Fashion became very real to me in college. I was an Interior Design major at Drexel when I happened to be approached by a fellow student–someone I didn't know–and asked if I would be interested in being her model for a design she was draping. Intrigued and somewhat skeptical I said, "Maybe". She lead me to a huge lab room with about 20 girls and as many dress forms and hundreds of bolts of fabric and huge cutting tables and I liked what I saw. But I really liked what I felt–energy. Fingers flying, slicing through beautiful silk and cotton in orange and gold and indigo. Those same hands taking those flat pieces of cloth and shaping them into flowing forms. It looked like magic. "Yes," I said to her right then and there. I didn't know whether she was talented or if her project dress would make me look good or bad. I didn't care. I just wanted to be in that room–be a part of that energy and make magic. Very shortly after that day I changed my major to Fashion Design. When I think back though, I'm sure that I was predisposed to love making clothes because of my Grandmother. She made all of our dresses. My sister and I and all of my cousins had special, frilly, one-of-a-kind creations a la Granny. They were finely crafted and they fit us beautifully. I wish that I had them still not because she was a professional but because they were made of the fabric of life. So I'm sharing a photo of her and me in front of her favorite tree. And one of my sister and me in her creations.
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