Looking at our forgotten and or disregarded clothes in new light points out their importance in our lives and the meanings they hold - not in their own right but in terms of the evocative power they can possess.
Objects can hold sentimental value to their owners, whether that value is physical or emotional. This meaning is often imparted through human interaction, and as a result, an object may take on a significance that far outweighs its objective and material value. Therefore, these items can serve as powerful reminders of their previous owners, amplifying their ability to inspire.
This project is focused on the relationships people hold to their clothing and the question of whether or not fabric can possess memories. After talking with different people about the importance of their old clothing, I realised that garments can serve as touchstones for memory retrieval. I decided that combining the language of memory with the artefact would create powerful evocations to be displayed and appreciated. The re-visiting of memories through old clothing provoked questions and preserves histories, turning garments into miniature memoirs through customization.
I aimed to give the clothing their own mythologies, transcribed directly into the fabric through stitch as a way of turning a piece of clothing into an artefact, a time capsule collection. With thread acting as the visual aid for human connection, I was able to preserve and capture narratives. Throughout this publication, you will meet three pieces of clothing donated to me by their previous owners, along with the stories behind the garments.
These items of clothing have been separated from the person they once belonged to. They are now artefacts, presenting the memories they hold. Without the need to be occupied by a body or worn again, these garments speak for themselves. Hanging as apparitions, physical representations of past lives and experiences. You feel the presseence of memoriees through clothing. It’s not about how they once looked but how they felt.
Sadhbh RainbirdEncountering the memories that are held within our old clothes makes us think twice about the importance of objects.
‘A gift from my Grandmother.’
My Grandma gave me this blouse of hers when I was 22, I felt like it was a classic grandma present, something she’d like to see you in rather than something you’d actually wear yourself. I never really wore it or had a reason to wear it sadly, it sat in a box of old clothes at my mum’s house for months. My Grandma would always ask me where the blouse was and if I was going to wear it soon, so I wore it to her 70th birthday, that same year. I had no idea that this would end up being the last present she gave me before she passed away. I feel guilty now knowing that it’s been torn and slightly moth-eaten, I always ask myself if she’d be upset that I haven’t worn it since the last time I saw her. It feels like something that should be stored away instead of worn, holding onto the last environment it lived in, the smells, the memories. Or would she have wanted me to still be wearing the blouse today? Years after she passed. Although I’ll never know, something inside me tells me that she’d be happy with my idea of letting someone turn it into a piece of art to remember her by, holding onto the last memories and the original story behind the blouse, ensuring that I never forget them. Whilst writing this I think I’ve realised that I’m glad the last time I wore this was with her, it makes it that much more meaningful, just like my own personal time capsule. 7 years later the blouse is now ripped and frayed, its delicate, but it tells a story, holding onto memories between its seams. It reminds me of a past life that I loved and appreciated so much. So with this, I am piecing together the once broken, damaged and forgotten.
‘A slip dress from my past.’
If you’re wondering how this supposedly old dress looks so perfect and untouched, bar a few stains, that’s because it’s been tucked away at the back of my pants drawer for years now. Its origin began in 1996, a friend and I were out looking to buy slip dresses to go under a pair of entirely sheer, lace dresses for a costume party that was happening later in the evening. I can’t quite remember what we were dressing as but they required an underlayer of some sort. I suppose this garment didn’t live such a fulfilled life, but it holds a good story within it. We walked into the first vintage shop we saw along Brick Lane, a full rail of satin and lace hanging in the window. We grabbed the two cheapest dresses we saw, mine £18 and my friends’s £24, we were students and needed money for more important things, like bottles of wine from the corner shop, so the cheapest ones were our only option. We didn’t even bother trying them on. We headed out of the shop and rushed home, excited to start getting ready for the party. Just a few hours later, the part got unexpectedly cancelled, and we got the message halfway through doing our hair. Subsequently, I ended up losing touch with that friend just a week later. The whole thing always felt quite mysterious to me. A night that never played out alongside a friend I never saw again. After years of seeing the slip and thinking back to the specific memory behind it, I felt like it was my job to somehow give this dress the new lease of life it deserves, it holds so many questions yet only really one memory that has stayed with me ever since, and yet I never got to wear it. I never got to wear this slip dress, I had no use for it, it’s far too small for me now and my daughter didn’t want it, so it’s ended up sitting in my drawer for over 15 years now. It reminds me of a time of feeling young, free, and giddy, spending my earnings from waitressing on silly little dresses that I’d never end up actually wearing.
‘The bra I wore to my wedding.’
I had a picture in my head of what I wanted my wedding to look like It didn’t look like that as it turns out but it did look good. I saw myself as Bianca Jagger, in a white suit and red lipstick Instead my suit had a skirt and it was Westwood so not the straight lines of a seventies trouser suit but more cut to show bosoms and bum and a blouse with a tiny little flower print and a bow. I think of my outfit now and I feel like I overdressed and over-styled. I had stockings with seams, a hat with a lace veil, handmade by my best man Tom (he wore a handlebar moustache and a pocket square). There were pearls and a brooch, Alexander McQueen Candles with leather flowers and crimped hair. It was Kate Bush. Lionheart. I wanted my hair BIG My hands shook a lot through nerves so while I did wear my lips red they did not turn out the way I‘d hoped. They say either lips or eyes so I didn’t not wear much in the way of eye make-up. Good thing too because of the already mentioned shakes. A little mascara maybe. My first-ever manicure was got that morning. I didn’t enjoy it but it looked nice. I went to Soho to an underwear store where the girls work stockings and pink pinafores and the scent in the air was good enough to wear ( as my wedding scent) My bra was like ashes of a rose colour and bottoms were the same, pink but sheer, with an embroidered lines. I loved them. I ripped the bra that night because I think it was too small. It has ripped a lot more over the years. We got very drunk that night. My brother fell asleep in the hotel corridor and a cousin fell over. I wore the bra the next day too. I loved that bra.
For a garment to hold strong memories, it’s not about how it looked but how it felt.