What the Art Teacher Wore #70

blouse and bangles: vintage, thrifted; skirt and belt: Pin Up Girl Clothing; shoes: Sofft

Like, wow. It's been seriously forever since I last blogged but you gotta know, it's not my fault. I place the blame on my maw and bro for their week-long visit which was immediately followed by a week-long professional development (the Tennessee Arts Academy, aka, The Best Professional Development for the Arts ever. More on that soonish). I know, I've got lots of excuses (always, it's just who I am. When I'm not whining about something, I'm usually excuse-a-micating. I'd stop but I just can't shake my excuse-itus) but Ima gonna try my hardest to get my bloggin' schedule back on track (oh, who am I kidding, this bloggin' train done derailed ages ago).

So I thought I'd share with you what my mom, brother and I did on their visit to Nashville. It's a rare occasion I get to see my baby bro (he's 10 years my junior) because he lives and teaches on a Navajo reservation in Many Farms, Arizona. After a visit home (to Indiana, we're Hoosier/Pickle-Lovers, remember?!), he and mom drove down here to ole Tennessee for a spell. We had an awesome time playing tacky tourist with entirely too many selfies and sweet tea. 

On our first morning, we walked at Radnor Lake before the heat set in. If you're not familiar with Radnor, it's a super popular place to day hike because the trails are short and deer watching is amazing. In fact, the deer are so used to the people that as mom and I were chatting and walking down a trail, I turned my head away from her and found myself face-to-face with a grass-chomping deer. She just snorted and walked off. The deer, not my mother. Although that does sound like something she would do.

Don't you love those sweet little spots?

My brother wanted to check out the Parthenon which is in Nashville's Centennial Park. The Nashville version of the Parthenon was built in 1897 as apart of the Tennessee Centennial Exposition which was this big ole party celebrating the 100th year of Tennessee joining the Union. Our version of the Parthenon is an exact replica AND, as we like to tell fancy Europeans, it's way better because it's newer and not as crumbly.

Aw, a sibling moment that was quickly followed by, "okay, picture's over, stop touching me!"

Sigh. So, okay, in the 1990's it was decided that Alan LeQuire, a famous Nashville figurative sculpture artist, would create an exact replica of the Athena that was in the original, now crumbly, Parthenon. And she was lovely. Imagine this exact state but all white. It was absolutely breathtaking when you would enter the Parthenon. Because the funding ran out, the statue was left in an all-white state for many years. Apparently the original statue was painted like...this. So when the Parthenon was granted the funding a couple years ago, Athena was gilded in gold and painted up like a lady of the night. I'm sorry. I just don't like it. It looks like a Jean Paul Gaultier meets Liberace.

Mom and I attempting to get pretty on the Shelby Street Walking Bridge.

The walking bridge is several years old and I've never taken the time to walk across it. You can see the best views of downtown Nashville and Broadway from there.

This boy is a constant photo bomber!

dress: vintage, thrifted, and dyed by me here; shoes and shades: Target, old; hair flower: made by me, just a little fake floral glued to a clip

dress: Anthro, couple years ago; shoes: Poetic License; belt: Pin Up Girl Clothing

Our local art museum, The Frist Center for Visual Arts, is currently exhibiting one of the most incredible exhibits of cars. Look, I'm not even a car person and this was easily one of my favorite exhibits ever. These cars were all from the 1920's - 30's and each a magnificent work of art. Several were one of a kind and one was even for sale for a cool 2 million. I was amazed to hear that each car was in working order and were driven into the museum.

Mom and me in a gas cap.

Isn't it amazing how something sitting so still can look like it's zooming so fast?

On the last day of their visit, we went to Rippavilla Plantation in Spring Hill, Tennessee. The story goes that the home was built by Nathaniel Frances Cheairs IV. But the story begins way before that when Nathaniel began courting Miss Susan Peters McKissack. Apparently, when Nate decided he wanted to marry Susan, his father tried to convince him otherwise. Not because he didn't like Susan, he just didn't like her name. That's right, apparently, all the Nathaniels in the family had always married Sarahs and ole pops wanted Nate to keep up the tradition. He even tried bribing him to seek out another bride. Can you imagine that in the Singles Column: "SWM seeking SWF, must have most of your teeth, a big hoop skirt, plenty of bonnets AND be named Sarah. With an "h"." Nate decided his pops was crazy, married Susan, had four kids and built a big ole plantation. Take that, Nate, Sr.

The real reason we wanted to go was because the plantation was hosting a big ole vintage event on the grounds of the estate. I managed to scoop up some bangles that I think will go perfectly with that doggone Butterick dress that's STILL on my sewing table. My goal is to finish her off this coming week. Which was also my goal last week...AND the week before that.

So much vintage awesomeness. With the exception of that tractor pillow. Like, ew.

I promise the matching straw hat was totally unintentional! dress: Urban Outfitters picked up a Plato's Closet; hat: Florida

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What the Art Teacher Wore #69

On the Fourth: When I heard Anthropologie was having their 20%-Off-Everything-Still-Overpriced-But-We-Call-It-a-Sale-to-Soften-the-Blow Sale, I knew I had to get over there and see if they had this dress in my size. And they did! AND I managed to use a gift card, making the dress, like, free-ish. I mean, they practically paid me to take it. So I was actually doin' them a favor. Because I'm a giver. belt: Pin Up Girl Clothing; shoes: DIY here

 Hiya, kids. I don't know if you missed me or not (the correct answer here is: YES! We did! We've been worried sick, crying every night, checking your blog religiously, where have you been young lady?!) but I've been on a little bit of a laz-cation. We didn't make plans for the holiday weekend and then it rained for five days straight during which we started building an ark and then remembered we had kayaks and then remembered we'd never get all those stinkin' animals in our kayaks so we had some ice cream and took a nap. Seriously. That was our fourth of July. Oh! And we bought cat food. Because, in all seriousness, if we could only save one kind of animal, it'd have to be kitties. And camels because they spit at people and I think that's hilarious. Mostly because I often have the same urge.

So this super sweet vintage fabric has been in my stash for ages. I love it so much that every now and then, I just take it out and look at it adoringly. I finally came upon what I think is the perfect dress pattern for this fabric and I'm excited to share it with you as soon as the beast is complete. Because, in a moment of insanity, I decided to use another Butterick pattern. Keep me in your thoughts, would ya?

 So, yeah, the holiday weekend was pretty lax. We actually didn't even venture out to see fireworks, mostly because it was raining and the other mostly because we are Firework Connoisseurs. Some people might even refer to us as snobs but I say, "Until you've watched your husband spend $280 in an Alabama Fireworks/Flea Market/Grocery Store type place and then watched him set them off at a local elementary school but only after using them to blow up the gingerbread houses your family lovingly crafted, you don't know the Power of Fireworks." Which is probably why no one talks to me because I have a tendency to go off on random rants. AND because I spit at people. But only when annoyed.

Rainy Day Estate Salin': Turns out the day after the fourth of July isn't the best day to go estate salin'. Even still, my buddies and I managed to score a coupla goodies. On the cheap too as my bartering skillz are jammin'. Mostly cuz the folks running the estate sales will do just about anything to get rid of me. dress: vintage, thrifted; belt: LOST! I busted out of the thing getting in and out of the car and, sadly, lost my wee bow belt, sigh; sweater: Betsy Johnson, Buffalo Exchange; boots: Hunter

 I did manage to venture out to a couple of estate sales this week so I thought I'd share my scores with you. Which is what the "When I Scored" part of the post title is all about. Lest you think I was referring to something else. You naughty reader.

Lefty pinking shears, a super old button holer AND that wee container of hem marking powder. Which I convinced the estate sale dude to give me for free because, "Look at it, it's gross. You'll just end up throwing it away, so it's like I'm taking the trash out for you!" (See, this is why they hate me).

There's still white powder in it. Which could be vintage cocaine because that woulda been the ultimate place to hide one's coke, dontcha think?! I can just imagine the scene now: "Why, what do we have here, Betty?!" // "Oh, you silly husband! It's my hem marking powder aka How-Do-You-Think-I-Manage-to-Keep-the-House-so-Clean-Make-Three-Square-Meals-AND-Put-Up-with-You-with-a-Smile-on-my-Face powder. Whichever you'd prefer to call it, dear."

Let's Go Barbecuin': A buddy of ours had us over for a cookout which was a lot of fun. I have this bad habit of getting stuck in homebody/sewing room mode and I sometimes have to be forced to leave the house. This was one of those times and it was totally worth changing out of my 3pm-in-the-afternoon pajamas for. dress: vintage; sandals: Target, old

At one sale, I scored two large vintage scrapbooks for a dollar each. On the first page of this scrapbook, there were tons of these sweet get-well cards.

Complete with hand-written notes! I love letters, especially vintage ones. Their handwriting and choice of wording is always so elegant to me.

The other scrapbook was a total trip. It was completely full of page after page of wedding and shower announcements, invitations, and newspaper clippings. It had the Always-the-Bridesmaid-Never-the-Bride feel to it.

Most of the announcements were from the 1940s with many grooms in their military garb. It was like a book full of Baby Boomin' Baby Mamas and Papas.

Some pages of the book were simply cutouts from magazines...like a bridal pinterest board from the 1950's, dontcha think?

 And that's all I've got to show for myself from this past week. And I'm not promising much more this week as my baby bro (he's 10 years my junior) and maw are coming in for a visit. Again, be thinking of me, would ya? I have no idea what we'll be up to, but I'll be certain to pop back in and say hello. I'd hate for you to get all worried about me again, geesh.

Hope your week is grand!

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What the Art Teacher Wore #68

This picture cracks me up because it kinda makes me look all sweet and innocent and whutnot. Which is SO TRUE. Except instead of sweet, I'd say "sarcastic" and innocent I'd say "something-that's-not-innocent-but-really-lazy-and-kind-of-annoying". Hey, I can't help the way I was raised. dress: vintage, The Hip Zipper in Nashville, shoes: Crocs; hair flower: H&M

 DUDES! You won't believe what just happened! I am so humiliated and mortified, you don't even know. But before I get to that, I've gotta first tell you the prequel of said Humiliated and Mortifying Event. Because it will totally set the stage for what just happened and will reaffirm your very correct thoughts of my ridiculousness. 

(I know what you're thinking, "Ahem. Giveaway winner, please? I didn't come here for no story time." To which I say, "Patience is ... oh, crap, what's the saying again? Oh yeah...Patience is a Virtue. What does that even mean? I have no idea, just scroll to the bottom, you impatient virtue-less beast.)

A buddy and I decided to take a day and explore some dusty old antique shops which, by the way, are the very best kind. The prices were crazy reasonable (I scooped up 3 amazing vintage dresses priced at $10 each which the owner sold to me for $8!). If you live in Tennessee and find yourself in between Columbia and Thompson Station, drop in Carters Creek Station Antiques.

 Okay, so, a coupla days ago, I scheduled some dudes to come out and clean my gutters. Which, if that sounds naughty to you, than you obviously have your mind in the gutter and should consider a good cleaning. I was told they'd be here around 8am which kinda worried me as I planned to be meeting up with a friend to hit estate sales (I'll share my drool-worthy spoils here in a sec). The gutter-cleaning-secretary-lady assured me that it wasn't a big deal as this was an outside job and they wouldn't be needing me. Cool.

Did I ever tell you about the time my crazy neighbor came over while I was planting ivy and said all soothsayer-esque, "I predict that ivy is going to take over your whole yard." To which I replied, after punching her in the nose, "Oh yeah? Well, how come you didn't see that comin', huh? Because my fist just took over your whole face!" Okay, not really. Like most nose-punchings, that only happened in my mind. But it turns out she was kinda right. And I kinda like it. dress: vintage, thrifted; belt: Pin Up Girl Clothing; shoes: TJMaxx

 So, woudn't ya know, at 7am I'm at the kitchen table eating brekky when the doorbell rings. And I suddenly get that watery-bowel feeling that only comes when you just so happen to be sitting at the kitchen table in your nastiest, shortest bathrobe with nuthin but undies on underneath and you are wanted at the front door. Oh, but wait, there's more: one of the things that sold us on our home was the fact that you can stand at the front door and see all the way into the kitchen. Which means door-bell-ringing/gutter-cleaning dude could totally see me. Fortunately, I had my back to the door. So all he saw was me hop up from the table and take off running.

More antique store goodness.

This vintage dress is one of my fave thrift store finds. It's so hard to find good, polyester-free vintage in the thrift stores these days that when I do, I feel like I've struck gold. dress: vintage, thrifted; pin: vintage; shoes: BCShoes, old; belt: made by me for my glow-in-the-dark Christmas dress

 And I was like a maniac as I didn't even know where I was running to. My fight or flight instinct was telling me: Get some more clothes on! Brush your teeth! Did you even wash your face last night because you look like a member of Kiss! Oh, never mind, just hide in the closet and hope he goes away.

Which I totally was going to do. But then he rang the doorbell again.

A sweet gem from the antique shop. I love the excitement on that little one's face.

I knew I had to get to the bedroom for some flippin' clothes. But the main set of stairs is right at the front door so my only option was to take this sneaky back set of stairs from the kitchen. And as I zipped up those stairs I thought, "perfect, I'll just slip on some shorts and a t-shirt and go see what gutter-cleaning-man wants." 

And then I remembered: I had to cross the top of the stairs which you can see from the front door. Crap.

top: thrifted, Banana Republic; skirt: thrifted, vintage; bag: Enid Collins, ebay

As I stood at the top of the stairs, I weighed my options:

A. Go answer the door. In nasty bathrobe. With Kiss-face. And be the laughing stock of all gutter-cleaning-man dudes.  

B. Run across the top of the stairs. Be seen by gutter-cleaning-man in my nasty bathrobe but only in a flash as I move lightening fast. Come downstairs in appropriate attire and act as though nothing happened.

I went with option B. And then I vowed, like took an oath, that I would never ever just sit around in my nasty bathrobe and not-much-else again.

Are you seeing this?! I scored big money at an estate sale this week with over 20 vintage dress patterns in my size! Can you believe the luck?! 

 Which now (finally) brings me to what just happened. So, it's after 12 pm, I've just had my lunch and I'm wearing appropriate teacher-on-summer-vacation attire: my pajamas. Look, my oath was very specific, it said I couldn't sit around in my bathrobe and undies anymore. So I upgraded to a paint-splattered t-shirt from college and a pair of waistband-busted sweats. What? I like to keep it classy yet comfy. Kinda like a Forever Lazy. Just not as swanky.

If I didn't currently have another dress on my sewing table, I'd make this one. Sadly, what I'm  currently working on is making me homicidal. So if I call you to come over for tea, don't. There's a good chance Ima gonna kill you in a fit of this-dress-pattern-is-driving-me-homicidal rage. You've been warned.

 This time Ima sitting on the couch in full view of the front door when the doorbell rings. My fight or flight totally started screaming for me to run for it again but it was too late. Gas-man was staring right at me. So with one hand holding up my waist-band-busted sweats, I opened the door.

I have a confession to make: I love rainy summer days. They're all snuggly and easy-going. Perfect for pajamas-til-way-after-noon kinda days. Which should be everyday in my book. dress: vintage; boots: Hunter

 And the followin' went down: 

Gas Man (looking at me gingerly): Hellooo, ma'am. Um, you were sent a letter saying that we would be doing a service call in your area at this time. Did you get the letter?

Me: Um, maybe?

 

Gas Man: We also sent out an email, a text message and a voice mail. 

Me: Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm sure I got that [vaguely recall throwing away said letter, deleting said text and voice messages and not even bothering to open said email. Oops.]

Gas Man: But if you are sick we can come back another time!

Me: Oh, I'm not sick! I'm just on summer vacation. In my pajamas. I'm going to go change now. Be right back.

And that's when I made an oath addendum: I will never ever sit around in my pajamas or my nasty bathrobe again. Although, in all seriousness, that's just not an attainable oath for me. So, now that I think about it, I'm going to have to do another oath rewrite. Here goes: I will never sit in full view of my front door. And I will always keep random piles of clothing around the house in case of an emergency. Like in the kitchen cabinets. Or the fridge.

 But enough about all that, let's get to the giveaway! I was so super excited by those of you that entered and totally wrote down all of your ideas so I can steal 'em one day. Which was apart of my evil plan all along, heh heh (did that sound maniacal? I was going for maniacal.) But seriously, some of you wrote the nicest things and it truly made my day (and earned you bonus points. Just kidding [no I'm not]). But in the end, there can be only one winner and that would be...

Yay, Jessica! Here's what she wrote:

"I've been a mildly obsessive reader ever since I discovered your blog a few months ago. The fabric is just calling out to be an apron. A full apron with pockets in a contrasting fabric. For cooking things from the Betty Crocker Outdoor Cook Book."

 Congrats, my dear! 

As for the rest of ya, keep rockin' that bathrobe and remember to always keep a spare set of clothing in your kitchen. Trust me.

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What the Art Teacher Wore #66

Monday Funday: I love how in the summer, Monday suddenly become my fave day of the week. It seems to hold the promise of an entire week of doing whatever I want...which on this day meant catching up with friends. dress: vintage, thrifted; belt: Pin Up Girl Clothing; shoes: old, BC Shoes 

Hey there, dudes. Lemme apologize for the delayed What I Wore post (as I know you've been dying to see me wear yet another dress). I blame my lack of posting entirely on having a severe case of Star Wars-itis. Watching Darth Vader dance to Michael Jackson's "Bad" will do that to a girl. It's a slow recovery but I'm taking three doses of The Force a day, so I should be good to go here shortly. 

In other news, I stumbled upon some paintings by Edward Hopper recently and I just kinda fell in love all over again. These paintings say "summer" to me...in a lonely Mid-Western kinda way. I spent a lot of hot summers living in the middle of No Where, Indiana, earning a measly wage detasseling corn and working at an egg factory (where I lasted two weeks). I hated it at the time...but these paintings make me long for it again, just a pinch. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. 

Gas, 1940. I had gas in 2013 but it didn't look anything like this. One thing that always strikes me with Hopper's work is how clean everything appears. Like the attendant just took to the entire landscape with a leaf blower. I remember loving his work in college for the vintage appeal. My painting professors weren't too keen on his "flat" style of painting. But which one has their work in the MoMA, hmmm?

Jo in Wyoming Painting That's Josephine Hopper, Edward's wife for more than 40 years. An artist in her own right, she influenced his work and brought out his competitive streak. It seems when she would paint something, like two houses behind a dead tree, a similar motif would appear in Edward's work. In college I attempted a painting with the viewpoint inside of a car. Needless to say, mine wasn't nearly as awesome.

Everything Breaks Tuesday: Seriously? It's my summer vacay and it seems everything else decided to take a hiatus too. It started with the washing machine then the mower died and finally my sewing machine just up and stopped at the final stages of this dress. This isn't exactly how I was hoping my summer would start out. dress: vintage, etsy; gianormous flower: moi; sandals: Lucky Brand

Edward and Josephine Hopper in Cape Elizabeth, Maine, 1927. According to this website, this photo was snapped of the couple just three years into their marriage. When they wed, Jo was 41 and had been a successful painter in her own right. At one of her own shows, Jo recommended the work of Edward and his career took off from there. I think I'll have to do some digging to see some of the works of Jo Hopper.

Morning Sun, 1952. Josephine Hopper served as Edward's model. Not only did they live together, but they also worked together in their very small studio space. For that reason, they had a rather explosive relationship that often involved domestic violence. This is why hubs and I treasure our alone time. Otherwise hubs just might end up with a black eye. Again.

Wednesday: I do believe I spent the grand majority of this day putting together a lawn mower with the help of a good friend. I love that it's shiny and red. And that my grass is no longer knee-high. dress: vintage, Buffalo Exchange; belt: vintage, gift from a friend; owl sandals: Anthropologie

Summer Evening, 1947. Dude, you know this painting isn't realistic. I mean, c'mon, where's the bright blue bug zapper and the constant swatting away mosquitos? This looks like one of those serious "look, I'm breaking up with you" convos I heard many a summer night. Sigh.

Tiki Room Thursday: Hubs and I arrived in Orlando on Thursday and went almost immediately to Disney World. Would you believe that of all the times we've been there, we've never tried the legendary Dole Whip? Holy cow, what we've been missing! Hubs likened it to ground-up-Smarties flavored ice cream. I convinced myself it was healthy and indulged twice. dress: old, Forever 21; sandals: old, Target; flower: H&M

Room in New York, 1932. Geez, Rear Window, anyone? I wonder if Hitchcock saw this painting before creating his 1954 classic. The vantage point and feeling of loneliness definitely reminds me of that movie.

Jawa Friday: Oh, don't you worry. There will be plenty of Star Wars photos to come. This here's a sneak peak. dress and hat: made by me, diy here; sandals: Chacos

Second Story Sunlight, 1960. Reading about Edward Hopper, I was surprised that during his career he was often compared to his contemporary Norman Rockwell. Um, no. I mean, I can appreciate the Americana portrayals by Rockwell...but that's all are: portrayals. Idealized illustrations. The difference is that Hopper seems to shine a very bright light (like, literally) on a stark and empty existence. Where, when it comes right down to it, as frightening as it may seem, all you got is you.

Cape Cod Morning, 1950. And who knows if that's what Hopper actually believed or intended? But the beauty of being a viewer of works of art is that you play a vital role in deciding just what a work of art is "saying." And these works by Edward Hopper speak volumes to me. What do they say to you?

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