swimming through fabric

Just returned from The Maddermarket Theatre wardrobe department. I am calm and content after spending an hour of absorbed searching through an extraordinary archive of clothes. Brushing past and touching the workmanship of hundreds of hours of skilled hands, made for spectacle, special occasions, for the sheer drive or demand of making something beautiful. Stitched and machined. Mended, altered, worn over and over. Some pieces from the late 1800s holding so much history, so much skin and story. The drama of just the wardrobe, the rails. The loft is so over full that I pushed along the tightly packed rails and I felt like I was in a sea, an ocean of fabric... and I loved my swim through fabric, just my head poking out, can't see my feet, just feel fallen clothes, which I try and grab like seaweed or treasure. Wading on looking for colours or textures or shapes, embellishments, patterns. Skilled tailoring is exciting. Hate being told by the current fashion industry what colour to wear....bloody mustards and dusky rose pinks, faded petrol blues...bleugh! Wafting shapeless shapes...bleugh....the theatre wardrobe is a very priviledged pleasure... thank you.