Sewing was something I grew up with, mainly out of necessity as we didn't have a lot of money and my mother made most our clothes. She taught and expected me to do the same. I made my first "dress" when I was five from scraps from her projects. I remember realizing that you you couldn't just sew the pieces together to make something that worked. You actually had to cut shapes that fit the body and then sew them up. In high school, we couldn't afford Levis or Calvin Klein jeans so I learned to make pants and later I made my prom dresses two years in a row. I think my interest in architecture stemmed from the desire to make things for the body to inhabit.

I often felt frustrated with the process of sewing. I had an idea of what I wanted but I had difficulty making it a reality. Often it was close, but I was never satisfied. Patterns promised sleek silhouettes and pretty, flirty hems, but never looked on me like they appeared on the models gracing the pattern books.

When I went to Japan, I learned to make yukatas (summer kimonos) from a Japanese seamstress who made all sorts of wonderful traditional Japanese clothing, including wedding kimonos. The process she used facinated me because it was so unlike what I had grown up with. She used an entire bolt of fabric for each kimono and wasted not one scrap. Each piece was utilized in such clever ways to stiffen a sleeve or support the collar. She hand-stitched everything with a leather strap around her middle finger. This was sort of a Japanese-style thimble that she used to push the needle through the fabric in quick, perfect, machine-like stitches while her forefinger and thumb fed the fabric onto the needle. She would sit on the tatami mat and hold the end of the fabric pinched between her toes and pulled tight to her nimble fingers that magically put all the pieces together.

Over the years, I traveled all over SE Asia, often purchasing fabric and occassionally pulling it out to fondle and consider. I was always hesitant to cut into it. It just seemed way too precious.

My daughter is the one who re-initiated me into sewing when she found my stash of fabric, and, inspired by reruns of Project Runway that we watched on Netflix, Erica began to cut into my (almost) forgotten fabrics and drape and configure them on a manequin. She was fearless and really, really good at it. I felt inspired to play with fabric again.

Coming back to sewing has been a very different experience now that I dance with a hoop. At first, I just wanted to make things that were comfortable and allowed for a large range of movement. Not surprisingly, I found that different outfits informed my dancing almost as much as the music. Almost like a fourth element (the hoopdancer, the hoop, and the music being the first three), wide legged pants and flowy skirts drew my attention to my legs and acted almost like another hoop. When I finally started hooping with my hair down, I realized how much my dance opened up.

I've been incredibly inspired by other women before me who make original clothing for hoopdancers: Jasmine from Hoopclothes.com, Annie from Annieland, Kari from Ipseity. So, I've bitten the bullet and have begun making spinning skirts (and other fun things!) specifically to sell for hoopdance. Each one is unique but they all flow well, particularly with spinning dance. I will begin selling them at the HoopPath Retreat in June. They will range in price from $60 to $120. Here is a video of my hoopsisters Bonnie and Melissa playing in the barn in two of my newer skirts:

www.youtube.com/watch