Cotillion Dress Re-Imagined
It took a month
before I made the first cut.
My hands shook. What was I thinking?
I'm a photographer not a seamstress. I held the lace,
now detached from the dress. Up close, it was easier to see it
for what it was - - not a collar to choke me or stifle my voice, but a stunning
piece of cotton formed into a delicate botanical scene. The dress
seemed to sigh with relief. With each bit of lace I removed,
this elegant piece of silk became lighter in every way.
My fingers ached from embroidering hundreds
of French knots on the ferns emerging on the hem. The final
stanza of Walt Whitman's poem, This Compost, now encircled the
bodice, beginning just above my navel. "Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is
that calm and patient." That was Walt Whitman in the late 19th
century. That was me at the start of this century. But I
am not terrified any more, every embroidered
stitch, a healing salve. The words circling
the bodice embrace whoever wears
this former Cotillion dress,
giving permission
to transform.
-Evelyn R. Swett, excerpt from The Cotillion Dress, an unpublished essay 2020
before I made the first cut.
My hands shook. What was I thinking?
I'm a photographer not a seamstress. I held the lace,
now detached from the dress. Up close, it was easier to see it
for what it was - - not a collar to choke me or stifle my voice, but a stunning
piece of cotton formed into a delicate botanical scene. The dress
seemed to sigh with relief. With each bit of lace I removed,
this elegant piece of silk became lighter in every way.
My fingers ached from embroidering hundreds
of French knots on the ferns emerging on the hem. The final
stanza of Walt Whitman's poem, This Compost, now encircled the
bodice, beginning just above my navel. "Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is
that calm and patient." That was Walt Whitman in the late 19th
century. That was me at the start of this century. But I
am not terrified any more, every embroidered
stitch, a healing salve. The words circling
the bodice embrace whoever wears
this former Cotillion dress,
giving permission
to transform.
-Evelyn R. Swett, excerpt from The Cotillion Dress, an unpublished essay 2020