When I was in my mid-twenties, my entire world revolved around designing costumes. I did it day and night, sketching, dreaming, planning. I spent more time looking at people from the neck down than I ever did looking in anyone's eyes. Sure, there was shyness involved, but I was also fascinated by how fabric draped and stretched across human bodies. We went to a touring production of Jesus Christ Superstar, and when members of the cast were in the lobby, raising donations for some cause, I gravitated toward the actor who played King Herod, and I never once looked at his face. I stared at his body, or rather, his costume, which was a completely showy cabaret-type costume, with lots of feathers and assless chaps. What I creep I must have seemed. But I couldn't help myself. I was obsessed with design. My friends and fellow seamstresses and I watched every award show "together" (in front of our own TVs, connected by the telephone throughout), critiquing every gown, every nominated costume designer's work. We watched skating competitions the same way, for the same reasons. I'm watching the Oscars as I write, missing my designing women as I do every time I see these shows now. You can bet that when the costume award was announced, my typing fingers were still, while I stared unblinkingly at the television. My purest joy when I go to movies is still and always has been the ability to see costumes on a larger-than-life screen, so they are big enough and clear enough to see each seam, study each fabric for texture and fiber composition, deduce construction techniques in every dart and pleat. I burned out on the act of sewing decades ago, but I do not believe I will ever lose the obsession with fabric and design.
I tested my physical progress again today. This time when I took my gentle walk to the end of the block, I went without any sort of cane or walking stick. I was all the way back to the house next door before any real soreness set in. It was a preview of how well I would endure my plans for today. I was fortunate that my dear friend who had invited me to see a touring production of A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder happened to need to postpone our date by one week. She and her daughter were under the weather, so she changed our tickets from Sunday the 21st to today. I didn't have to miss it for being in the hospital. (I wasn't fortunate that any of us were sick, to be clear, just the timing of it.) I knew sitting in the theater in Denver for nearly three hours was going to be difficult, but there was no way I was going to miss it. I'm glad I took the chance. The production was marvelous. It was hilarious, well-written, well-acted, and beautifully sung and choreographed. I love my friend so much for taking me. After the week I've had... After the month I've had, I needed this escapism so much.
And to be certain, I spent the entire two and a half hours of the show enraptured by the costumes. It was set in the early 1900s, and the clothes were heavenly. The primary love interest of the lead character had the most lush, feminine dresses. She wore a lot of pink, a lot of ruffles and peplums, and near the end, she had the most marvelous jewel-encrusted evening gown that sparkled in the stage lights. But for practicality's sake, what I really want to copy are the long, dark, pleated skirts that were worn by the supporting characters, like the house servants and funeral attendees. I wonder whether I could pull off that look. Might be fun to try.
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