Yesterday I went to see the Paul Poiret fashion exhibit at the Met. It closes Saturday so you better run.
At the exhibit all I could think of was my mother, Isabel (in the photo). I’m certain she made that dress. She always wanted to be a fashion designer. But her her family was against it. Still she won a scholarship to Moore College of Art in Philadelphia.
I only discovered after she died, that she'd graduated at the top of her class with the best fashion design collection in 10 years! I found an old newspaper clipping she had never shown me hidden away in her dressing table drawer.
She did get to work briefly as an assistent to a reknown Philadelphia hat designer. Her duties - chauffeuring him around town. Then her parents wanted her to "chauffeur" them out to a hot springs resort in California and she quit her design job. The end of her dreams as a fashion designer.
At the resort she met my father. They danced. Three days later he proposed marriage.
My mother wanted desperately for me to fulfill her own unfulfilled dreams. I was having none of it. I was the classic ‘rebellious’ teenager. I did go to art school. I went to many art schools. All I did was draw ✏️ I had not one ounce of ambition to do anything else. No particular professional direction. I was 24 when my mother died. She was just 57.
The rest is my crazy career history. My path has been twisty turny. I LOVE what I'm doing now - Paris letters & watercolors etc. Who knows where the road turns next? Did I say my Mom painted watercolors and I still use her black metal watercolor box? Mom, I hope I've done you proud.
My mother often me as a foil when I was small. Together we'd go sleuthing in designer shops. She would try on and secretly examine the inner construction of couture dresses. Then she would go home and create her own version. We made doll clothes together. Her plan for me was to go to design school and complete her dreams of becoming a fashion designer. My mother designed and made her own bias-cut silk wedding dress. Voila
