Preparing a Museum Installation

Edwardian widebrim

Betsey Johnson on getting older: “Are you going to be alive and miserable or alive and happy?”

Words to live by. Have I said yet, that I get my philosophy fix from Fashion Television and Vogue Magazine? 

Moanday is behind me, so if you're interested, Betsey, I choose alive and happy, which is why I'm surrounded at the moment by hats, vintage velvet hat stands, graphic cardstock hat boxes from the 30's and 40's, and millinery mannequins.

You get the picture: shallow crowned cartwheels, ostrich feather wig hats, Victorian bonnets and movie-worthy slouches, doll hats, and Eugenies call out to me from between protective sheets of acid free tissue paper, as I make final selections for a millinery retrospective that will open in May and remain in place for a full year. I'm also making final selections for a touring exhibit of Titanic-era fashions.  

Although there are a number of chapeau that I've rejected—not iconic enough, too similar to another selection, recently exhibited in another location—I hesitate before sending them back to the archives. I believe the artefacts enjoy being seen. Besides, they make me too darned happy. 

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Moody Moanday

Monday, or Moanday as my friend Brenda calls it, is behind me now. I usually embrace Mondays as I love my work and am always eager to get back to it, but yesterday I had a bad case of the grumbles.

Is there a stylish way to gripe? If there is, I haven’t discovered it yet. I alienate everyone around me and end up in a state where even I can't stand myself. My mother's outlet of choice was to throw china. She made no apologies for smashing tea cups (cheap ones) against the wall. She reveled in watching the broken fragments fall to the floor, despite the fact she'd be the one to have to clean them up.

Maybe it's because she knew her moods would chase everyone out of the house and she'd have the place to herself, with no-one to mess it up, ask her to type out an overdue assignment, or whip up a last minute party dress—things she lovingly and obligingly did on a regular basis. (Once, during a thunder storm when the power went out, she made my father tea by candle heat.)  

With Palm Sunday behind us, I'm coming into Holy Week feeling anything but holy. In some European countries, Palm Sunday is called Willow Day or Flowers Day. If Mom were still alive, we could have celebrated her name day (Iris) with every Daisy, Rose, and Lily in France and Bulgaria. Then yesterday, I could have grumbled to her. She would have put on some tea, listened, and made me feel better. 

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Making a Bible Story Game Board

Teacher Sharon Smith
shares a bible story with
 one of the children.

Each season at St. Matthew's, church school teacher Barb Wasiljew prepares an original craft session in keeping with the curriculum. I enjoy these craft days which remind me of the projects I participated in as a kid.

Last week, Barb taught the children to make their own bible story game boards, complete with dice and player pieces. The large variety of coloured stick-ons she prepared, allowed the children to be quite creative in their selection and configuration of their game board pathways.

Game Rules 

The goal of the game? To reach the donkey (that's the Palm Sunday connection) at the end of the pathway, by advancing a game piece, square by square.  

As a player lands on a fish, temple, water, star, or other biblical symbol, s(he) is required to recount a bible story relating to the image, in order to move ahead by two.

I am pleased to say that as Barb quizzed the kids on their knowledge of biblical stories related to the symbols, plenty of hands shot up.

I'm looking forward to the day that my new granddaughter is old enough for Sunday School. It can be great fun.

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Prepping for Palm Sunday

The donkeys are coming back to St. Matthew's! Yesterday, the children were excited to rehearse for next week's Palm Sunday celebration. I'll be honest; they were excited just to be outside, but we did rehearse. Here's the plan for next week:

The children will lead the procession out of the church and onto the driveway, where Reverend Derek will bless the palms. Our Hosanna path will be along the front of the church, from the east doors to the entrance on the West side, with the children handing out palm crosses to the congregation who will line each side of the driveway. We are praying for more good weather, as our rehearsal went very well today.

Following our trial run, the children selected their costumes (we have plenty of extras for anyone who wasn't there yesterday), and the Youth Group girls scooted off to the kitchen where they made cheese biscuits for their April open house.

Evidently, the aroma of fresh biscuits was too much for some members of the Outreach Committee who commandeered them for their fundraiser. Oh well, back to the floured cutting board.

I'm looking forward to seeing everyone next week for Palm Sunday—one of my favourite days of the year—but this year I’m especially excited about seeing the donkeys.

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A Mania for Cloth Bound Collectibles

Title page from Volume I of an Earl's Edition
of the works of Benjamin Disraeli  

When I was eight years old and the family hired movers to help us relocate, my father’s personal library was catalogued and found to number over 5,000 volumes. I inherited a portion of these in 1989, and donated some to Casa Loma, whose library shelves—believe it or not—were filled with wooden replicas. (I discovered this while mounting an exhibit of 20th century wedding gowns at the famous location.) I have carefully stored many of the remaining books, displaying and enjoying them by rotation. 

Recently, feeling the press of post-holiday excess and frightened by an episode of Hoarders, I attempted a purge of my 19^th century book collection, but instead, I ended up adding to my library of second, third, and special edition classics. As I reacquainted myself with these cloth-bound beauties—running my fingers through deckled, slightly yellowed pages, and lifting the occasional translucent sheet to gaze at hand-colored illustrations—I fell in love all over again. The marbled endpapers of one volume alone reawakened my passion for such literary treasures.

Alison Hoover Bartlett, author of The Man Who Loved Books Too Much, (a fabulous read) believes “the allure of any book is in large part sensual.” Indeed, the thingness of books has appealed to collectors long before digital technology threatened to make bound paper obsolete.In a dedicated search for first editions, collectors and bibliomaniacs often overlook later edition classics, but these are often the very books with the most decorative covers, as publishers were often more willing to cover the extra cost of decorative bindings once a particular title had become a sure thing. 

The purge will have to wait. I love books too much not to bring them along with me into my sixties. 

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