Sickening.

I could cry. At least if I weren't feeling almost in shock I could cry.

In May of 2014, after four years of college life; learning to drape and/or draft a pattern, sew it, do a fitting and re-sew it if necessary—all in one week or less; learning to tailor a coat, construct a bra, build a corset, design and make formal-wear; learning to illustrate fashion figures; re-learning how much I hate algebra; re-learning how much I like to write... It was a big four years...

one of my illustrations

Anyway, in May of 2014 I finished four years of college and earned two degrees from the Fashion Institute of Salt Lake; one in design, and one in technical apparel. My final, final project, the culmination of an entire school-year's work, was to participate in the Fashion Institute's fashion show. I designed, drafted patterns for, went to L.A. to purchase fabrics for, and sewed like a maniac for months, to create a ten-piece line of formal dresses, suitable for wearing to the symphony or the opera. I called my line Pianoforte.

my models receiving last-minute instructions

Fast-forward to today. As I was trying to find places to stash things in our new house, I unpacked the Pianoforte dresses. So, instead of doing the work I'd planned for today, I had Lindsey try them all on and model them for us. I have to say, they are quite stunning (I like them much better now than I did immediately after all the hours and all-nighters I spent making them—and I liked them pretty well even then).

But one dress was missing. In fact the dress that, in my mind, is the icon of my Pianoforte line is missing. I remember it was separate from the other dresses; it needed a small repair, and so I'd had it wrapped in a blue sheet in my bedroom, waiting until I could get to it—it had been stored with some rolls of fabric that were wrapped in that pellon-type half-paper-half-fabric that furniture sometimes is wrapped in for delivery. I remember the fabrics and the gown were among the very first things brought into our new house; they were put on my bedroom floor long before my bedroom furniture showed up. I remember unwrapping the fabrics later with Jessica so I could put them away. I remember telling her that the pellon-type fabric could and should be thrown away. I remember finding a place to stash my rolls of fabric, and Jessica throwing the pellon away.

And now, four weeks later, I finally remembered my dress and I can't find it. I've been over every inch of this house a zillion times over the last four weeks, trying to arrange and put things away, and I haven't seen it anywhere. I have a horrible, wrenching feeling that my baby was thrown out with the bath water. Did my beautiful gown get tossed out with the awful pellon? Has it been buried in the landfill for the last three weeks?

The dress.
Is it gone forever?
If it is, I will have to re-make it.

It makes me sick—almost literally—just to think of it, but I'm 90% sure, and 99% afraid that that is exactly what happened. My only pathetic hope is that somehow it got put into the garage with all the other stuff that's waiting to be gone through. But it is a tiny hope; I know that if it was in the house I wouldn't have put it into the dirty garage.

I could just die.