Two-legged Spider
Four of my eight appendages have been removed to accommodate the blending,
Jiuta my voice.
I sew with two hands,
fabric replacing my silk.
I wear a dress suitable for two arms, two legs.
PHOTO: Made another scarf, this time modifying the first bedsheet design to make it tie a bit better. It’s split into 'two tongues' so it ties like two separate scarves.
PHOTO: Kitsuke practice —
I had an old scarf resized to test how it drapes as an obiage. It wraps the makura fine, but the material is too thick to be tucked in at the front. I have also made some obijime samples using yarn that I had hoarded for years. The above sample seems to match the scarf!
These yarn braids will be used as colour samples and kumihimo tests, but likely cannot be used for actual dressing. If I want to make a proper obijime, I will have to use something sturdier like silk cord.
Another note:
I was so bloated during this time of the month that I didn’t even need to use towels for body shaping. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? Kitsuke allows us to be so mindful of our bodies, showing how a kimono can be adjusted to fit us no matter how our shapes change.
SONG: When the shamisen slides during the first lines of Kurokami ('Black Hair')—a jiuta piece we’re learning in chamber music —I always imagine her letting down her jet-black hair or disrobing an outer layer.
After dance classes, a classmate and I bumped into each other in the changing rooms. I asked how her guzheng recital fared over the weekend. During the conversation, the topic shifted to why she chose to play this particular instrument. Her reply was, “I simply love (traditional) music.”
I had pondered over learning the koto before; however, like the guzheng (and all zithers), it is a right-handed instrument. So, I chose the jiuta shamisen instead. As for the genre, I had no say from the beginning, as the teacher specialised in Jiuta.
But I’ve come to enjoy its intimacy and relationships with other instruments in a chamber; like a single tree among many, it comes alive as a forest when the wind passes through—trunks creaking, leaves rustling, and branches snapping, together
Jiuta is gentler than Tsugaru and tends to pace slower, deliberately. I’m drawn to its more melancholic pieces: Kurokami (Black Hair) and Zangetsu (Fading Moon).
PHOTO: Over the weekend, I repurposed some old fabric to make handkerchiefs to roll and place under the bow of my hanhaba obi, and I also made obiage out of old scarves and a torn bedsheet. I'm really excited to see how they drape and tie when I wear them with my kimono.
Above is an obiage I made using the old, plaid bedsheet.
I have seen plaid-style kimonos—and kimonos that feature plaid accessories—and I have always thought the look was very cute.
I knew going into this that the scarf would not drape as well as silk. The fabric was thick, even more so when folded into thirds! I was not able to tie it the way I normally do with my silk pieces.
Teacher had told me that the obiage are also used for decorative purposes, so I hope that (without crossing too many boundaries in kitsuke) I can be a little playful when it comes to making this work with the kimono.
And here we go…
PHOTOS: This little one was squirming on its side when I found it. I nudged it onto my hand, where it sat for a while before flying towards the cherry blossoms. Afterward, I taught Byung-ho the English word for 나비, nabi (butterfly), and we went looking for more butterflies and moths.
Recently, Yasuko and I were talking about tsumugi, a traditional type of rough-surfaced silk used for kimonos.
She was telling me how the colour of the fabric might change depending on the location and soil of the land—so interesting! (The topic eventually wended towards climate change and how the eventualities will affect the production of tsumugi. We stopped as it started to disturb us.)
In class, teacher showed us a sample of ushikubi tsumugi where only tamamayu (double silkworm cocoons) were used to make the fabric. For the first time, I held a twin cocoon in my palm. It stirred me. I’ve raised silkworms as pets (I still remember their smell of fresh leaves), but now I have a biting urge to rear them again to observe the cocoons.
PHOTO: The outcome of this practice felt like one of my worst, however, the process of dressing was much easier than any other I’ve done so far.
There were so many things I was unhappy with, especially the otaiko. I’m at a point where I want to wear an obi with a repeat pattern. The process reminds me of the frustration of dressing in my striped kimono, where I had to align the lines on the ohashori with the skirt.
For body correction, I experimented with using one towel instead of two for my bust, thinking perhaps I would end up looking less bulky. However, the layers became difficult to manage (shifting and slipping) due to my pronounced curvatures. I will go back to two towels until I can find something more flattening.
PHOTOS: Snow peas starting to look unruly...
We also didn’t plan to grow potatoes. However in nature things prout especially when you compost, and I just let the plant bloom for the flowers. The soil wasn’t adequate and also rather compact, so most of the spuds clustered on the surface, some look green too...Maybe next year I’ll consider growing them seriously...
PHOTOS: For Spring;
practicing tying chocho musubi (butterfly bow) with hanhaba obi, wearing my recycled komon kimono; wearing pale yellow to not compete with the blossoms on our peach tree as I walk through the garden.
The clip at the back holds onto my collar as I’m working through putting on the kimono. This time I managed place the floral pattern of my obi at the centre (which is rather formal). I’m still working on adjusting the te, and while pattern placements still feel like drawing a wildcard sometimes, I do have a basic idea of how it’ll end up.
I’ve tied my obijme in a double-knot style this time, bascially the same as the single but looped around twice.
The whole process takes roughly up to thirty minutes; the preparation, folds, alignments and adjustments, every layer underneath, every seam on the kimono has a reason; and this is why I love kitsuke. Dressing is a mindful consideration, like a ritual.
PHOTOS: Stretch spider on my potted dandelions
Winter ends with a warmth; the tepid scent of peach blossoms rises toward the waning moon.
I revise my kitsuke notes and chat with Yasuko about kimono, and the neatness of her otaiko.
She had recommended some more styles of tying the obi: ginza-musubi /tsunodashi.
PHOTO: I wore my hanbok over the weekend. The 노리개, norigae, belongs to mum.
I forgot some of the steps, and ended securing the chima in the way you would secure a datejime or an objime on a kimono. I’ve revised the hanbok, but honestly feel like I’m probably not tying some things right...
PHOTOS: One-half of a pill bug moult.
This is very precious to me. I felt so lucky that it wasn’t eaten when I found it.
PHOTOS: Things I enjoyed today —
a small grass moth,
a jumping spider on a spinach leaf,
picking the first crop of snow peas,
gai lan blooms,
dressing in a kimono.
PHOTO: Oh...what a mess!
I’m the absolute worst when it comes to smoothing out the wrinkles on my back. Teacher has to constantly remind me before I put on my obi.
This is my recycled komon kimono that I wear around the home. I’ve promised to dress myself in kimono on most days for practice.
PS. I was able to adjust the te enough so I don’t fold the flower embroidery when I make my otaiko!
PHOTOS: Daffodils, jonquils.
Regularly moving my potted plants to sit in the sunbeams during the day.
PHOTO: Kitsuke exam day...
Well. The pattern is bascially non-existent on my otaiko.
Midnight. I hear a rip.
At the corner of my obi where it folds into a triangle.
I stand holding the sides of the tare in a daze; I had pulled the fabric in an attempt to create the top line of the otaiko. Then came the teacher’s voice, her words looping over and over, “You need to be gentle”.
Surely, I wasn’t the first to have done something like this?
The following morning I sat down, and carefully mended with black thread. Each stitch wrapped the unbound edge meticulously, one by one with the greatest care.
PHOTOS: I have fixed my obi! Now to open up the seams on my nagajuban...
PHOTOS: Some half year harvests: Longans, mandarins, gai lan...
There were so many sweets, as well as plenty of lettuce for ssam! We ended up picking so much fruit that we shared and swapped with the neighbours.
I told teacher she looked like she was gracefully dancing.
PHOTO: My nagoya obi, obijime and a pair of white tabi (the clasps are the bane of my emotions; after my first lesson I spent time practicing putting them on, fastening and un-fastening, taking them off. )
PHOTO: Kitsuke classes, our first attempt dressing ourselves artfully in kimono.
As she cut into the fabric, she imagines. Hundreds of tiny particles only visible in a light beam rise. She inhales slowly, scent etched into her memory, polyester in her lungs.
What to do of bags of unwanted things? A constant reminder, a memory, a guilty stain of sorts...
From old clothes I spin threads, make fabrics, make accessories, make other clothes.
PHOTO: Embroidered memory of a pattern I saw on a kimono.
PHOTOS: Months, and ongoing; the individual pieces are all hand-stitched.
I’ve been putting old, discarded pillow cases into use. This is a fabric for a 저고리…, or a jeogori-inspired piece. I saw the pattern on a women’s theatrical jacket from the Ethnic Costume Museum in Beijing — and I told myself, “I must have it (the pattern), so I’m making it!”
PHOTOS: Snaps of leaf-curling spider homes; often their front legs are exposed.
PHOTO: Moved a stray mantis onto my avocado tree (nearly one-year old! Germinated from a pit).