We always appreciated linen, its texture. Be it thin and a bit coarse with light wrinkles, or dense and relaxed. We liked to look at people dressed in linen, in either summer or winter. It seems that this fabric offers a kind of nonchalant elegance, a bohemian, light, yet refined look. It makes you move freely, breathe and feel good. Besides, we are fed up with polyester, plastic and other synthetic blend that irritates your skin simply just by the touch of it. Our desire to work with linen, to sew clothes, filled our minds with ideas every day.
In our quests to find the most perfect linen, the morning when we received the samples, we felt an immense joy.
For us two, in consensus, it was impeccable – a soft, lightweight fabric with no transparency, in warm, pastel colors. We put it against our skin, wrapped it around our necks, around our bodies, played with it like two children with some adorable toys. We thought we could make bedlinen, handkerchiefs, curtains … It was so beautiful and soft, we felt we could do anything out of it.
We remembered Scarlet O’Hara, the famous moment he made her dress from curtains, as a symbol of her desire to survive, of transforming a trivial household article into a wearable one that was so beautiful.
We knew there was a new start here.
Because we reread the paragraph from ”Gone with the Wind”, we felt the need to share it.
”What a fool she had been to think she could go to Atlanta and have him for the asking, she with her scrawny neck and hungry cat eyes and raggedy dress! If she hadn’t been able to pry a prosposal from him at the height of her beauty, when she had her prettiest clothes, how could she expect to get one now when she was ugly and dressed tackily? If Miss Pitty’s story was true, he must have more money than anyone in Atlanta and probably had his pick of all the pretty ladies, good and bad. Well, she thought grimly, I’ve got something that most pretty ladies haven’t got – and that’s a mind that’s made up. And if I had just one nice dress-
There wasn’t a nice dress in Tara or a dress which hadn’t been turned twice and mended.
”That’s that” she thought, disconsolately, looking down at the floor.(….) The whole darkening room depressed her and, going to the window, she raised the sash, unlatched the shutters and let the last light of the wintry sunset into the room. She closed the window and leaned her head against the velvet curtains and looked out across the bleak pasture toward the dark cedars of the burying ground.
The moss-green velvet curtains felt prickly and soft beneath her cheek and she rubbed her face against them gratefully, like a cat. And then suddenly she looked at them. ” (chapter XXXII, page 350)