And then, there’s the jacket…the not-so-straight-jacket
A.V. Walters
I don’t usually give it much thought, as I walk around—but occasionally I get remarks, and sometimes stares. It’s… about the jacket. From time to time in my life, I have engaged in transformational art. It isn’t capital A art, it’s somewhere in the cracks—between art, craft and therapy. Years ago, during a particularly tough period, I did a self-portrait doll. I was trying to work out just who I’d been, how circumstances had changed my life’s plans, and exactly who it is I wanted to be, going forward. The doll had helped me focus on the rebuilding efforts; it let me crystalize who that doll-person had been and honor her, and her dreams, as I went forward with my life.
When I moved to Two Rock, my life was in tatters. The one thing I had most invested my energies in, and my self-image, was my marriage. And it had proved to be unsustainable. I was, once again, at a crossroads in my life and I needed a project to help me work all that through. Of course, I had taken up writing and I suppose that could’ve been ‘it.’ But the writing was fiction and, intentionally, it wasn’t about me. Even though I believe that you can really only tell the truth, in fiction, I was too fragile at that time for scrutiny, even in make-believe. I’d thought about doing another doll, but it felt too much like a duplication—not enough breaking of new ground. By chance, my sister gave me a hand-me-down jacket—a denim jacket that she’d worn as much as she’d cared to. It was frayed a little and stained and, like me, had seen better days but still had a lot of life left in it. And, that’s how the project started.
I decided it was going to be a symbolic self-portrait. I thought that a hand-decorated jacket could tell a story, my story. It would be a moving target of who I’d been and where it took me. I decided to include even the bad, in symbols that I would wear as badges of courage and survival. I once read that embroidery was the closest form of decoration to tattoos. I have no formal training in sewing or embroidery, so I’ve had to make it up as I go. The jacket is a WIP (a work in progress) and I’ve joked that we’ll know that it’s finished, when I’m dead. In the meantime, I’m not dead yet, and it’s been a cool project that I can pick up from time to time, when the spirit moves me. (Or, for that matter, when the spirits move me.)
It’s also, well, a jacket. In fact, it’s my only real coat. Our Two Rock winters are fairly mild, so a jean jacket is just about right. Sometimes, if it’s really cold, I’ll wear a down vest under the jacket. So, it’s my everyday wear, forgetting that it’s not something people experience everyday. I’m reminded of that when I get a reaction.
Some people love it—they’ll ask me what it’s all about, the meaning of the images and patches. Sometimes they want to know how they’d go about making one for themselves. Did you take a class? Where did you buy that patch? And then, there are those who won’t even look directly at me. They steal a sideways glance, and then quickly look away, as if it might be contagious. Occasionally, I’ll get a really negative comment, almost hissed with scorn. They might suggest, Aren’t you a little old for that? Or, What are you, some kind of hippy? I’ve learned to welcome it, and it’s all become part of the experience. Their reactions reveal as much (if not more) about them, as the jacket does about me. I know, I’m a bit of an odd duck. I stopped fighting that, a long time ago. So, what about you?
tworockchronicles 
I went to two rock to visit my sister and saw her jacket. I was green with envy. When we were teens together I (she wasn’t as into it then) embroidered everything I could get my hands on. My jeans, my boy friend’s jacket, and even a large panel that my Mother had framed. Years have passed and I forgot and then I saw my sister’s jacket and I remembered. So now I have started my own jacket! How fun! It is not like my sister’s, my life has taken a different track and it reflects that, and that is the beauty of such a lovely history in the making. I thank her for reminding me and getting me started on my way home.
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And now my sister reminds me. I never did much in the way of needle arts as a teen. Unlike my older sisters, I never took Home Ec. But this sister set me up with her boyfriend’s friend. Since she was Ms. Needleworks and had embroidered her boyfriend’s jacket, my new boyfriend (who was her friend, too) decided to ask me if I would hem his jeans. I did. Then I carefully sewed the leg ends shut and carefully sewed the pockets shut. Then I embroidered the name “Beth” on his jeans. My name is not Beth. I don’t even know a Beth. But, once he’d recovered from falling on his ass (because the cuffs of his jeans were sewn shut), and he’d unstitched his pockets, he wisely decided not to ask about Beth. A few years later, that same sister married him and they’re still married. I don’t think he ever asked her to embroider anything, though.
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I love that jacket and the fact that it reveals things about other people makes it even more intriguing. My thinking is there should be a novel in the works about the power of that jacket 😀
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Hadn’t thought of it in a story. I’ll have to consider that–not the next one, or the one after that (they’re already planned) but after that…..
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I gave up years ago trying to have “normal” sisters and learned to accept them as they are. Kelly with two different socks and reciting Shakespeare in the hallway between classes to embarrass me (I told everyone she was a distant cousin) and Alta who was always late running for the bus half-dressed (why couldn’t she manage her time better so she arrived at the bus dressed like a “normal” person). Over the years, they have changed to be not so outrageous but don’t let them fool you, those tendencies are still there waiting for……..
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Give me a break, I got up every morning early so that I could run two to three miles. Because I was up first, I had to get everyone else up, cool down and then wait in line for the bathroom, etc. No wonder I was running late for the bus!
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