‘What I learned from repairing’ strangers ‘clothes’

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I was walking through the streets of San Francisco in 2000 as a young artist when the idea was born for a sewing project. My friend pointed out an empty alley and said: “Michael, what would you do there?” A week earlier, he had driven through a house where someone had thrown his old sewing machine. He gave me an idea that I could put the Pedinle sewing machine in the empty alley. I didn’t need electricity and could repair clothes for neighbors.

I think he inspired me in a piece that I had seen in Chicago as a caramic undergraduate student. A collaborative group of artists He had built a hydroponic garden and grew green leafy vegetables that gave people who were sick of HIV (this was in the apogee of the HIV/AIDS epidemic). I remember having an epiphany: art could be functional and could have this greater purpose.

I only started sewing at the university, but it runs in my family. My mother is really good to sew, and gave me some lessons and helped do the things she wanted. My great -grandmother, Dorothy Heizer, made wrists with miniature outfits. We investigated a bit and Dorothy turned out to be one of the most famous American doll manufacturers. His pieces are in the Smithsonian. They were on display in our house when I grew up, so part of my life I spent walking through this beautiful ship and seeing their ability with a needle and thread.

When I tried to repair for the first time, I only had a cardboard signal that said “free sew.” I settled one day at Ellis Street in the San Francisco Lomo neighborhood. There were low -income homes on all sides. It was easy for people to say: “My shirt is up, let me go looking for it.” Later, after obtaining a subsidy, I built a cart with a table, an umbrella, truck wheels and a neon sign that blinked the word “sew.” I used to push it through all these different neighborhoods. And there was a little adventure in which I went to London and made a door to door. But the longest version of my “free repair library”, as I called it, was outside the 509 Cultural Center (also known as the luggage store gallery) on the back. One day a month for 15 years, through winter and bad weather, I sat on the sidewalk with my sewing machine and free repaired clothes.

Message of something is not just about repair, it is about the care of another human

The neighborhood took it quickly. I listened to people to say: “Hey, the sewing boy has returned”, and they would have ready things to fix. A neighbor would bring peanut butter sandwiches. Others would come and sat by my side in the chair next to the machine and help me repair. He would have a lot of things from different people I would be working for; I could usually fix about 30 things during the day. If someone brought too much, I would tell them to choose their favorites. I told him not to a handful of things: to complicated jobs in elegant pieces, and a guy who asked if he could bring a 20 -foot cover for his boat. Most of my repair was functional and fast.

I realized that everyone has something that needs repair, whether rich or poor. Even in the financial district, people were in elegant costumes, but the sewing machine still loved it. Some of those people with better jobs often said: “Oh man, I have this incredible jacket that means a lot to me, but it is at home and my house is very out there.” I got many responses from people who wanted to participate, but they did not have the ability to return home and get clothes at that time. On the back, it was the opposite.

I learned a lot about the different ways in which people needed clothes. There was a veteran of the Vietnam War who was always very kind and gave me a hug. One day he told me that he repaired his own socks, but that he only used a stapler to enhance the holes. I thought: “Let’s take off. I think I can do better than basic products.” You realize that people often relate to their clothes through a sense of need.

All rasgadures and holes told stories about real lives

One of my favorite visitors, Veronica, wanted to resemble Jackie Onassis. He had a real vision: he brought a onassis newspaper cut with a skin coat, a sweatshirt and a piece of fur that he found in the street. She wanted her to sew them in a jacket. He often brought a suitcase full of clothes. After a while, I realized that he came through the empty chair by my side, and for someone to listen and take care of her. Veronica was one of the first people who reminded me that repairing something is not just about stitch and repair, it is about the care of that human other.

There was also a Japanese neighbor, Tashi, who would bring things that had foured by hand that wanted to strengthen with my machine. The truth is that I didn’t need my machine; His repair was perfect and beautiful. He was a sushi chef and was very precise. But he would sit and feel at hand the things of other people while I did his project with the sewing machine. I learned to say yes to any help that would be offered. Being open mind and letting the world help me discover each scenario was a very good lesson.

Through wear on clothes, I could also see how people moved. Particularly in that city area, people wore pants that were too long and rubbed on the ground, and the hem would be beaten. I did a lot of hem and much of that were people who wore another person pants because they almost fit. Some of the rasgados and holes that I saw in people’s clothes would have obvious causes, and other mysterious. But everyone told stories about real lives.

I am the fourth of the four boys, so I always had hands. I would be excited so much if I could wear my older brother Jay’s jacket, particularly if he was already invested. Jay worked as a car mechanic and wore really beaten clothes. And then David, my second older brother, went to Japan as a student of foreign exchange. He returned with all these designer sweaters of the 80s that you could never get in the United States. So I was able to wear Jay’s Carhartt Beat-up jacket and I got this elegant sweater in Japan. Both were equally powerful to me. It was this child who loved his older brothers and wanted him to like it so much. I still love the story and the connection with another person who comes with one hand.

For me, sewing is about that moment when you and someone else try to do something together around a piece of fabric. Almost all the repair I have done has been collaborative: about talking to the person who is there with his clothes. The conversation usually begins with seam, but often continues with something related to your life. Over the years, I have had conversations about a loved one dying, living on the street or sharing food. Now I have a five -year -old son and that is what I want to have with him: significant conversations about repair.

I still repair clothes for me and my family, but the project is in pause at this time; I moved to Seattle to teach. But by chance I received an email the other week of the 509 Cultural Center saying that they are trying to start it. I am excited that other people are repaired, and if you feel related to my project, that is wonderful.