I’m really picky about color. In every aspect of my life. From my design work, to the interior of my house, to the specific shade of my black clothing. Blame it on the extra cones in my eyes, whatever. I just see color a little differently. My right eye sees things with a slightly warmer hue than my left. As a kid, when bored, I’d sit winking quickly back and forth, fascinated. No one believed me. But there is was, an ever so slight difference.
So, where was I… yes, picky about color. I’ve been working on the design of a jacket for my tailoring class. Its princess line with a flare, slightly longer in the back, notched collar with welt pockets flaps, and hidden interior pockets in the front facing and left sleeve. It requires eight fabrics, and has around 90 pieces that need to be stitched together. Its going to be lovely.
The primary fabric is a wool tweed in black, white, copper and teal patina. It is reversible and I am using both sides. I also wanted a contrast fabric for the facings and under the collar, and found one I loved, but the teal was a little too grey blue. It was driving me nuts. While I doubt many people would notice or comment on it, it was off enough that I needed to change it.
So, I just spent the last three hours hand-painting certain areas with fabric stable watercolor paint, bringing in the right teal. Now I am really looking forward to putting it all together.
“Good enough” isn’t good, it’s passable at best. If I’m going to put my time into designing something, then it’s going to be precise and as absolutely perfect as I can get it, inside and out. Why bother doing it otherwise?