Babs.
Creating the pigment ink.
Fallen leaves gathered from the grounds of Ashton Court in Bristol.
Reduced, exhausted of their pigment.
Over a number of days.

I believe these fallen leaf shirts can be magical amulets to their wearer, if they so wish them to be.

At this time of the year, the trees are emitting a bio-chemical fragrance, lulling the animals and creatures back into their safety to shelter from the elements and to winter in their warm embracing bows and roots.

I was reminded of this vision as I brewed those large vats of windfall foliage. The aromatic tree language was thick in the air, penetrating every moment in the studio’s walls with a warming, comforting, earthy, good-feeling, protective and lulling atmosphere. 

Like a mist that enveloped the space with a trance-inducing euphoria that is not of the higher realms of the mind and vision, but a deeper, more grounded and embodied presence, drawing down to the lower cauldrons of my body - the heart and womb inner spaces.

Rich, earthy, fertile notes of nutrient dense humus, felt within the cells of my body and through that scent filling the room. 

Once I had extracted the Oak and Chestnut pigments in water in my Bristol studio, I slowly reduced them down to lake pigments, the consistency of a thick treacle syrup, and mixed them with a natural plant starch binder which allows for an easeful flow from brush to fabric surface while creating an even dispersion of pigment and a tight and smooth quality of line.

Spontaneous free-hand line strokes that were led by the hand, in no particular order.

From the dried leaves came a semi translucent treacle-like liquid that had to be kept and used fresh. During the stage of painting I had to work quickly. A natural gum thicker carried the leaf pigment across the cloth, gliding across as it sunk into the weave.

I found the pigment always changing it’s hue, alive… from deep soil browns to vibrant rusts, rich in natural resemblance to the original fallen leaves.
The most drastic change occurred when a small drop of Iron modifier solution was combined into the mix, the iron reacts with the natural tannins found in the Oak and Chestnut leaves to immediately shift the pigment black.

I cut the roll of cloth into individual pieces, I mordanted the fabric with alum as to be sure to get the best dye fastness of the ink. Each piece was laid and ironed flat out on the table on a soft mat of layered fabric as so to cushion the painting brush.

Nervously the first line was painted, wobbly and unsure, with an achingly tight grip. But as each line was added it grew in character, strokes became more confident, then it became a play of placing lines, opening and closing space, overlapping, creating meeting points.

When the dark ink would sit for a while a sediment layer settled, the leaf debris collecting together again, waking it up, I continually mixed up small batches of paint to work from. The starch thickener was a fresh and had a shelf life. The inks wanted to be worked with quickly but the whole meditative process took many hours over a number of weeks.

Milly.
Hand painting.
In a space between meditative concentration and time constrain.
Many hours over a number of weeks.

Milly.
Construction.
Steamed, hung to dry.
Minimal waste pattern.
Hand spun and woven organic Khadi cotton cloth.
Play of lines.
Taking shape.

After painting the pieces they hug drying and were then steam set in a contraption I made from an old chimney flue and a steamer and some tin foil.

The pieces where rolled up individually in paper and hung to hover inside the steaming chamber. So it wouldn’t touch the walls, a precarious process. Where they were steamed for over an hour each, this is to set the pigment into the fibres.

A time consuming process but satisfying to unveil each roll the see the pigment setting in a brighter richer hue. After this the cloth pieces were washed in a PH neutral soap to clean away any leftover pigment debris.

Now to the drawing board, I challenged myself to work out how to make a ‘zero waste’ or very minimal waste shirt pattern. Which was dictated by the width of the khadi cotton weave.

The chosen full yet not too oversized fit, with shaped sleeves going narrower towards the forearm. I drew the side seams round towards the front as so to bring the seam lines down the arms and bodice to be more visible. I knew as the hand panted lines would meet and not meet around this area as they went into the seams would create an interesting asymmetric effect.

I also a added a back pleat to the shirt which emerged out of the narrow collar, a feature I enjoy seeing the structure of on the body.

After some sampling the shirt pattern was finalised and the hand painted pieces were cut. The left over fragments front the pattern have been sewed together into a quilted piece. Nothing is left to waste.

Sewed next to one another using organic cotton thread.

A very enjoyable process to finally see these pieces change into their 3D form.

As I looked back on their journey. The creating more angles as seams were joined, edged were folded, some lines finding their placements on the body.

Finally finished with organic cotton pressed buttons.

As a natural dyer, my practise is in drawing these herbal characteristics into textiles, imbuing our garments and fabrics with the herbal support we wish for.

I heard a story once that in olden days, before the witch trials, when our communities were populated with women (and some men) who held the knowledge of the plants, were able to speak with them and work with them to help others. The herbalists, healers, midwives, natural dyers… They would make their herbal brews and add their undergarments to soak in their medicinal essences. To then be worn next to the most sensitive parts of the skin - the nipples and vagina.

It is good to note that the skin is the largest organ of the body.
It is a semipermeable membrane, i.e. porous and absorbs that which it touches. 

Our feet swell with water when we enter the sea or river, helping us to navigate our way over rocks more easefully. When we sweat we absorb even more of that which our skin touches.