I am a great fan of Vuillard's intimist work, enjoying it much more than many other of his contemporaries perhaps because he does for me capture so much of the atmosphere which surrounded me as a small child in Thessaloniki, Greece in the very early 1950s. The UK was forward-looking then, and by contrast the life I encountered with my relatives in Greece was backward-looking. Refugees in the '20s, they had come from divers locations but were closely related, and met often, and mostly told stories about the past. Looking back as I grew up, it felt as if I had vicariously lived in a previous century as well as the present.
There was electricity, but because of the strong sunlight during the day, the shutters were often closed and we moved about in the dim light so often seen in Vuillard's paintings. The rooms were full of women. Most of my relatives were aunts and great-aunts, and older cousins who had survived their husbands. Their clothes were black. There were few shops with clothes because everyone went to a seamstress. The two we frequented were also Pontic Greek refugees.
My mother paid very little for the clothes that were made for us because not only did we bring our own fabric, but also we used to haul out of date pattern catalogues on our trans-European train journey. The seamstresses did not need paper patterns, but were delighted to receive the drawings that showed the garments: nearly up-to-date styles. They were remarkable women who achieved a great deal with small reward. As we ourselves could afford more, we brought more than enough fabric so that they could use the remainder for themselves, whether for other clients or no. In fact I never saw our main seamstress wearing anything other than her slip, with a pin cushion tied round her wrist.
The second evocation of my earliest encounters with a seamstress was brought to mind when I went for a breast screen last week. The radiographer was so gentle she reminded me of my grandmother's and aunts' fittings for brassieres. In the earliest '50s such garments were not available in any shops in Thessaloniki, but there were seamstresses who specialised in the architectural design and manufacture of corsets and brassieres. As a toddler I was like Vuillard an observer, amazed by all of the experiences.
Alas, as the years and decades went by there was less and then no work for the latter seamstress as mass manufacture and sale of underwear became ubiquitous. I continued to have dresses made for me until I became engaged in 1969, but after that I became a tourist in Greece, no longer living there for the whole season of summer.
But Vuillard's paintings bring it all back to me.
So lovely to hear you tell your experiences and see them illustrated. I can go there with you through Edouard Vuillard's work.
ReplyDeleteNot exactly the same, but having been in Romanian homes directly after the revolution, I have a sense of what your families homes were like.
Yes, Sandy, Vuillard's interiors were just like the apartment my grandmother lived in at that time: large tall rooms with huge heavy dark furniture. I imagine that a lot of European countries copied the French style in architecture in the 19th century.
DeleteOur seamstress used to come to our house, Olga, where she would remain for 8 hours. She would complete many garments in that time, particularly as my mother used to help her with the stitching. Your post has brought all those memories back: we would all sit with her and chat; the fittings throughout the day, and of course, the excitement of having new clothes. I never came across one that made bras or corsets though.
ReplyDeleteEirene, my mother used to tell of the seamstress in Xanthi, and my grandmother also of Trapezous - in each case she also used to arrive for the day or two to complete a season's garments. My grandmother, mother, and aunts were all accomplished seamstresses themselves, and especially during the war used to conjure glorious fashionable garments out of anything they could get their hands on.
DeleteThe corsetiere I think was the last of her kind, and was a throw-back to the Trapezous days. She had been working for the family then, and I think was even older than my grandmother.
What a delightfully gentle and sensitive post. You, together with Vuillard’s paintings, contour up so vividly a bygone time of hardship and hard work but also of family and community where skills and possessions were shared around.
ReplyDeleteInteresting to consider that, growing up the UK in the 50s as I did, when times felt hard and possessions were few, we were well off and modern compared with many elsewhere.
Thank you, Margaret. Unfortunately, times of hardship and hard work are still with us - and I suspect always will be.
ReplyDeleteA subject I am totally unversed in. Never really occurred to me that such an occupation existed as I have instead been inundated with stories of the hardy pioneers who would go into town to buy fabric, sometimes a bolt at a time, to make clothing for the family. And my own experience is in being my and my mother's own seamstress, making a lot of our clothes (and actually some shirts for my dad too) while I still lived at home. Your description of the seamstresses coming to the homes to work reminded me of other itinerants like those who went from home to home staying for the length of time it took to make quilts for a family. A very enjoyable post.
ReplyDeleteI am glad that you enjoyed my reminiscences, Sheila. A professional seamstress was probably mostly to be found in a city or a big town in the early USA - but it is not something I've come across.
DeleteInteresting that you were the family seamstress. I did make clothes for myself after I left home, but not for anyone else.
It was a way to stretch the budget and sport styles/fabrics no one else was. As for the sewing for other than myself, my mother struck a deal with me to make her clothes in exchange for "extras" and long distance phone calls I wanted to make. Oh, the days when one waited until evening when the rates went down on calls beyond your own little town. :-)
DeleteSheila, I often think about how we 'made do' decades ago, and wonder whether things have really 'improved'. So much acting without thought of consequences these days - but maybe I'm just an old curmudgeon! I always used to think that my Greek grandmother had seen extraordinary changes in her life, but then when I look back myself I suspect that every generation feels thus.
DeleteGrateful for sharing thhis
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