March 14, 2008
I am obsessed with collecting fabric wherever I go. I have accumulated one metre pieces from places I’ve visited around the globe, keep them neatly folded in a large sturdy shoebox, and revisit them once in a while to marvel at my collection of treasures. I can remember the time and place and most importantly the moment behind each piece. A bundle of beautiful cotton prints from Kanariya in Sapporo, shopping with my mum; a bunch from the many drop-ins at Dressew on Hastings in Vancouver, some honest ginghams from an old lady who ran the most organized though musty fabric shop in Parc Avenue in Montreal, the beautiful madras plaids I recently acquired from a shop in Paris whose name I don’t remember but know that the Project Runway team from a couple seasons back hit up on a Paris excursion. The memories attached to the yardage make it nearly impossible to cut up and make into something you never know will work until the end, at which point somehow the memory has mutated into something different from fabric in it’s uncut and virgin form.
Nothing is more satisfying than a rare score of fabric -the last remnants of a decades old roll, random factory samples from old European textile empires, finding “Made in Italy” woven into the selvage of one euro per metre fabric. I read this article and the accompanying photograph made me think I should make a scrapbook of sample slices and stories. It would be so beautiful. And not only that, include the names of secret spots with addresses and additional top secret info, perhaps pool together a bunch of contributors worldwide and publish and distribute this little exclusive black book of fabric secrets to contributors. Does this interest anyone?