|
Written by By: allenspin
|
|
So, the year is 2010, and bespoke, tailor-made men’s shirts can once again be seen donning the backs of fashionable gentlemen across the world. It seems that finally, and not a moment too soon, the traditional art of quality and bespoke shirt making has come back into fashion.
And why ever not? After all, a tailor-made shirt is, by definition, the epitome of individual style and class. Any man who recognises the value of a bespoke shirt, carefully tailored to his individual frame, is bound to turn heads and stand out from the usual off-the-peg crowd.
But it’s not only the perfect fit that defines a tailor-made shirt, but the fabric it’s made from. Only the finest of cottons will be used when making a bespoke shirt, and the weave will be carefully chosen to match the individual requirements of the buyer.
For the purposes of this article, it’s the weave we’re interested in. There’s a rich history behind weaving that has seen Mankind’s first experiments with the creation of cloth develop into the industrial textile industry, which now supplies todays bespoke shirt makers with some of the most beautiful fabrics in the world.
So, let’s take a cursory glance at the past so that we can understand why a quality, tailor-made shirt is so special and rich with age-old skills and traditions.
Fabric weaving has its roots in ancient civilization. No one knows exactly when the weaving process begun, but we can take ourselves back to the Stone Age, when Man developed the art of finger weaving to create the essential items needed for everyday life.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
|
Written by Studio Liber
|
|
Once upon a time, in a small beautiful village lived a beautiful girl. She was called Mara. Like other girls, she led cows to pasture. Girls also spun wool. On meadow was a deep pit. One day an old man, who walked around, told them: ''If some of you spindles falls in the pit, her mother will become a cow.'' Girls smiled and brought closer to the pit. One day Mara's spindle fell into the pit. When she returned home her mother had become cow. With other cows, Mara led her to pasture.
After a time Mara's father married. His wife has a daughter. She was ugly, evil and jealous on Mara's beauty. She and her mother hated Mara. They didn't permit her to buy new things, to have a shower. After a time ash covered Mara's clothes and they gave her a nickname Cinderella.
Stepmother and her daughter gave Mara difficult things to do. One day Mara's stepmother gave to Mara a huge heap of wool to spin. Mara had to do that for this day. She went to meadow and she spun wool. On the end of day she saw that a heap was huge yet. She started to cry. Cow, who was her mother, came and asked her why she was crying. Mara told that she didn't dare to return home because she couldn't spin wool. After those words, cow started to chew wool and thread appeared from her ear. Mara wound up thread in a spool. She was happy and returned to home. Stepmother was surprised and she didn't say anything. Next day she gave Mara more wool to spin than the day before. Mara and her mother did same that the day before and Mara again was successful. Third day Mara's stepmother followed Mara and saw how she spin wool.
Next few days, Mara's stepmother required from Mara's father to kill a cow who was Mara's mother. He said that he would do that. Mara heard that and she cried for whole day. She told her mother what her ex husband would go to do. Mara's mother told: ''Don’t worry. If they kill me, you won't eat my meat. You have to collect my bones and bury under two stones behind home.'' Next day Mara's father killed cow. Mara didn't eat meat. She buried mother's bones under the stones. When she had difficult time she went to that place and found help.
|
|
Read more...
|
|
Written by Margaret Mulvihill
|
|
My first exposure to Milan Kundera came with the reading of The Unbearable Lightness of Being. There was no going back after that, I read everything Kundera published that I could get my hands on. His books became my friends, his characters family and in some instances, heroes. I even began to study the Czech language and developed a love for Prague. Visiting Prague became a growing desire that morphed into an obsession, all because of one man, one writer, who captured my imagination.
By any contemporary standards I should be outraged at the recent accusation levelled at Kundera that he was the source who, in 1950, identified a young pilot as a western agent.
Whether he did identify this young pilot or whether he didn’t,I'm not outraged. I feel compassion both for the young pilot who was outed and imprisoned, and for Milan Kundera, the man and the writer. In our society, we are becoming increasingly accustomed to politicians demonstrating extreme human frailty and moral ambiguity, and we forgive them their transgressions on a case by case basis. Why would we hold writers, any writers, to a higher standard?
|
|
Read more...
|
|
|
|
|
<< Start < Prev 1 2 3 4 5 6 Next > End >>
|
|
Page 1 of 6 |
