDATED

Sorry for the occasionally poor picture quality! I really wanted to finish this entry, but I don't have access to all of my personal photos yet. Consequently, some of these pictures are... "borrowed." They will be replaced in the near future. In the meanwhile, no, it's not your monitor. Squint with enthusiasm!

 From left to right: cotton roller-print dress for an 8-12 year old slave girl from the Aiken's Charleston home; Henrietta Aiken's plaid silk bodice and skirt trimmed; an antique chemise, c. 1855-1870 inscribed "Belle Canting"; a muslin chemise on a linen cord, meant to represent a plain variation of the shift a slave may have worn; cotton sateen pantalettes.

I was interviewed by a Highly Respected Local News Source* last week as part of the ongoing small-town fanfare and relentless opportunities for self-ridicule that keep coming my way these days. It was pretty awesome. I've been in the paper before, but always as a gaping bystander to a horrific accident, or a gaping bystander to a carnival freak, or a gaping bystander to a parade of carnival freaks that lead to a horrific accident. So this was new. Mainly because I knew that there would be cameras in advance.

*the only newspaper in town.

The story came out this week. It is a very nice little piece complete with pictures of the exhibit and an online video clip of me rambling incessantly about chemises, flopping my hands around like oxygen deprived fish and occasionally, opening my eyes.

Yes. So this is what I look like when I have been given time to prepare AND pose. 

Photographer: "Just act naturally!" 

Me: "Hurrrrrrr!! Chemise."

Where did we leave off? Let's see... I moaned about the Cranky Ladies and... well, that was pretty much it. Onward and upward!

Everything was set up on the first day, except Harriet's dress. There were several reasons for this, all of which revolved around the fact that the bloody thing wasn't done yet. Luckily, I finished it in time and set it up hours before the reception on my own dress form, Headless June.

 Harriet's blue silk taffeta striped dress, derived in style from an 1849 fashion plate reproduced in C. Willett Cunnington's English Women's Clothing in the Nineteenth Century. The chemisette and sleeve inserts are antique originals from my own collection.

The obvious advantage to using Headless June was that I knew the dress would fit, and that there was almost no chance of needing a tetanus shot before the evening was out. Damn you, Jangles...

The exhibit was comprised primarily of the garments I made, liberally seasoned with surviving extant artifacts and garments, and informative placards.  The total list of items ultimately included over 30 handmade garments, augmented by an antique chemise, quilted petticoat and quilted vest and the chemisette and sleeve inserts displayed with Harriet's gown. Additionally, I filled two cases with reproduction and antique shoes and  stockings, and a small collection of 1840's women's periodicals.

 This was taken right before I filled the cases and walls with insipid little informative signs. So imagine this, only more cluttered. From the top moving clock-wise we have an 1849 "Godey's Lady's Book," an 1847 "Sharpe's London Magazine," an 1846 "Ladies Wreath," and a single May, 1850 issue of Godey's.

 Overall, the experience has been really good. I have been genuinely shocked at the level of interest that people have expressed, both as fellow costume enthusiasts and local history buffs. Is the exhibit perfect? No. But it's better than I ever could have expected. And it may have a life outside of this first showing. A few of the local historic sites have contacted me about setting up parts of the exhibit for smaller events throughout the summer. 

 People milling around, trying to act like this isn't THE GREATEST THING THEY'VE EVER SEEN IN THEIR WHOLE LIVES, EVER.

Numerous people have suggested that it would be wise for me to build my eventual master's thesis upon the Jehossee project. I can certainly see the wisdom in doing that... in theory. But I really think that it is time to move on.

Hopefully to something even more conversationally awkward! 


If you have waaaaay too much time on your hands and are interested in a) stalking me or b) hearing what a public school education and at least two personality disorders can do for your public speaking skills, check here or here.