This is the story of why I have four sewing machines.


I am an artist, and my medium of choice is clay. Last summer I moved to a new house, which my partner is helping me buy because he is a nice man. He was probably also tired of bumping into furniture in my last house... the kitchen was seriously so small that two people had to touch to cook at the same time.

The miniscule nature of my old house, combined with the fact that I cook six meals a day on average for the childcare I run as my day job, my son and myself, and there were seven other tiny people plus their assorted parents (meaning that even excluding my own friends there were 23 people in and out of my house on a bi-daily basis,) meant that I was feeling cramped, physically and psychologically and creatively. I didn't even have a good amount of space to work in my own room, one corner of which I tried to set up as a mini studio of sorts.

Just so you know, in case you're thinking about trying it, you can make art ANYWHERE.

Having said this, there are some media a techniques which are more space friendly than others. Knowing that I didn't have access to a kiln that did not cost money, I tried not to play with clay very much. I decided instead to focus on sewing and painting. The paintings fell to the side after I had several frustrating incidents involving my son, my quilt and wet paint. So I sewed.

At the time I moved to the little house on Robindale I had in my care my best friend's mother's Bernina. That machine is a joy. It was a joy that I used very carefully, because my friend's mother was very very much in love with the machine, and she has passed away. Shortly after
moving my friend asked for the machine back because she was working on a quilt for her son, so I was left with my other machine- a 1957 mint green singer in a mahogany cabinet that I had not used since I was 16. My mother bought me the machine after I learned how to use her Kenmore. I remember sewing on it a couple of times and then getting frustrated because the thread kept snapping. It moved with me 12 times since then and I never sewed on it in all that time.

Fearing further frustration, I went online and found a reproduction of the original owner's manual on the singer website. Singer still sells manual for all of the machines they ever made- one reason that they are a wonderful company. Another reason that they are a wonderful company is that their machines (especially the vintage ones) are so well made and tough that there are enough of the older models still in use that there is actually a demand for the old manuals and for parts.
So I got the manual, figured out how to properly thread the machine and some other goodies that helped me understand how to operate the little guy, and fell in love.

Working with an old machine is a totally different experience from working with a new one, in my experience. I have been told that sewing with new industrial machines is a similar experience. The older machines are made almost entirely of metal, and they are also very simple in their construction and operation. This means that they have a very solid feeling about them and that they are incredibly easy to work on. Whereas with the Bernina I was always worried that I might break the machine and have to take it o the dealership and pay a hefty fee to fix it, with the Singer I felt like it could sew most anything and if it got jammed, I could problem solve it myself.

So I started investigating other machines on the net and I decided to use part of my tax refund to buy a Featherweight. Featherweights are much loved among the vintage sewing community because they are small, portable, relatively lightweight and there were a lot of really snazzy attachments made for them. The Featherweight I found on ebay was missing a bobbin case so I got a good price for it. I refurbished it when it came, cleaned it thoroughly and had a ball playing with it.

I had so much fun that I continued reading and researching older machines. I decided that nextI would try to find a Singer 301- the only gear driven beltless machine that Singer produced.I didn't find one, but my partner did come across a Godzilla 65,which I also fell in love with. It is tougher than the Featherweight, although it doesn't have all the cool gadgets.

By the time I moved out of the house at Robindale I had four vintage machines- three Singers and one White. My room had become very crowded. Moving day reminded me that I have a nasty habit of falling in love with and collecting heavy things- record players, books, andnow, sewing machines.

I found another Featherweight in a thrift store after the move, refurbished it as well, and then decided that five machines was just kind of ridiculous. So when I opened my store on Etsy this January, I put the Featherweights up for sale to good homes, and said a fond farewell.

I now have a sewing room which houses the Godzilla. The mint green Singer is in my bedroom and my recently acquired Wizard ZigZag machine is still being fixed up and hasn't found a permanent home. The White is at my mom's house. I must admit, I have just as much fun finding and fixing up the machines as a I do sewing on them. My grandfather, whom I never knew as he died before I came along, was a machinist. I think that he would be happy to know that I have found a passion for mechanics.