Frankenblogging Part 5: 13th century Spanish male court dress

Author's note: The Frankenblogging feature is a republication of older content from my former personal webpage, with some annotations. It occurs every Monday morning. 

More old content, but this time, it is my notes and illustrations on trying to make heads or tails of some men's clothing in a Spanish museum catalog. The drawings are my drawings made to accompany my notes. I think this was originally written to share my notes with someone working on a reproduction and no access to this one, and at the time, best source.

A suit of Spanish Royal Clothes

These are my observations on a suit of clothes belonging to Fernando de la Cerda and dating to the 13th century.


Note: They are held in the textile collections of the Burgos Museum. The first link has a photo of the Saya sketched below.

Pellote (man's overgown): 

A detail of the fabric and a photo of the item in question before conservation (very sad! only shreds, really) are shown in the catalog, and it does not look as though the fabric is much stiffer than your average brocaded silk, though it may have been lined with something stiffer, perhaps linen, to give it body. There is extensive information with the photos, but I do not read Spanish very well and I can't tell yet if there was any lining, or evidence of a lining, found during the conservation process. I would make a test version out of a stiffish taffeta rather than cotton.

Was there some kind of stiffening to help the pellote hang correctly? The pellotes shown in surviving illuminations hang as if they have support, so I'm supposing there must have been something. This example may have had a two-layer linen facing at the hip, and a linen lining in the body to prevent stretching, but not being able to decipher the description of the pellote, I have no idea if they mention anything. The main thing
I know about grave finds is that any linen (or other vegetable fiber) that might have been there as underclothes or supporting linings tends to vanish. Silks and wools survive, but linen dissolves everywhere except Egypt, glaciers and bogs. 

Saya (man's undertunic):

The sleeve cut is unusual (to me, don't you love my generalizations?). It isn't shaped in any way other than being slightly tapered from shoulder to wrist. The seam is along the back of the arm, presumably so that the seam could be either decorative (as shown in the illuminations) or so that the heraldic brocade of the fabric on this particular item was not obviously broken at the seam when worn. It appears that the sleeve was sewn up first, then slit under the arm and sewn over the shoulder portion of the tunic body.

The rest of the tunic is constructed according to the usual method, except for a gap left on the left side that is laced shut, presumably for a good fit.

Manto (cloak or mantle):

A cloak (manto) made of the same elaborate heraldic brocaded silk, also belonging to Fernando de la Cerda. A discussion of the placement of the ties is (need to link to previous day's post).

Frankenblogging part 4: Medieval Half-Circle Cloaks

Author's note: The Frankenblogging feature is a republication of older content from my former personal webpage, with some annotations. It occurs every Monday morning. 

More Old Content! Please feel free to post comments, questions, and crticism :)

On the wearing of half-circle mantles

At least one surviving (non-ecclesiastical) example has two ties, one on either side, which are rather farther down than you would expect. This fits with my experience of wearing one, and actually helps to 'fit' the
garment to the body so that it stays.

My heavy, fulled wool, winter mantle is a pure half-circle, calf-length, and is worn opening at the front, clasped with a heavy double pin (bridged  by a chain of approximately 6 inches). It does not tend to slide down the back, but that is because the double brooch is pinned at shoulder level, /after/ arranging the cloak so that the extra cloth wrinkles up at the back of my neck (nice and cozy in cold weather). This is usually
about 16-18 inches down from the crease when the cloak is folded in half.

My summer mantle, being a little shorter and of finer wool, can be pinned to my gown with lighter brooches and doesn't wrinkle up much at the back of my neck because the lighter fabric drapes more easily across my shoulders. It is light enough that it can be comfortably pulled over my head (in the veil/mantle manner) if I need to do so. 

Note: This observation really has not changed at all in the intervening 10 years since I first made it. 

On decorating mantles

Virtually all of the surviving cloaks from period (And yes, I mean the whole 1000+ year stretch) that we have are decorated in some way. Some, like the 'Schnurmantel' and the coronation mantle of Roger II of Sicily are elaborately embroidered with designs that stand out from the base fabric, some are only 'trimmed' with embroidery (the Mammen cloak). The cloak from the Burgos collection is decorated in that it is made of an elaborately patterned textile of Moorish origin.

Due to artistic evidence of undecorated cloaks, I'd venture that lower classes wore them, and that these would be unlikely to have survived as they would be ideal candidates for recycling into other things (and also
because the richer garments were given into the care of the Church after a period of secular use, which helped to preserve them).

Half-circle cloaks were pretty much the norm from about 1100 on, although scattered survivals of the earlier rectangular cloak (mostly among poorer or isolated peoples) continued on for some time. The more extravagant 3/4 and full-circle cloaks seem to have evolved as weaving technology became more efficient, just like the rest of the world's fashion did. If you want easy, rectangular cloaks are very easy and practical, in that
they convert quite easily to blankets.

Frankenblogging Part 2: On facings in Medieval costume

Author's note: The Frankenblogging feature is a republication of older content from my former personal webpage, with some annotations. It occurs every Monday morning. 


 I wrote this a decade or so ago, originally for a post to a discussion list, later re-written for my old website. This is installment 2 of the bits and bobs coming over here from over there. 

On facings

First, for clarity and beacuse the two are often confused:

• Interfacing: A supplemetary layer of fabric, normally placed between the fashion fabric and the lining, or between the fashion fabric and the facing. It is intended to help stiffen or strengthen the fashion garment. In fully lined garments (such as jackets), all stress points may be interfaced, sometimes severaly layers deep, to help the garment keep its designed shape. 
• Facing: A shaped piece of fabric intended to finish a garment edge, often cut as an abbreviated version of the garment piece it matches. This is seamed along the garment edge, turned and either finished and left loose inside, or sometimes sewn down either inside or outside, depending on the design of the garment. 

In modern clothing the facing is often only attached at the garment edge (collar, cuff, placket, hem, etc) and is left to hang loose inside the garment. These loose facings are often interfaced to keep them from crumpling, flopping, or slipping out of the garment edge. Which they always do anyway. Personally, I hate these and I sew them down invisibly inside my garments.

In some eras of period costume, facings are used as a decorative motif, and are often embroidered. They serve a dual purpose, in that they are both a finishing technique (practical) and a form of ornament (decorative).  Where facings are used as a decoration, additional fabric bands may also be applied to continue the ornamental theme across the garment. I do 12thc, and therfore I make use of this decorative technique, and I find that I almost never have to interface my applied facings, *unless* it is a fine or unstable fabric.

On fastening keyhole necklines

I have often been asked how one should fasten a keyhole neckline. The simple, documentably period answer? A brooch.

Author's note: Small brooches are also really useful on regular clothing as well as medieval period clothing. They are also a really nice fashion detail. Every time I've worn a period-costume jewellry item with my everyday clothes, I've been complimented on it.


Medium-sized annular (unbroken ring) brooches with a hook catch on the back to anchor the pin seem to work well, as well as simpler ring- or disc-brooches. It takes a bit of practice to use a pen-annular (broken
ring) brooch to close the corners of a keyhole neckline, but it can be done.

You only need to close up a keyhole neckline if it's cold enough to, or if decency calls for it. If the corners of the neckline like to fly open and you don't want adventurous people looking down the inside of your tunic, pin them together. If you don't want to have to pin them, apply a trim or decorative facing that is fairly stiff.

This type of neck-finish was fashionable in various areas for hundreds of years. Generally speaking, the period way will turn out to be the most practical way, IME. If you are curious about exactly what is right for your persona, look at illuminations and period art for help. 

Day 60: Net

 

Net (2000?) Digital illustration, done in Fireworks. Incorporates text of a poem as a design element.

Day 26: Recipes for Disaster

 

Recipes For Disaster cover (2000) "cover" art for webzine, digital, collage.

Cover art for splash page of a goth-themed cooking webzine I maintained from 2000 to 2002.

Composed of scans of some funeral-themed dessert plates and the elements from the chapter heading plate I posted earlier. The web project actually grew out of the print project, and they ended around the same time.

Day 15: Erishkegal

 

Erishkegal (2000) Digital painting, incorporating collaged photographic elements and text.

I was reading a lot of paleohistory and books about Sumerian religous texts. I felt, all along, that Erishkegal (the goddess of the underworld and gaurdian of the dead) kind of got the short end of the stick during the world's creation. She certainly isn't happy in the Songs of Innana, she obviously feels cheated, and is envious of the real life that the love/fertility goddess gets to have.

I wanted to make a portrait of her as the bride of the underworld. This is it.

Day nine: Shonagon

 

Shonagon (2000) Digital illustration, incorporating lines of a poem.

I wrote a poem some years back about the famous Heian era journalista Sei Shonagon, and her Pillow Book. I wanted to incorporate it into an illustration, so both could be presented together. This is the result of that first attempt.

In future, I'd like to re-work this concept, using more references to her world in the illustrative piece, such as some of the complex and beautiful color and symbol language that was used, and possibly use a more Heian drawing style. Just not too Genji-like...I think I might be capable of doing this, as I am very Asian-influenced, and I like doing linework. We'll see.