...and that must mean something boro'd. Boro is the Japanese word for patched or mended textiles. For too long this also meant shame and deprivation. Like the sharecroppers of America the need to use what was to hand to make your own clothes was regarded as a necessity but not one to be celebrated. Now, with our growing interest in sustainability (see my new workshop on Design & Create) we are beginning to appreciate the innovation such pieces represent. 
Boro fabrics used the wonderful indigo hues of the Edo and Meiji eras and you can almost imagine the intensity of having to sew these beautiful creations out of the worn and tattered clothes that were you're only possession. No wonder for many years these were held in such low regard. Memories could be painful of difficult times. Now we can appreciate them as works of art and circumstance.
The two examples above are futon covers from the early twentieth century but the nagagi or kimono at the top of the post is equally stunning. What wonderful canvases these make for the imagination and recall the works of Tracy Emin that I posted about earlier this summer.
In researching this topic I stumbled on a lovely blog devoted to creating finely tailored garments in denim and, in this case, boro. Denham Jeanmaker has created some wonderfully contemporary and modish garments in their Boro Spy Jacket.
I was interested to read that much of the best indigo-dyed denim now comes from Japan where, by using many original looms from USA, they have created truly fine fabric. The West's loss through mass-production went East and now comes back to it's roots. The Japanese often show us how to appreciate real craft.
The beautifully appliqued cut and stitched patches of the interior of the jackets are to die for. I love to think of the originators of these humble textile triumphs are to be remembered and revered.
My first port of call was Broadway Market where I knew she had a stall. One cold November Saturday I walked down through the market stalls and stumbled upon Buddug and her stall which she shares with her friend and colleague 
The time of year for my next visit was entirely different. A hot Sunday in June, moseying down 
Suddenly I spy a doorway (146 Columbia Road, E2) leading into some rickety stairs up to an open-windowed first-floor straight out of a Dickens novel. The rooms were filled with a cornucopia of Jessie's and Buddug's work and quite a few fans like me.
At the same time I'm going to check out 
Finding the right fabric is half the fun of making. Going into a well-stocked store is just so pleasurable but not always practical. The internet experience hasn't got the same buzz but does open up the possibilities ten-fold. 
Kristin and Beth of 
"I am an American happily living in Norway with my Norwegian husband and two young children. Staying at home with my children allows me to share in everything they do and gives me some time to enjoy all the crafts I love. Whenever I can I am busily knitting, sewing, crocheting, embroidering, beading, or making cards."
What a lovely way to introduce yourself and your work. I discovered Ravenhill quite by chance. So much by chance that I can't even remember but ever after I recalled the lovely colours of her fabrics and the attention to detail. It all came flooding back when I was oo-ing and ah-ing over a friends Babushka cakes which showed the same delicacy of touch but could disappear in a 'pop' in your mouth. Then I thought of Ravenhill's more permanent ladies.
on 
If you're keen to pick up some ideas and run with them yourself, then you can with her book, 
I'm scheming at the moment that I want to make sewing kits that are really something to cherish with little vintage items, pins, needlecases, threads, darning wool etc and all beautifully set off in a roomy case made with Lucie's fabric. Very funky.
I found Lucie's designs through 
