I want to be able to make a leather sofa, and a messenger bag, and an iPad case. Stuff made with fabric. So a few months ago I decided to learn to sew, because although all of those items exist in the marketplace, the available designs don't appeal to me. In the true ID spirit, I figure I should learn what I need to learn in order to make these things myself.
Three ways I can think of to learn something new are go to school for it, get an apprenticeship or learn it from a book. Sure there are Instructables and YouTube videos, but in the absence of curation you can spend a lot of time wading through junk. I found a couple online tutorials on how to build a sofa, and they were the ugliest goddamn things I'd ever seen--I wouldn't buy 'em for ten dollars if they came with a twenty stuffed between the cushions.
I looked into a local upholstery class, but the fabrics they work with are light, frilly things. I want to sew heavy-duty stuff like leather and vinyl, not gauzy stuff that comes in flower prints. And I couldn't find any books on how to make a sofa, but I came across a book on automotive upholstery on Amazon and ordered it, figuring if you could make leather car seats and benches you could probably adapt that knowledge to couches.
The photos inside the book are almost worthless--tiny, grainy black-and-whites where you can't make out crucial details--but the information inside seemed good.
Now it was time to find a machine.... ...The author of the auto upholstery book, Don Taylor, recommended some specific brands of industrial sewing machines with brand names like Pfaff and Juki, none of which I could afford as their prices are $600 for a used one and forget-about-it for a new one.
I started looking around on eBay and came across an intriguing possibility: Old-school Singer sewing machines. Many of the machines were advertised as "industrial" and had videos showing them punching through leather like nothing.
The Singer machines you'll find on eBay, generally dating from the 1940s and '50s, are not in fact "industrial;" that's a bit of marketing spin. (You can learn more about this on this excellent "Guide to Buying a Sewing Machine on eBay" on the Sew-Classic Blog.) The machines are commercial, that is to say, home-use machines. But they were manufactured sixtysomething years ago, when gears were made out of metal, not plastic, and are a heckuva lot tougher than what seems to come out of factories these days.
I was attracted to one machine in particular, the Singer 15-91, which was manufactured from the early 1930s to the '50s. Core77 is based in the old Singer Building in downtown Manhattan, so maybe I've got a soft spot for the company. Anyways the machine seems fairly obscure as it's not even mentioned on Singer's history page.
What drew me to the 15-91, beyond the old-school industrial design look, was the fact that the machine is direct-drive. I have a direct-drive washing machine. Direct-drive means the motor drives the mechanism directly, rather than being connected by a belt, which can slip or break, and I've always felt it is a mechanically superior concept.
Further research showed the 15-91 could sew materials as fine as silk but as tough as leather; in my naivete I assumed you'd need a different type of sewing machine for each.
Next I came across a blog called Mushroom Villagers, written by a mother-of-three named Irene out in Oregon. Once I saw the photos of her 15-91 I was sold:
[photos via Mushroom Villagers]
The thing is freakin' beautiful. (I'd later discover she has an unusually well-preserved model.)
Eventually I managed to buy, on eBay, one extremely un-pretty 15-91 from 1953 that had been through the ringer and wasn't going to win any beauty contests, but had been partially refurbished and was selling in the $200 range. I wired the cash and as I write this the machine is cooling off on the table behind me. It looks like someone threw it down Lombard Street in San Francisco, but it runs like a top.
It's a 30-pound hunk of cast iron, Made in America when that still meant something. So far I've used it along with the Don Taylor book to make three "stadium cushions" which I've converted to dog beds, and I'm now experimenting with a more complicated racetrack-shaped dog bed with a bolster, which should help me learn to navigate curves and volumes. I imagine it will take me years to master, but someday I will write an entry here and then stretch out on a leather couch I made myself.
By the by, Antos is the subject of my next entry, so stay tuned.
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Comments
I know from all professional leather and non-leather sewers I've worked so far that they prefer either one of the best and most expensive machines in the world or those old Singer machines.
Do us all a favor, digest that book and go into automotive upholstery, the world needs more skilled "trimmers".
On a side note it looks as though you missed a step in threading the upper tension dial it should go through that little spring-steel hook on the front/right of the dial and then up -afaik
Enjoy your machine!