At work in the costume shop, my boss tells me, “I need you to sew these pants.”
The true costumer knows it really means, “I need you to pin these pieces, sew at half an inch, measure the waistband three inches short of original size, make a casing for the elastic, make sure it aligns with other side, do the same for the legs, sew three button holes on each side, fit them with the buttons, and hand sew those on, too. And put a few hooks and eyes on the top.”
Putting together a garment is harder than it looks. Sewing is a complicated process that requires specific tools, a steady eye, and plenty of patience. Anyone can do it, but to be good at it, you need to speak to an expert. This is why Elaine Kauffman lives in the Light Fine Art Building (FAB) costume shop three times a week, dedicated to the integrity of uniquely local art.
Elaine, a highly renowned artist in the Kalamazoo area, distributes her time between costuming the shows in our own theatre, working with personal clients, and making feature pieces for Kalamazoo fashion shows and Art Hops. Her commitment to creating period fashion, depending on the atmosphere of the show, is displayed onstage three-fold.
Take last year’s show, Return to the Forbidden Planet, where Kauffman combined textured materials and metallic finishes to create the galactic, futuristic fashion. Her signature style relies on small details, such as the belts worn by the officers, composed of old-school Nintendo game controller belt buckles and black elastic straps. The key is to think outside the box, placing forgotten elements in unexpected places.
It turns out that Shakespeare has a signature style of his own: creating timeless pieces that can go in any direction. This year’s Balch Festival Playhouse show is The Tempest, and Kauffman chose the direction of 19th century colonial New England. While these pieces carry a prim bone structure, Kauffman’s modern updates give them new life. She combines the conservative and unorthodox, taking small twists like mid 20th century accessories, such as Emilia LaPenta’s mod caplet for her role as Prospera. The contemporary updates tie together on stage to create the ethereal backdrop met with stoicism.
Pilgrims with brass buttons and tie-on sleeves are dropped ashore a glistening island of amazement, mostly because of the clash of the color palette. The nymphs’ tie-dye sleepers pair with Todd Espeland’s masks and puppetry in a mischievous whirlwind, confusing the pedantic newcomers. Ariel (Grace McGookey) and Caliban (Cooper Wilson) are an exotic bird and a rainbow fish, respectively, waiting to be tamed in their gauze-covered reserve.
Costumes may be only a small part of creating a distinct world from reality, but it is a large one. Being a fashion designer requires working both the left and the right side of the brain—choosing a time period and keeping all costumes contained within it—including the type of fabric and its construction. Transferring the idea from 2D to 3D is the tricky part, requiring an understanding of conceptualizing the physical from a simple drawing on paper. Being familiar with patterns is the only way to ensure creating quality items, a skill that comes with patience and loads of practice.
Working for four hours in a row may seem like a short day in the real world, but studying and dedication to other activities causes an impossible balance between tranquility and ennui. Hand-sewing snaps, hooks and eyes, and buttons becomes a monotonous task, especially when it is the subject of concentration for several hours. Measure, pin-mark, thread needle, sew, cut string, again. And again, and once more. No talking, no distractions, unless you count listening to Creed on 103.3 fm. Torture ensues.
Yet, in the seclusion of the artificial FAB basement lighting, one discovers holistic solitude. For the dedicated designer, the amount of concentration required for a job like this eventually reaches enlightenment only known by that of Henry David Thoreau. Torture, meet transcendentalism.
Creating a show like The Tempest is seeing the panel of fabric and creating that brave new world—dyes, thread, buttons and all. If your idea of the ideal workspace is speaking less than ten words in an hour while NPR drones in the background, this job is for you. But it also means working your fingers like a prepubescent Malaysian and keeping the blasphemy to a minimum when you screw up. Either way, here’s some advice from one costumer to another: Epsom salts and warm water are your best friend.
