In Which There Is Competition

it is following you home and you can keep it

As threatened, yesterday I entered the pourpoint into the East Kingdom's competition to choose their Majesties' champions of arts & sciences.  Strange as it may seem, I think this is only the fourth competition (as opposed to a display, where you aren't judged) I've entered in all my time--one at Mudthaw like ten or twelve years ago when I didn't know which end was up, and twice at St. Eligius, which is rather a different kettle of fish, much more recently.  Of course I have talked to people who've competed at this level before; and the competition maestros were very communicative about what to expect and how the day would go; but it's never the same as actually participating. 

My display was mostly straightforward--I had the swatches with the different types of padding material, and bowls of samples of those materials, and a Binder Full of Documentation (and Photos). I didn't want to just throw the pourpoint on a hanger, as that really gives no idea of the garment.  So, after frantic gibbering on the facebooks & receiving advice from more professional heads, I lugged along my (size 6 female) dressmaker's dummy, a tight t-shirt, and the rest of the bowed cotton, and stuffed it out to more or less pad a size 40 male torso.  Learning experience!  It worked tolerably well, at that--clothing looks 100% better if it's actually on a shape; but lord, I don't want to have to do that every time I display a garment. 

Most of the day passed in rather a haze.  I wasn't completely over the lurgy that flattened me this week (I'm still not, really), and the hall was unfortunately loud and crowded, which is not an environment I thrive well in, to say the least.  The event staff did a phenomenal job trying to keep all the artisans fed, watered, and as comfortable as possible (propping exterior doors open, etc.), and I was sharing a table with two members of the co-prosperity sphere so we could all panic together, and mah peeps checked in frequently to monitor my physical and mental status bars and boost them however they could; all of which helped immensely.  

A thing that was terrific, and different from the average A&S display (especially the one at Pennsic), was that the larger part of the people coming through are artisans themselves and have a deeper engagement in what they see, even if it's not in their own field of study.  When you're a clothier, you get resigned[1] to spectators' eyes glazing over past your work unless it's covered in gold thread or spangles; but here, I had many more interested people asking interesting questions, and that felt great.

On the down side of that, because I felt I ought to stay at my display and be available to talk to people about it, I didn't get a chance to go around and look at other peoples' stuff and have interesting conversations with them.  I'm bummed about that, and on future go-rounds I would like to find the right balance between being available to seekers and yet reserve me-time to feed my head.  

It would be idle to deny I'm disappointed that I wasn't a finalist.  I thought I was going in with a damn good shot, and it was something of a blow to learn that I wasn't in the top 20% of the field[2].  But, at least for those whose craft I'm familiar with, the artisans who did make the cut do really fine work and excellent research; and it's absolutely no shame to come in trailing them.  

quoth a friend,
"ooooh, you're
banging a lord
tonight!"

So, the pourpoint went to its forever home at the end of the night...and I think my patron is having second thoughts about a garment with over 80 buttons on it, but I assured him it gets easier...and I can start taking thought to everything that's been on hold in the interim.  (The veil-and-wimple getup worked pretty well; my favorite compliment of the day, possibly the whole year, was being told I looked just like a tomb weeper; but the construction starts drifting down the back of your head as the day goes on.) 

Other happy things of the day: my dashing consort got his Award of Arms; and one of our co-prosperity sphere was made a Companion of the Maunche--which I was honored and overjoyed to write the words for his scroll.  Where by "scroll", I mean "runestone".  And by "words", I mean "a poem in a Nordic style that is really fucking hard in English because three- and four-syllable lines whyyyyyy".  (The English version was then translated into Old Norse and then into runes for inscribing.  Not by me, needless to say.)  It was a fascinating exercise, though, and I enjoyed it[3].


[1] or you don't, in which case you spend a lot of time unhappily shaking your fist at the sky, and who wants that? 
[2] 7 out of 37 contestants moved to the final round.
[3] 100% true story: in high school, I was voted Most Likely To Write An Anglo-Saxon Epic.