View allAll Photos Tagged tissuepaper
Origami mammoth, designed by Artur Biernacki. Folded from a square of Unryu-tissue paper sandwich.
Diagrams in Polish your origami.
Rabbit
Designer: Richard Galindo
Paper: one uncut square 25 cm (Unryu + tissue)
Final height: ~ 8.5 cm
Diagram: Pajarita magazine №132
Ever helpful Wanda is making sure that wrapping Christmas gifts goes smoothly this year. Today in Saline, Michigan
Papaver nudicaule - ‘Champagne Bubbles’
Fading fast :(
I cut the stem from the plant and brought it into my studio for some final shots as the flower fades.
www.microscopy-uk.org.uk/mag/indexmag.html?http://www.mic...
One of a series of shots taken on a light box using tissue paper for textures and content, sometimes on it's own and sometimes accented by other objects - as here. More of this series to follow over the next few weeks.
Dratini
Designer: Adilio Toledo
Paper: one uncut square 25 cm (tissue + foil + tissue)
Final height: ~ 10 cm
I like to see these as abstracts, but if you want to know what the five photos I just uploaded are, you can find it in "tags". I was surprised to see the texture in these.
As the woman at Value Village rang through my porcelain bowls, I remarked that I would use them to take pictures of fruit. She responded with a look of sheer terror. I'm guessing she thought I was trying to pick her up. Just an FYI, fellows!
I bought this Emma Bridgewater plate from eBay and when it arrived it was the best packed parcel I've ever received! After cutting my way through many layers, this pretty orange tissue paper was the last one. Thanks, Christine, for wrapping it so well. You definitely win first prize for my best ever packed parcel!
On occasion, in this rather crazy and serendipitous world of ours, you may be fortunate enough to meet a person who shares with you a number of characteristics or traits, whether they be a soulmate, or just a like minded soul.
Well, thanks to Flickr, I have "met" (not physically but mentally and spiritually) a number of such like minded souls (since I already have my soulmate). If you follow my photostream you will know that I am blessed to be surrounded by a number of artists, including the artisan who gave me this present, and more so, a gift that goes far beyond the present itself.
I am one of those people who really enjoy Christmas. I enjoy it for many reasons, not least of all because I get to give gifts I have gathered throughout the year to my family and friends, and I get to wrap them up in beautiful papers and bows. I don't do it for the accolades, or even for a word of appreciation. I do it because I really get so much pleasure from the gift of giving, and the art of gift giving. This artisan friend of mine is exactly the same, and to quote her Christmas card to me this year, she is a "rare individual who truly appreciates the art of giving and sharing ART." I feel exactly the same when giving gifts. Often it is far more than the gift itself, but the experience of receiving the gift and the delight, joy and anticipation of carefully unwrapping a piece of art, to reveal a piece of art that I am giving.
Imagine my excitement and sheer delight when my artisan friend from half way across the world sent me the most wonderful gift of a handmade tassel. This collage is made up of images I took when I received it, with the tassel in the centre, details of the tassel to the right of the central image and details of the wrapping to the left.
The present came presented in pink tissue paper affixed with a small pink star to hold the folds. As the tissue paper fell away, it revealed an ornately decorated silver box upon which was a carefully thought out layout of graphics and images inspired by my stories, likes and interests that came from the magical drawers of her studios: eclectic diners at a table, jenny Wren reading a book (doubtless of faerie tales), a pink seal featuring a feather with a real blue tinged feather sticking out of it! Inside was a pretty piece of blue and cream Regency striped silk, held in place by a tiny antique crocheted doily (the perfect size for my 1:12 miniatures) underneath which was some silvery blue tissue paper with a scalloped edge carefully cut with pinking shears, the folds of which were affixed with a small paper cartouche featuring my initial in beautiful calligraphy. Beneath that was a second layer of the lustrous paper, upon which was a Regency image of Beauty and the Beast, once again connecting to my love of faerie tales and children's illustrations.
Unfolding another layer of blue and white regency striped silk, I found the tassel, made up of ribbons and laces, mostly in shades of blue (my favourite colour), decorated with the most remarkable collection of silver charms, all of which are connected to me in a personal way: teddy bears and a brolly, a beautiful and ornate chair and a teapot!
As you know, if you listen to my teddy bears, I'm an old softie - even more than they are - so by the time I reached the tassel, I was a blubbering mass of tears, not because I was unhappy, but because I was so touched that my artisan friend took the time to create a gift of art, so deeply faceted with layers of her careful observations of me, my likes and passions, that it quite stunned me!
This year has been a very difficult, stressful and painful year for me personally, and this Christmas, some of my dearest friends, several of whom I have never even physically met, have made me feel so well understood and loved through their kindness, care, love, good wishes and in some cases the judicious selection of gifts that really are ones of a kind and that are gifts that go far, far beyond the present itself!
I shall be forever grateful to this small and select coterie of friends who have helped brighten my year and make me smile (and cry tears of joy) when I have needed.
Merry Christmas to you all!
In some ways, this may be appropriate. Textures and layers to be added later.
This was an actual product sold in a storefront window at a store in Uptown Minneapolis. I was required to photograph this once-in-a-lifetime occurence.
this is for bobbi (aka pixpics) who wanted to see it in a cropped square format-- and it looks pretty darn cool, so thank you for suggesting it, bobbi :):)!!! the original was the slider sunday posting which i actually posted minutes before the black sunday protest started.
(btb, didn't it feel like we were back in the 60s-70s??)
this was taken at the button factory artist open lofts weekend :) it was great fun to walk around and see what the artists had up and out for their inspirations.
Shot as my first entry into the group Our Daily Challenge. The theme is "Sweet".
Shot with two YoungNou YN467, one camera left and one camera right. Diffused with tissuepaper.
a recent etsy order, packaged with pretty twine and festive tags all ready to go! Please see my profile (http://www.flickr.com/people/messyjesse/) for details :)
Another one from my ongoing series of abstract and still life images featuring tissue paper shot on a light pad.
Abstract still life with tissue paper, voile and skeleton leaf shot on a light pad - and a touch of texture added in processing.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today we are in Lettice’s drawing room where Edith, Lettice’s maid, has just shown in Lettice’s new milliner and friend of Gerald’s, Miss Harriet Milford. The orphaned daughter of a solicitor with little formal education, Harriet has taken in theatrical lodgers to earn a living, but more importantly for Lettice, has taken up millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money*. As Harriet made Lettice a fetching picture hat for her brother Leslie’s wedding in November, Lettice commissioned her to make a new millinery creation for her for the wedding of Lettice’s friend Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon** who is marrying the Duke of York*** in a few days.
Although dressed in a fawn coloured three quarter length morning frock that makes up in functionality what it lacks in fashion, Lettice’s pretty visitor does not seem to feel self-conscious or at all ill at ease in her stylish surroundings as she takes them in with an observant eye. Lettice indicates with an open hand to the chair opposite her own and Harriet elegantly takes a seat and places the rather large round white cardboard hatbox that she brought into the drawing room with her onto the green and gold satin Chippendale stool next to her chair.
“It really was very good of you to come to me, Miss Milford.” Lettice says gratefully as she sinks down into her round Art Deco tub chair.
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet replies as she smiles across at her hostess. “I’m just trying to demonstrate a little of that professionalism you spoke of when you commissioned me to make the hat.”
“Oh I can assure you, Miss Milford,” Lettice chortles as she pushes the copy of Vogue that she had been reading to the edge of the black japanned coffee table. “You will quickly gain the patronage of every one of Madame Gwendolyn’s clients if you personally deliver every one of your millinery creations to their new owners. Goodness knows she won’t.”
“Oh dear!” Harriet exclaims, raising her bare hands to her cheeks as she blushes. “Have I made another faux pas? I do beg your pardon.”
“Oh not at all, Miss Milford.” Lettice assures her soothingly. “No, your personalised service, if this is something you are prepared to do for your clients, will put you streets ahead of your competition, I assure you.”
“Well,” Harriet breathes a sigh of relief, her shoulders loosening. “Thank goodness for that! Mind you, you are a bit of a special client, Miss Chetwynd.”
“Me?” Lettice asks, raising her well manicured hand to her chest. “How is it that I, of all people, should garner such favour?”
At that moment, Edith enters the drawing room carrying a silver tray which holds Lettice’s elegant Art Deco tea service. Bobbing a courtesy, she unpacks a teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and two teacups and saucers onto the cleared surface of the coffee table. Assured by Lettice that if she needs anything further she will ring, Edith bobs a second curtsey and leaves.
“Oh, I do so, miss having a parlour maid.” Harriet sighs as she watches Edith’s retreating figure leave the room. “They do make life so much easier when entertaining.”
“Oh yes!” Lettice enthuses. “Edith is such a brick. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Sadly, I suspect that either my father, or more likely I, was swindled by the other gentlemen in father’s partnership. I can’t imagine him dying and leaving me in such an impecunious situation that I can’t even afford to have a maid-of-all work. When Father was alive we had a cook, a tweeny and a parlour maid.”
“Then your belated father’s partners are no gentlemen, if you don’t mind me saying, my dear Miss Milford.”
“Indeed I don’t. They are however solicitors and lawyers, and I must confess that much of what they spoke to me about in the days following Father’s funeral bamboozled me.”
“Well, I’m hardly surprised by that, Miss Milford. You’re certainly a smart woman, and capable too, but legalise, well,” Lettice tuts and shakes her head. “That is quite another language indeed, and one peddled by a certain type of lawyer and solicitor to swindle, rather than assist those in a less fortunate situation.”
“Evidently I may be smart, but I’m not capable of keeping a neat home.” Harriet admits. “And that’s why you are a rather special client, Miss Chetwynd. I didn’t want to subject you to the indignity of having you collect your hat from my front parlour, which I will confess is still just as untidy as the last time you saw it. I just don’t seem to be able to keep on top of the housework along with all the other duties of running a boarding house, not that my tenants are particularly handy with a mop, dustpan or broom either.”
Lettice feels a pang of guilt as Harriet speaks, and she remembers the conversation she had not a few short weeks ago in this very room wit Gerald about the shoddy way in which she treated the young lady the last time they met.
“Yes, well about that, Miss Milford.” Lettice begins, the words catching awkwardly in her throat as she speaks.
“About what, Miss Chetwynd?” Harriet asks, looking up with innocent eyes to her hostess sitting across the black japanned coffee table.
“Look, I don’t know how else to say this, but I think I was rather unjust to you when we last saw one another. I shouldn’t have been so critical of your housekeeping skills.”
“No! No, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet defends her. “You did right to upbraid me. I need to be told things that will impact or restrict the success I strive for.”
“No. I was wrong for being quite so critical, Miss Milford. It didn’t come from a place of kindness or good will. It was ungallant of me, and I was unjust to you.”
“Did Gerry put you up to this?” Harriet asks warily.
“Yes… well no… well yes and no.”
Harriet huffs and smacks the top of the hatbox in her lap in frustration. “Goodness, I can’t trust him, can I? Just because I said…”
Lettice’s hands held out, palms facing outwards silence Harriet.
“Please, Miss Milford, don’t be cross with Gerald.” Lettice pleads. “He did the right thing by pulling me up and admonishing me. You see, Gerald and I are like brother and sister, and he knows me far too well, and what my propensities can be, especially when I feel threatened.”
“Threatened? Miss Chetwynd..”
“That last time I saw you, I behaved like a prig. I was overly critical. In fact, if I’m being truthful, which I am now going to be, even though I suspect you may despise me after the fact, I was looking to find fault, in even the smallest of trivialities.”
“But why, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Because I felt threatened by you.” Lettice looks guiltily across at Harriet. “Because I felt jealous of you, and your relationship with Gerald. I wanted to prove myself to be better than you.” She looks down sadly into her lap. “And in doing so, I made myself look worse than you, in Gerald’s eyes.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I can assure you it is, Miss Milford. You know how adroit our Gerald is. He told me that from your account, which I’m sure was kinder than I deserve, that I sounded pompous, and I know that I was being pompous and mean spirited and far worse.”
“Because you are jealous of me?”
Lettice nods remorsefully.
“But I thought we had all that out already, Miss Chetwynd, the day you collected the hat I made you for your brother’s wedding last year. I told you the last thing I want to do is intrude on your friendship with Gerry, nor usurp you in his affections. I promise you, I’m not a threat.”
“I know, but even though I said I believed you, I lied. I didn’t believe you, and I unjustly wanted to find fault in you and punish you for what I now know, and in truth probably knew then, to be for no good reason. I was being spiteful.” She looks directly into Harriet’s placid face. “And I know now that I was very wrong to do that, and that I hurt you in the process, Miss Milford, intentionally. And I sincerely apologise.”
A silence falls heavily between the two of them.
“I believe, Miss Milford that now is the time for you to behave like the leading ladies who sometimes hang off the arms of your theatrical boarders, and make a scene by throwing a fit before storming out.”
Harriet laughs, a burst of genuine delight cascading from her pretty pert lips. “Oh Miss Chetwynd, you overestimate both my ability for and enjoyment of melodramas. I am very far from theatrical, so there will be no fits of temper, at least not from me, a fact for which you may be grateful.”
“You are far nicer to me than I deserve, Miss Milford. I’ve been a beast, and here you are, as smiling and civilised as ever.”
“My Father once told me that in his profession as a lawyer, you see the very best and the very worst in human nature, and that when you are faced with the latter, you should always channel the former so that you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I don’t know if I wholly agree with his holier than thou approach, but then again, he was a man of very black and white opinions, however in spite of all you have told me, Miss Chetwynd, you haven’t diminished in my esteem.”
“Then I really don’t deserve to know you, for you must surely be a saint.”
“Not at all, Miss Chetwynd. I may not admire you for your misjudgement of me, but I admire your truth and honesty, even if it took a nudge from Gerry for you to be so. You told me that we would never be bosom friends****, and nor do I want you to be one. However, I do honestly think that I can gain a great deal from you. As I noted, we both are trying to establish names for ourselves, albeit in different areas, and as women in a male dominated world, I think I would value your dispassionate and truthful opinion as I make my way in it.” She pauses. “That is if you can move on from this silly and unfounded jealously, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I think I could manage that.”
“Good!” Harriet sighs. “Well, now that we have that bit of business out of the way, perhaps we might move on to the business that I came here today to transact.” She pats the top of the plain cardboard hatbox and cocks an eyebrow at Lettice.
“I’ll just ring for Edith to fetch the hatstand from my dressing table.”
A short while later, with the hatstand fetched, Harriet presents Lettice with the hatbox.
“Me, Miss Milford?”
“I think that since this is your hat, you should have the honour of unveiling it, Miss Chetwynd.”
“And if I don’t like it?” Lettice asks earnestly, looking into her companion’s placidly smiling face.
“I don’t think we need to worry about that occurring, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet’s lips curl up just a little bit more at the edges of her mouth as she speaks.
“Good.” Lettice agrees. “It’s vital as a woman in business to believe in your product.”
“See, Miss Chetwynd,” Harriet says. “Such wise advice from one businesswoman to another.”
Lettice lifts the lid off the round hatbox and drops it at her feet. Faced with a froth of white tissue paper, she carefully unfolds it, the paper whispering noisily beneath her fingers. She delves her fingers in until she feels the firmness of a satin covered brim beneath her hand, and grasping it, she foists the hat free, the tissue paper cascading to the ground around her. Lettice casts the hatbox aside and places the hat on the hatstand. With her left index finger and thumb pinching her chin, she contemplates the hat with a considered look, sighing with satisfaction.
“A deeply crowned hat with a wide, poke style brim.” Harriet gesticulates around the hat’s edges without actually touching it. “Stiffened of course.” she adds. “I know I had suggested from the outset that it should be made of apricot felt, but really for a Royal wedding, I felt satin was called for. And, as we discussed, I have edged it with the thinnest trim of white lace and ornamented the crown with creamy orange taffeta roses and ribbons. What do you think, Miss Chetwynd?”
“Honestly, Miss Milford,” Lettice replies. “I think it is perfect!”
“I’m so pleased you think so, Miss Chetwynd.” Harriet replies with a proud smile.
*Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.
**Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, as she was known at the beginning of 1923 when this story is set, went on to become Queen of the United Kingdom and the Dominions from 1936 to 1952 as the wife of King George VI. Whilst still Duke of York, Prince Albert initially proposed to Elizabeth in 1921, but she turned him down, being "afraid never, never again to be free to think, speak and act as I feel I really ought to". He proposed again in 1922 after Elizabeth was part of his sister, Mary the Princess Royal’s, wedding party, but she refused him again. On Saturday, January 13th, 1923, Prince Albert went for a walk with Elizabeth at the Bowes-Lyon home at St Paul’s, Walden Bury and proposed for a third and final time. This time she said yes. The wedding took place on April 26, 1923 at Westminster Abbey.
***Prince Albert, Duke of York, known by the diminutive “Bertie” to the family and close friends, was the second son of George V. Not only did Bertie propose to Elizabeth in 1921, but also in March 1922 after she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of Albert’s sister, Princess Mary to Viscount Lascelles. Elizabeth refused him a second time, yet undaunted Bertie pursued the girl who had stolen his heart. Finally, in January 1923 she agreed to marry him in spite of her misgivings about royal life.
****The term bosom friend is recorded as far back as the late Sixteenth Century. In those days, the bosom referred to the chest as the seat of deep emotions, though now the word usually means a woman's “chest.” A bosom friend, then, is one you might share these deep feelings with or have deep feelings for.
Contrary to popular belief, fashion at the beginning of the Roaring 20s did not feature the iconic cloche hat as a commonly worn head covering. Although invented by French milliner Caroline Reboux in 1908, the cloche hat did not start to gain popularity until 1922, so even though this story is set in that year, picture hats, a hangover from the pre-war years, were still de rigueur in fashionable society and whilst Lettice is fashionable, she and many other fashionable women still wore the more romantic picture hat. This included Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, the future Queen of Great Britain and Queen Mother, and she maintained her romantic style all her life using soft colours and often wide brimmed hats. Although nowhere near as wide, heavy, voluminous or as ornate as the hats worn by women between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the Great War, the picture hats of the 1920s were still wide brimmed, although they were generally made of straw or some lightweight fabric and were decorated with a more restrained touch.
This 1920s upper-class drawing room is different to what you may think at first glance, for it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story, the beautiful hat made by Harriet with it’s soft peach colour, romantic wide brim and soft satin rose trim. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. The maker of this hat is unknown, but it is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The hat stand the hat rests on is also part of Marilyn Bickel’s collection.
The Vogue magazine from 1923 sitting on the coffee table reflects the prevailing style for romantic hats and soft colours of the time and was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States. Lettice’s tea set is a beautiful artisan set featuring a rather avant-garde Art Deco Royal Doulton design from the Edwardian era.
Lettice’s drawing room is furnished with beautiful J.B.M. miniatures. The Art Deco tub chairs are of black japanned wood and have removable cushions, just like their life sized examples. To the left of the fireplace is a Hepplewhite drop-drawer bureau and chair of black japanned wood which has been hand painted with chinoiserie designs, even down the legs and inside the bureau. The Hepplewhite chair has a rattan seat, which has also been hand woven. To the right of the fireplace is a Chippendale cabinet which has also been decorated with chinoiserie designs. It also features very ornate metalwork hinges and locks.
On the top of the Hepplewhite bureau stand three real miniature photos in frames including an Edwardian silver frame, a Victorian brass frame and an Art Deco blue Bakelite and glass frame.
The fireplace is a 1:12 miniature resin Art Deco fireplace which is flanked by brass accessories including an ash brush with real bristles.
On the left hand side of the mantle is an Art Deco metal clock hand painted with wonderful detail by British miniature artisan Victoria Fasken.
In the middle of the mantle is a miniature artisan hand painted Art Deco statue on a “marble” plinth. Made by Warwick Miniatures in England, it is a 1:12 copy of the “Theban Dancer” sculpture created by Claire-Jeanne-Roberte Colinet in 1925.
The carpet beneath the furniture is a copy of a popular 1920s style Chinese silk rug, and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper is beautiful hand impressed paper given to me by a friend, which inspired the whole “Cavendish Mews – Lettice Chetwynd” series.
i totally give the idea credit to Caitlyn
its a skirt & bowtie i made from tissue paper <3
and two years later im thinking to myself "i totally should have worn this to prom"
A cold day prompts creative miniature photography indoors. Brushes for grass, plant for tree, tissue paper for sunset sky. Sidelight from an open door in the hallway.
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Today we are in the little maid’s room off the Cavendish Mews kitchen, which serves as Edith, Lettice’s maid’s, bedroom. The room is very comfortable and more spacious than the attic she shared with her friend and fellow maid, Hilda, in her last position. The room is papered with floral sprigged wallpaper, and whilst there is no carpet, unlike Lettice’s bedroom, there are rugs laid over the stained floorboards. The room is big enough for Edith to have a comfortable armchair and tea table as well as her bed, a chest of drawers and a small wardrobe. Best of all, the room has central heating, so it is always warm and cosy on cold nights.
Friends of Lettice, newlyweds Margot and Dickie Channon, have been gifted a Recency country “cottage residence” called ‘Chi an Treth’ (Cornish for ‘beach house’) in Penzance as a wedding gift by the groom’s father, the Marquess of Taunton. Margot in her desire to turn ‘Chi an Treth’ from a dark Regency house to a more modern country house flooded with light, has commissioned Lettice to help redecorate some of the rooms in a lighter and more modern style, befitting a modern couple like the Channons. Lettice has decamped to Penzance for a week where she is overseeing the painting and papering of ‘Chi an Treth’s’ drawing room, dining room and main reception room, before fitting it out with a lorryload of new and repurposed furnishings, artwork and objets d’arte that she has had sent down weeks prior to her arrival. In her mistress’ absence, Edith has more free time on her hands, and so she is spending the morning pleasurably laying out some new fabric that she recently bought from a haberdasher’s in Whitechapel and cutting out the pieces for a new frock she has been wanting to make for a few weeks, but hasn’t had the time to do so before now owing to Lettice having her future sister-in-law as a houseguest.
Today is Tuesday and on Tuesdays, every third Thursday of the month and occasionally after a big party, Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, comes from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs.
Edith is so emersed in running her hands joyfully over the soft cotton fabric featuring sprigs of pretty blue flowers that she doesn’t hear the familiar sounds of Mrs. Boothby as she climbs the service stairs of Cavendish Mews: her footfall in her low heeled shoes that she proudly tells Edith came ‘practically new from Petticoat Lane**’, nor the fruity cough that comes from deep within her wiry little body.
“Morning dearie!” Mrs. Boothby calls cheerily as she comes through the servants’ entrance door into the kitchen.
“Oh, morning Mrs. Boothby,” Edith calls in reply through her bedroom door. “I’m in here.”
The old Cockney woman’s head appears around the doorframe, her wiry grey hair hidden beneath a dark blue cloche hat, another purchase from Petticoat Lane, which frames her heavily wrinkled face. “Aye! Aye!” she says good naturedly with a cheery smile. “What ‘ave we ‘ere then? Whilst the cat’s away.”
Edith’s face flushes with embarrassment at Mrs. Boothby’s remark.
“Oh I’m only teasin’, dearie!” the old woman laughs, emitting another fruity cough from deep within her lungs as she does so. “What’s that what you’re doin’ then?”
“Well, with Miss Lettice being away,” Edith replies a little coyly. “I have a bit more free time, so I thought I’d make the most of it and cut out the pattern for a new frock I’m making. I was hoping to have it finished in time for summer, for when Frank and I went walking in Hyde Park, but I suppose Autumn is as good as summer for a new frock.”
“Course it is, dearie!” Mrs. Boothby concurs. She bends down with a groan and picks up a copy of Weldon’s*** Dressmaker magazine off the floor by the foot of Lettice’s armchair and looks at the four smart outfits on the front cover. “Any time’s the perfect time for a new frock if you ask me – ‘specially when someone is as pretty as you! What a picture you’ll look steppin’ out with Frank Ledbetter in that pretty pattern.” She scruitinises the fabric, admiring the blue flowers interwoven with stems and leaves in olive green on a cream background. “That come from Mrs. Minkin’s then?”
“It does, Mrs. Boothby,” beams Edith. “I can’t thank you enough for telling me about her. She’s a much better haberdasher than the old one I used to use in Holborn.”
“I should fink she would be,” Mrs. Boothby replies loftily with an appreciative nod. “We East Enders know better ‘n anyone ‘bout how to sew and patch a dress, and turn a silk purse from a sow’s ear, ‘cause that’s all we get.”
“Mrs. Minkin is so generous. Look. She gave me these buttons as a gift.” She withdraws a card of six faceted Art Deco glass buttons and wafts them in front of the old charwoman.
“Aye. She’s a gooden, that one. Not all Russian Yids**** is like that Golda Friedman what goes round my rookery***** wiv ‘er nose in the air like she was the Queen of Russia ‘erself. Mrs. Minkin’s taken a shine to you, that’s for certain. Tried to marry you off to one of her sons yet, ‘as she?”
Edith blushes again. “Well, she did, until I explained to her that I was stepping out with Frank.”
“Well, them Yids tend to marry uvver Yids anyways, so I s’pose it don’t matter that much. She’ll still treat you like ‘er surrogate daughter ‘til one of ‘em marries, and even then, she’ll probably still treat you special ‘cause youse so nice to ‘er, ‘cause you’re such a good girl.”
“Oh I don’t know about that, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith scoffs. “I just treat people as I’d like to be treated. Isn’t that what we all learned in Sunday School.”
“I’m not much of a church goer myself, but that’s one rule I do know and agree wiv, dearie. Nah, thinkin’ of treatin’ folk, I ain’t ‘alf parched after me trip up from Poplar this mornin!”
“Was the traffic bad again, Mrs. Boothby?”
“Bad? You should’ve seen the traffic at Tottenham Court Road, dearie! Quite bunged up it was! Nah, ‘ow about a nice reviving cup of Rosie-Lee*****, eh?”
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith says cheerily, pushing herself up off her knees and standing up.
A short while later, Edith and Mrs. Boothby are seated around Edith’s deal table which dominates the floorspace of the Cavendish Mews kitchen.
“Ta!” Mrs Boothby says. “Lovely.” She accepts the cup of tea proffered to her by Edith, and sticks a biscuit from the Hunley and Palmers******* tin on the table between her teeth and then starts fossicking through her capacious beaded bag before withdrawing her cigarette papers, Swan Vestas and tin of Player’s Navy Cut. Rolling herself a cigarette she reaches over to the deal dresser and grabs the black pottery ash tray Edith keeps for her. Lighting her cigarette with a satisfied sigh and one more of her fruity coughs, Mrs. Boothby settles back happily in the Windsor chair she sits in with her cigarette in one hand and the biscuit in the other.
Edith shudders almost imperceptibly. She hates the older woman’s habit of smoking indoors. When she lived with her parents, neither smoked in the house. Her mother didn’t smoke at all: it would have been unladylike to do so, and her father only smoked a pipe when he went down to the local pub. Nevertheless, she knows this is Mrs. Boothby’s morning ritual, and for all the hard work that the old woman does around the flat, Edith cannot deny her one of her few pleasures.
“I do like a nice ‘Untley and Palmer******* breakfast biscuit to go wiv me Rosie-Lee?” Mrs. Boothby sighs as she munches loudly on the biscuit, spilling a shower of golden brown crumbs into her lap as she speaks.
“I’m glad Mrs. Boothby,” Edith replies genuinely pleased as she pours herself a cup of tea.
“So dearie,” Mrs. Boothby queries. “Gonna whip your frock up on the sewin’ machine this afternoon are you?”
“This afternoon?” Edith looks questioning at Mrs. Boothby.
“Yes dearie, nah that you ‘ave the time on your ‘ands. Are you gonna stitch it up on your sewin’ machine?”
“Oh, I don’t have a sewing machine, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith adds sugar and milk to her tea and stirs her cup.
“Not got a sewin’ machine, dearie?” Mrs. Boothby draws deeply on her cigarette.
“No, Mrs. Boothby. There has never been one here, ever since I came to Cavendish Mews. No, I’ll take the cut pieces down to Mum’s when I visit her later in the week. She has a little Singer******** treadle that I can use.”
“Can you buy yourself one?”
“At forty pounds? I hardly think so!”
“You could get one through hire purchase********.”
“If I can’t afford one of Mrs. Minkin’s dressed hats, how can I possibly afford a sewing machine, even on hire purchase, Mrs. Boothby?”
“Well, can’t Miss Lettice buy you one then, dearie?” A plume of bluish grey smoke bursts forth in a tumbling cloud from the old woman’s mouth as she speaks.
Edith shakes her head as she selects a biscuit from the tin. “There’s no call for it, Mrs. Boothby. I seldom have to do any mending. Miss Lettice has Mr. Bruton mend any clothes for her. If she tears one of her stockings she simply goes and orders a new pair. The same can be said for any other article of clothing Mr. Bruton doesn’t make for her.”
“Lawd, to be that rich that I could toss a torn pair of stockings in the dustbin and buy a new pair wivvout thinkin’ twice!”
“I know. It seems like a wicked extravagance to me too, but I suppose Miss Lettice has always lived her life like that.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Boothby nods sagely as she slurps her tea loudly. “The ‘aves and ‘ave nots.”
“And any repairs required to the linen are done by the commercial laundry we use. No, I’ll take the pieces down to Mum’s and I can spend the afternoon there and sew it up then. She won’t mind.”
“Course she won’t mind, dearie. I just fink it’s a shame you don’t ‘ave your own sewin’ machine to make your own frocks on.”
“I get by well enough Mrs. Boothby, and Mum knows that if she ever wants to give up using it, I’ll have her Singer.”
The old charwoman nods and contemplates as she looks at Edith over the top of her own tea cup through the curtain of blueish grey cigarette smoke as she sips her tea.
An hour and a half later when Mrs. Boothby has finished scrubbing the bathroom, washing the kitchen linoleum and polishing the drawing room and dining room floors, she pops her head around Edith’s bedroom door again, where the young maid kneels laying out crisp white tissue paper patterns that she pins to the fabric before cutting them out with her shears. “Well, I’ll be off then, Edith dearie! I’ll see you Thursday.”
Edith looks up, her shears clasped in her right hand. “Yes, see you Thursday Mrs. Boothby. Even if I go down to Mum’s on Thursday, I’ll still be here in the morning to let you in.”
“Alright dearie. I’ll do Miss Lettice’s bedroom floor and the ‘allways on Thursday, and I’ll do the black leading. I’ll ‘elp you turn Miss Lettice’s mattress too, like we talked about.”
“Very good Mrs. Boothby.”
Mrs. Boothby looks down across Edith’s little chamber and takes in the Weldon’s and Lady’s World Fancy Workbook********** magazines scattered across the floor, Edith’s precious lacquered sewing box, a gift from her mother, from which spill knitting needles, spools of thread, pins and a tape measure, cards of buttons from Mrs, Minkin’s Haberdashery, her shears and the patterns for several fashionable frocks. The old Cockney sighs.
“Is anything wrong Mrs. Boothby?” Edith asks, her own face filling with concern as she stares up into the thought filled face of the older woman.
“Well, I was just thinkin’ dearie.” She squeezes her pointy chin between her thumb and index finger thoughtfully.
“Yes, Mrs. Boothby?”
“’Ow long is Miss Lettice away for?”
“At least until mid next week. She’s gone to redecorate Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s house down in Penzance and she is staying for an extra day or two afterwards to gauge their happiness with her designs and organise any changes. I think Mr. Bruton will be going down too at the end, as he is supposed to be bringing her back up to London in his motor.”
“So she’ll still be gone on Friday?”
“I certainly expect so. Why do you ask, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Well, I was just thinkin’ dearie, that I might ‘ave a solution for your sewin’ machine problem. Can you come dahn to my ‘ouse in Poplar on Friday afternoon when I finish work about midday?”
“I suppose so, Mrs. Boothby.” the young girl replies, rather perplexed. “But why?”
“Oh, never you mind nah, dearie. Give me a few days to see if I can’t sort somethin’ out. I’ll come pick you up about ‘alf twelve from ‘ere. Alright dearie?” She smiles broadly at Edith, showing her badly nicotine stained teeth, but the smile is a kindly one.
“Very well, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith replies with her own bemused smile. “I’ll be ready. What do I need to bring.”
“Oh just yourself, dearie. Nuffink more. Well, ta-ta then dearie. Till Friday.” And the old woman shuffles out, her familiar footfall announcing her departure.
*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
**Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.
***Created by British industrial chemist and journalist Walter Weldon Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was the first ‘home weeklies’ magazine which supplied dressmaking patterns. Weldon’s Ladies’ Journal was first published in 1875 and continued until 1954 when it ceased publication.
****The word Yid is a Jewish ethnonym of Yiddish origin. It is used as an autonym within the Ashkenazi Jewish community, and also used as slang. When pronounced in such a way that it rhymes with did by non-Jews, it is commonly intended as a pejorative term. It is used as a derogatory epithet, and as an alternative to, the English word 'Jew'. It is uncertain when the word began to be used in a pejorative sense by non-Jews, but some believe it started in the late Nineteenth or early Twentieth Century when there was a large population of Jews and Yiddish speakers concentrated in East London, gaining popularity in the 1930s when Oswald Mosley developed a strong following in the East End of London.
*****A rookery is a dense collection of housing, especially in a slum area. The rookeries created in Victorian times in London’s East End were notorious for their cheapness, filth and for being overcrowded.
******Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.
*******Huntley and Palmers is a British firm of biscuit makers originally based in Reading, Berkshire. The company created one of the world’s first global brands and ran what was once the world’s largest biscuit factory. Over the years, the company was also known as J. Huntley and Son and Huntley and Palmer. Huntley and Palmer were renown for their ‘superior reading biscuits’ which they promoted in different varieties for different occasions, including at breakfast time.
********The Singer Corporation is an American manufacturer of consumer sewing machines, first established as I. M. Singer & Co. in 1851 by Isaac M. Singer with New York lawyer Edward C. Clark. Best known for its sewing machines, it was renamed Singer Manufacturing Company in 1865, then the Singer Company in 1963. In 1867, the Singer Company decided that the demand for their sewing machines in the United Kingdom was sufficiently high to open a local factory in Glasgow on John Street. The Vice President of Singer, George Ross McKenzie selected Glasgow because of its iron making industries, cheap labour, and shipping capabilities. Demand for sewing machines outstripped production at the new plant and by 1873, a new larger factory was completed on James Street, Bridgeton. By that point, Singer employed over two thousand people in Scotland, but they still could not produce enough machines. In 1882 the company purchased forty-six acres of farmland in Clydebank and built an even bigger factory. With nearly a million square feet of space and almost seven thousand employees, it was possible to produce on average 13,000 machines a week, making it the largest sewing machine factory in the world. The Clydebank factory was so productive that in 1905, the U.S. Singer Company set up and registered the Singer Manufacturing Company Ltd. in the United Kingdom.
*********The hire purchase agreement was developed in Britain in the Nineteenth Century to allow customers with a cash shortage to make an expensive purchase they otherwise would have to delay or forgo. These contracts are most commonly used for items such as automobiles and high-value electrical goods where the purchasers are unable to pay for the goods directly. However in the 1920s and 1930s, they were also available for furnishings such as lounge suites and bedroom suites.
**********Published by Horace Marshall and Son of London since the 1850s, the Lady’s World Fancy Work Book, like Weldon’s, was a magazine which supplied dressmaking knitting, crochet and embroidery patterns. It was published quarterly on the first of the month in January, April, July and October.
This cheerful and busy domestic scene is not all it seems to be at first glance, for it is made up of part of my 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures collection.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
The copies of Weldon’s Dressmaker and the Lady’s World Fancy Work Book are 1:12 size miniatures made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe. Most of the books I own that he has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. In this case, the magazines are non-opening, however what might amaze you is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
The Superior Quality buttons on cards are in truth tiny beads. They, along with the spool of cotton in the foreground, the sewing box, the spools of cottons pincushion, tape measure, silver embroidery scissors and the knitting needles in it all come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures.
The patterns for three afternoon dresses are genuine 1922 modes and come from Chic Parisien Beaux-Arts de Modes and are modes 386, 387 and 388.
The shears with black handles on the fabric open and close. Made of metal, they came from Doreen Jeffries’ Small Wonders Miniature Shop in the United Kingdom.
The fabric is real, and is a small corner of a few metres I acquired to have made into a shirt. Unfortunately, I cannot remember the name of the pattern.
The corner of Edith’s armchair that can be seen in the top of the photo is upholstered in blue chintz, and is made to the highest quality standards by J.B.M. Miniatures. The back and seat cushions come off the body of the armchair, just like a real piece of furniture.
The floorboards are a print of a photo taken of some floorboards that I scaled to 1:12 size to try and maintain a realistic look.