tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74697282069205431602024-03-14T00:33:56.714-07:00The Forest FlawInspirations and news from the Flawed ForestAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-90965579097816870942016-09-12T01:31:00.000-07:002016-09-12T01:42:10.243-07:00You can count on it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
Everyone has a number.</h2>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mWy2_tgz4C0/V9ZhBRjNipI/AAAAAAAABko/j829xOsbxckLZ9DXZNjrR8L-Xa93U9yvgCLcB/s1600/DanceBreak-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mWy2_tgz4C0/V9ZhBRjNipI/AAAAAAAABko/j829xOsbxckLZ9DXZNjrR8L-Xa93U9yvgCLcB/s320/DanceBreak-2.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<ul>
<li>Your number comes up (eventually).</li>
<li>you can be called on a number.</li>
<li>you do number ones (or twos - hopefully both) </li>
<li>you live at number something, something street.</li>
<li>There are a number of times I can talk about numbers before you begin to think I'm a numerologist or the Count.</li>
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If you recall a movie with Jim Carey in it, he found the number 23 was recurring in his life - it was a code - or something, I don't know I am not a memorologist - look it up.<br />
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I too have begun to have Noir-esque moments of number paranoia. My enigmatic number?<br />
The number...two.<br />
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It could be that I like symmetry, it could be <span class="_Tgc">Numerophobia (real!)It could be that I watched too much Sesame Street as a child.</span><br />
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imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for sesame street number 2" border="0" class="rg_ic rg_i" data-sz="f" height="112" name="RGBUnh7c2QDWIM:" 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" 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<span class="_Tgc">Scientifically it is me noticing the number more than I notice others, but scientifically that is a boring explanation and I'd rather think that it is hunting me until one day we have a final show down and then my number (2) will be up. Perhaps literally, depending on how I croak. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wcXCgMO14K8/V9ZgPPSAd8I/AAAAAAAABkg/-BZ1xQli63M9Y2rSiSCY2ekCFWhI_TWjwCLcB/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wcXCgMO14K8/V9ZgPPSAd8I/AAAAAAAABkg/-BZ1xQli63M9Y2rSiSCY2ekCFWhI_TWjwCLcB/s200/2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is the number two waiting for me outside my house</td></tr>
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<span class="_Tgc"></span>In the insidious way that number two stalks me, I now have two dressmakers dummies. The excitement about this is ridiculous!I know it is all part of a number conspiracy that will end in my demise, but for now, I can make two dresses at once! In fact I can now make dresses ranging from size 6 - 20! Which is more than 2! take that number 2!<br />
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And now finally to my point which is that I will be taking proper orders for dresses just in time for spring and summer through the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ArteFactumDiscoveryShop/" target="_blank">Arte Factum shop</a>.<br />
Proper, tailored, choose your material, suit your shape dresses! It means a proper photo shoot is in order, and getting a list together and not freaking out when I have more orders than time to make them (if all goes according to plan).<br />
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But plans, like all things, have a way of doing their own thing, so at least I know there's a number of things that can happen to derail it...as long as it's not ...TWO things! <br />
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yay, dress candy</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-2891331685814719372016-09-03T03:33:00.002-07:002016-09-03T04:26:09.548-07:00retail space - The final front earExcuse me for popping back into your lives with a sporadic post - like an eighties flash back, an estranged aunt home from finding herself in India or a neighbour who only wants to talk about themselves over the fence while you try to escape to your car politely<br />
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But a new frontier has opened for the Forest Flaw which <b>combines Space and time!</b><br />
That's right, some serious science shiz going on!
Discovery has opened a new boutique for local makers, which means I have a SPACE to sell my things at the place where I spend all my TIME. see what happened there? And scientists get all the glory, pssht.<br />
Now, I think I have become rather pragmatic in my old age, becoming a whole new and improved me; not counting chickens, playing it cool before I do something stupid, even counting to ten before I open my big mouth.<br />
But 'eeeeep' I just <b>know</b> this combination is going to work!<br />
<br />
New me is scared that I am biting off more than I can chew, that I will wear myself down to a nub of post-human barely functioning due to lack of sleep. But OLD me is jumping around the kitchen making bow ties and whirling together dresses and cushions like Mary Poppins who has a host of helper birds flying in the window (N.B. reality is helper cat who chews all my material and helper dog who tries to eat helper cat).
So I will continue to make, It's in my DNA, whether I will reach my dream of creating half of my time and working for the other is yet to be seen - for now, this is pretty close.<br />
<br />
<b>!ETYMOLOGY LESSON FROM LEFT FIELD!</b>
Today's word: Frontier.
late Middle English: from Old French frontiere, based on Latin frons, front- ‘front’.
So what i want to know is, where did the 'ier' come from? Is it possible that it is to listen in a new direction? to boldly hear where no man has heard before? to go where you may never be heard from again?
I think this is all rather plausible. So I'm calling it retail space - the final front ear. makes cents to me.
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not space - dinosaurs!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helper cat worn out from material chewing</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-58736151409312889912015-08-12T18:07:00.001-07:002015-08-12T18:07:35.689-07:00A-dork-a-ble? or just a dork? you decide...I had a dream last night that I was a comedian.<br />
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It felt like the most natural thing on earth, I actually remember thinking 'ah, this is what i'm meant to be doing'. I was ace. i had them eating out of the palm of my hand. I unfortunately can't remember anything I said, so there goes that latest foray into a new career.<br />
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I imagine that if I WAS going to go into comedy, I would like to reflect on the things that we do (well that I do) that make us human. Which had me laying in bed this morning (with a nasty, horrible cold) thinking of the stories that make me human. And now I am concerned that maybe i'm just a bit 'too' human to be a comedian and no-one would laugh.<br />
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Here is one such story that flooded back to my memory, thought I'd share:<br />
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It was a beautiful sunny afternoon when I arrived home from work. The kind of day where you haven't felt warm for the last three months but - oop, there's the sun! so better put on a flowy skirt and a pair of thongs and head out into it before it disappears forever.<br />
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In fact, dog decides she is going for a walk before I do and insists that we leave the house before she rips up the remote control and shoves it's microchippy body under my bedcovers as a subtle warning.<br />
<br />
The sun is shining as we walk down past the first block. People are waving at me and smiling - it's amazing what the sun can do for people's moods, we all feel good. There's a collective smugness in the air; the dog is trotting along next to me all is well in the world. Might as well slow right down as we pass the bowls club and watch. The ladies and men are all laughs, the bowls are clinking, people are having small cheers. Ahh, glad we came out into the world.<br />
The dog stops for a big sniff around the roses, ah well, I'm not in a hurry, sniff away doggie.<br />
<br />
Then, I feel a breeze. The clouds are starting to come over already.<br />
And I feel a breeze.<br />
On my arms.<br />
On my face.<br />
On my arse.<br />
What?<br />
Yes, on my arse.<br />
I have put my most flowy skirt on.<br />
I have tucked my most flowy skirt firmly into my underwear.<br />
I have waved at the neighbourhood in some kind of exhibitionist - ass flashing - shit what undies am I wearing - fool of a human being.<br />
Stupid dog didn't even tell me.<br />
<br />
Ok, two ways to go here. 1. run home in tears. 2. fish out skirt from underwear, chuckle and continue walk, checking every two minutes on back of skirt.<br />
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AMAZINGLY i took option two. So now everyone's seen my ass. It's been pretty much rape deterrent I think. I've never felt safer walking the dog since.<br />
<br />
You've heard of adorkable, I'm just a dork. <br />
<br />
Anyway, foray into comedy satisfied, Here's a couple of things I've been working on. I love the way the keys came out on this vintage dress, and might make myself one for spring - and NOT tuck it into my underwear.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victorian riding jacket will be complete with Asian silk lining and frog closures</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-26446117551464992082015-07-24T21:36:00.000-07:002015-07-24T22:09:40.423-07:00String theory gives you purposeI know I have written about this before, but being creative really is my savior. Without it, I become a shell, a husk if you will, with no ambition and grumpy. BOY do I get grumpy when I don't have a project. OOh mama. Grumpy.<br />
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But more than that, it's a way to connect to my life purpose. </div>
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Its hard to connect the dots to why we do things (and why things happen to us) in our life, especially if you have existential angst to a stupid degree like I do. And to this end I have spent much of my life trying to find a so called 'purpose'.</div>
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At high school we are supposed to know what we are meant to do; fireman, banker, lollipop person. But come on, I've spent my whole life not knowing, and finally, FINALLY decided that that is ok. I <i>forgive</i> myself for not becoming a corporate leader. I <i>forgive</i> myself for not making a million dollars...or even thousands...tens? I <i>forgive</i> myself for not owning my own home or only just purchasing a new car, ironing undies or bleaching my tea towels or whatever good adults do. It wasn't in my mandate, not my purpose in life.</div>
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Any of you creative types might just relate to this:</div>
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I spent my teens working and quitting jobs because it wasn't what I was 'supposed' to be doing.</div>
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I spent my twenties studying and searching my interests in an effort to head in the right direction.</div>
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I spent my thirties working, playing, drinking and studying and sometimes up a tree (but that's another story) because I thought there was no purpose or meaning.</div>
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And now, <i>approaching</i> my forties, I've finally realised that my purpose is to somehow create and be fruitful and work to support my fruitful creativeness. </div>
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But what about money? I hear you ask. Well, It's never been a big thing on my radar. I know that I need it, but it's what keeps us creative types driven - keeps us hungry - sometimes quite literally. This has been the struggle. I've been too busy creating stuff. Useful stuff and useless stuff of all kinds.</div>
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Which has got me thinking; surely I'm not the only person who has stumbled around this long not knowing which direction to take? All my friends are amazing qualified people with incredible jobs and security, but I can't be the only one who flip flops all around the nation trying on different roles and falling back to 'being creative'.</div>
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Where are all the other flippy floppers? I know you're out there, probably had to sell your computer to eat, I get it.</div>
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So, back to the school days thread, if 'being creative' was a job prospect, would I have though twice about it? It would have been like this:</div>
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Looking for an exciting, life long career that will fulfill you spiritually but not financially?</div>
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Hours are flexible, food is optional, opportunities are ... negotiable.</div>
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Long hours of manic coffee drinking, followed by long hours of <strike>couch surfing</strike> idea incubating.</div>
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Years of perfecting your skills punctuated by bad jobs, periods of doubt, depression, ennui and coveting your neighbour's ass because you can't afford your own.</div>
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Cannot mind about clothing being covered in paint, or other permanent mediums.</div>
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<u>Must</u> be good at defending career choice to family, friends and bank managers.</div>
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Noodle eating a must, holidays not included. Ever.</div>
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<i>n.b. personal experience may differ from position shown</i></div>
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So, what's the answer? I would have done it anyway but maybe I would have been able to forgive myself sooner. Wouldn't this all be a lot easier if we had Harry Potter's sorting hat?</div>
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Or something more like the task tortoise, the job giraffe, purpose porpoise...?</div>
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But then I found this picture, and now I finally know the real meaning of string theory...</div>
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And basically the meaning of life. Which is obviously cats. Always cats.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-623904941258013382015-07-13T20:50:00.001-07:002015-07-23T02:37:42.484-07:00Labels and deer, Sundays and BeerSometimes you feel like you are living a double life.<br />
<br />
When you are devoting time and emotion equally to two separate things at once - it can - and trust me - WILL - come crashing down on your head sooner or later.<br />
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As you have all seen, I've been creating and crafting clothing for my new line of goodies called the forest flaw-drobe. This has taken up approximately 50%of both doing and daydreaming time.<br />
The other 50% has been working 5 or six days at my job in a science and technology centre that has been racing against the clock to gain funding, raise awareness, perform double tasks for the school holidays - lest we all take a redundancy and the whole place closes down.<br />
<br />
Now you may have all read that I have a condition that makes me tired, grumpy, sore, crippled and did I mention tired? So When I close my eyes and try to sleep, I am sewing dresses for bunsen burners, creating skirts for scientists and generaly spinning plates in all directions. When I wake, I open my cripply fingers and brush my teeth and head off to work to do it all over again. It's been full on. It's been good and it's been bad. It's still not over except that I have a small window of breathing space for a week. Ahh.<br />
<br />
Now, that's all good while I am still going, keeping pace, forging ahead. But Sunday marked the 'celebration' of becoming an independent entity at work, which meant there were drinks laid on. I crafted my two worlds together and sewed up a frock for the occasion. I worked flat out and skipped lunch. I was ready - and I mean READY to blow off some steam. After all, I didn't have to work the next day.<br />
Now the thing about drinking on a Sunday is that - well, you're probably going to do it on your own. Most people are prudent in that they must drive - go to work the following day - realise they will have to work with these people again. The list goes on. Clever people.<br />
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Needless to say. I got messy. My dress got messy. I was sick (serves me right) and now I must hang my head down low when I return to the workplace.<br />
My husband however has enjoyed telling all the world about my adventure - the plumber got to hear all about it, and the waitress at dinner last night. So at least it wasn't all for nothing.<br />
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Anyway - I have a conclusion to make and that is 'pace yourself'. In everything. Set your sights on one thing at a time. Don't burn out and crash your life into the metaphoric wall through falling asleep at the wheel (or sewing machine). So that's what I will be doing. Lesson temporarily learnt.<br />
I am going to keep focus on my dressmaking orders, cut back work to three days and keep a steady course.<br />
No more burnouts for me - I'm quite good at embarrassing myself without alcohol thank you very much.<br />
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Also, don't drink kids. Just don't.<br />
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My mess dress. Can't get enough of deer. Can get enough of beer. <br />
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And my new labels arrived yesterday! loving them :)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-72147210736857800642015-06-29T03:39:00.001-07:002015-06-29T03:39:41.283-07:00Embarrassment in the embroidery aisleI love shopping for fabrics. I have tried to buy them online, but I can't feel, see or smell them so they're just not real enough to me.<br />
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So I'm the crazy person walking around the local haberdashery with armfulls of fabric rolls, fingers blue from lack of circulation, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and zippers and cotton trailing behind me.<br />
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I'll go in with a set idea of exactly what I need, but it's not long before I've spotted something that just screams out and is in a colour or weight I just can't use for my current project. Doesn't matter, gotta have it.<br />
Sometimes I chuckle to myself when I find something that just 'tickles me pink.' (where the hell did that saying come from anyway?) Like this one, that I didn't have a plan for - just gotta gotta <br />
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So, I'll put it up for selection for my skirts, and a light summer dress. It's going to be a popular one and maybe I should have bought MUCH more of it. Maybe I should have hidden the roll. Damn, wish I had have thought of that sooner.<br />
<br />
Anyway, can't take husband to the haberdashery with me. Even though his carrying capacity is greater than mine and leaves my arms free to flail about with glee and rifle through all the bottom rolls that you can't see at a glance. It's because I take too long, and I'm erratic, and probably because I'm pretty embarrassing laughing at and sniffing the material. Come to think of it, I don't blame him. Anyway, its better when I can take my time, dive into the remnant box and emerge victorious. It's the most exercise I get - some people have the gym, I lift yarn and pump cotton. I run the button aisles and box my way to the cutting counter, And let me tell you, my opponents are not easy to beat. Why so many sour faced old biddies buying material? Don't you know this is as close to releasing endorphins you'll get this week? Enjoy! flick through patterns with glee! Buy that electric blue rayon just because you want to! Knit your way to nirvana!<br />
<br />
Perhaps it's just me then. Oh, and I looked up Tickled pink. It was apparently originally tickled to death, so I am happy to be tickled pink rather than black and blue - or dead.<br />
<br />
Anywayv - obligatory link to my store <a href="https://www.madeit.com.au/Main/Store?storeId=7702&userId=45434" target="_blank">here</a> <br />
It's not overly full at the moment, but have lots more to put up over the coming weeks.<br />
<br />
today's gleeful purchases (all smell lovely by the way!)<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-76394677388543971912015-06-23T01:10:00.001-07:002015-06-23T01:17:29.197-07:00Like sands through the hourglass...Woah, where does the time go?<br />
I just had a brief look at this blog and realised that it had been far too long since I did a hastily thrown together post. Not that I'm into hiding behind excuses, but this really is because of a few MAJOR things:<br />
<br />
1. My very elderly cat up and died on me.<br />
<br />
2. My not very elderly dog up and died on me with no warning.<br />
<br />
3. I got made redundant from my day job (but ironically now have more work until I go)<br />
<br />
So here's to life! making the excuses for me. But now is the time to drag myself out of the hole and get back up to date. If you think I stopped sewing because of my sadness you would be WRONG! I have sewn more than ever on an effort to pretend things are normal. However my concentration levels did not quite meet standards. So,<br />
<br />
Things are normal: sew my dress to the tablecloth<br />
Things are normal: sew a zipper on - carefully - back to front<br />
Things are normal: make more cushion covers than I have cushions for <br />
Things are normal: break two needles in succession, cry a little<br />
<br />
you get the idea.<br />
Anyway, been working on the clothing range and have a few nice designs that I have successfully made templates and patterns for. These include:<br />
<br />
*Ruffle skirt (currently my favourite)<br />
*Box pleat skirt<br />
*light poplin elastic waist dress with round collar (cute in any colour!)<br />
*tailored peter pan collar dress with zippered back<br />
*Eastern style slab dress with cute bow and button<br />
<br />
Obviously I make all kinds of crazy things for myself to wear, but these are the patterns that I am happy with enough to make for others.<br />
Its too late to take pictures of everything in my cave, I mean dimly lit house, so I will update this post when I can model them then sort them into saleable items. I should have done this ages ago, but you know - life.<br />
<br />
So check back! or I'll repost and you will have to read this all over again.<br />
Things are normal: repost same blog, DOH!<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-63945244232724796402015-05-25T20:03:00.001-07:002015-05-25T20:03:39.701-07:00Sew-strava-ganzaOk, not much activity from me on here recently, but I have been sewing and gathering materials and trying to sort all the ideas.<br />
<br />
Recently I had a conversation with a local boutique about the clothes that I make and there is a tentative agreement that I will do a line to sell in there about springtime. EXCITING!<br />
terrifying!<br />
<br />
Mostly of late, I have just been doing adjustments and twerks (not twerking) of clothing for people, replacing zips, transforming dress sizings, that sort of thing, which is fine, but my passion lies in taking on a challenge that is far beyond me in terms of skill and time and means and trying my hardest to make it work. Stupid passion I know. Especially when a one hour job turns into a two day job until I work it out.<br />
<br />
Anyway - whether I sell all my goodies in this beautiful and quirky boutique, or just get ready for a spring market - I have been having a sew-strava-ganza. Bags, headbands, skirts and dresses. Even door snakes. If there;s material infront of me, I'll sew it into something. So beware, tablecloths and unworn items - I'm coming for you next!<br />
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Apologies for the quick and terrible quality, but I have much to sew don't you know - off to source more material for today I create - tomorrow I - - probably create some more! like some kind of terrible superhero. <br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-28452457225906576102015-04-16T21:25:00.000-07:002015-04-16T21:25:13.702-07:00I kajiggered me thing-a-me-bob and now i'm disappointedI love the term 'Misc'.<br />
<br />
It covers so many things and for a lazy person like myself, i am grateful for these words in particular:<br />
<br />
* stuff<br />
* things<br />
* thing-a-me-bobs <br />
* kajiggers, and of course <br />
* miscellaneous<br />
<br />
Ok, some of those may not be real, but they are real to me and that's all that counts.<br />
<br />
I use the term 'misc' today to be able to lump a broad range of things together in a big catch up pile. <br />
Firstly, there's been the usual work thing-a-me-bobs, where I have been kajiggering exhibits. here:<br />
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these are the mushrooms I've been wanting to finish for ages. I want to cover the entire floor area here with fake grass. But one thing at a time...The dots will actually have led lights in them and will look pretty spectacular.<br />
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These pics are of the 'frozen shadows' exhibit which is brilliant. there is <strike>magic</strike> i mean science paper inside and a bright light which flashes at you, scaring you into weird swearing shapes, then your image is burned on to the wall for all to witness your humiliation.<br />
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I maaay have borrowed some inspiration for this one...got that song in your head yet?<br />
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Then top it off with a girl and a balloon, and a sign <br /><br />
Now, i find i am disappointed as this post did come together with a theme and is less misc than I promised. Next time it will be far less cohesive, full of stuff and thing-a-me-bobs and pinwhistles.<br />
All these things can be found at the superfantastic <a href="http://www.discovery.asn.au/" target="_blank">Discovery centre, Bendigo</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-6774200643823309322014-12-27T22:21:00.001-08:002014-12-27T22:42:35.275-08:00Post Ho Ho. The days of our Ho. The Ho days.I am starting a new Christmas tradition.<br />
<br />
Instead of looking forward to the 'day', I am going to look forward to the day after. When it's over. When its dead and done.<br />
<br />
What is more relaxing than knowing that Christmas is another 364 days away?<br />
It is at least 350 days until you need to shop.<br />
It is another 360 days until you need to buy the food.<br />
It is another 363 days until you need to panic.<br />
<br />
If you are not on board with me, let me lay it out in terms you will understand:<br />
<br />
SHOPPING<br />
It is another year until you need to get a cluster headache from shopping with ALL THOSE OTHER PEOPLE!<br />
Where do they come from? The North Pole? Are they sent to the supermarkets by major corporations to create mass ham panic? Call me a conspiracy nut, but I definitely think so. <br />
<br />
FOOD<br />
For the next ten days, you can feast on that glazed ham you fought for, stuffing, strange chocolates you've never seen before. If you're lucky, you scored those weird biscuits no one else liked. You can unwrap and gorge on boxes of sweet things you got from people who didn't know what to get you/ didn't know you were coming / don't like you very much. There's way too much custard in the fridge- it has to be eaten before it goes off! The food list is pretty much endless here.<br />
<br />
PEACE<br />
I don't know about you, but during the lead up to 'that day', it is not peace on earth and goodwill to all men. It is Parties at all of my neighbours houses - sometimes at the same time. Uncle 'Harry' decides to air out his goods in public, Cousin 'Sarah' drinks too much and crashes through the kennel. I've heard all their dirty business, so thank you - now I know how to successfully blackmail you all. Merry 'that day' to me.<br />
In comparison, the aftermath is pretty sweet. everyone is hungover for three days - I can sit in my backyard and do cartwheels in the quiet if I so wish. Peace on Earth and all that.<br />
<br />
SMUGNESS<br />
yup. there's a lot to be said for feeling smug. I got everything done in time (a record half hour present shop), I got the food bought and prepared, I survived all the dinners and family and uncomfortable situations. Heck yeah, I'm gonna feel smug for a few days if you don't mind.<br />
<br />
So all that's left for this period of awesomeness that is post Christmas - is the name. The Hoening. The Santamath. I don't care what it's called. I'm just gonna sit back and enjoy it all.<br />
<br />
Oh, and here's some pictures i couldn't leak before 'the day' Just the pet ones.<br />
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Enjoy your Post Ho Days ")<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-12599300717134246832014-11-25T16:59:00.001-08:002014-11-25T17:06:27.066-08:00Woah Woah Woah...Merry XmasSometimes our creative flow gets blocked. We've all stared at a blank screen, hovered over a white page, sat at an empty sewing machine (haven't we?). <br />
<br />
But other times the dam walls break down and overload begins. There are bits of material flying across the room, typing all over the house furiously, pencils scribbling across every surface, cats playing in yarn, dogs wearing makeshift hats from remnants of the creative volcano, husbands hiding in cupboards.<br />
Well, this happens in my house anyway (except for the multiple husbands).<br />
<br />
Never is this creative eruption more active than at Christmas time.<br />
All the ideas are there - gingerbread men, red and white dresses to be made, nifty crafty wire arrangements, lampshades, candle holders, place-mats, presents...sometimes it's hard to sleep for all the ideas that are exploding in the air around me. Now, if I'm honest, only probably 5% of these ideas some to fruition. I mean, all my time is spent coming up with these wonderful creations - to actually make them all - Woah woah woah, settle down. <br />
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<br />
I blame the printing companies.<br />
If it wasn't for the yule logs of advertising material that are shoved into my mailbox daily, I wouldn't have dreams of perfect shiny toothed Xmas ideas. Families of happy Christmas people enjoying items with wide smiles, Brand new clothes that have never been worn, uncomfortable shoes that look amazing, gifts all tied up with ribbons.<br />
Yes, printing presses and Christmas has a lot to answer for.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
I am not a materialistic person. But come catalog time, I am a voracious velociraptor vacantly devouring various vestments and vouchers with vulgarity. <a class="spell" href="https://www.google.com.au/search?safe=off&client=firefox-a&hs=mEn&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=fflb&q=velociraptor&spell=1&sa=X&ei=KCJ1VIroBtTl8AWKqYLICw&ved=0CBsQvwUoAA"><b><i><br /></i></b></a></blockquote>
So, this year, I have decided to make a list - perhaps i'll check it twice, I'll only make items that are naughty or nice, cause the Christmas clause is coming - to my house.<br />
<br />
(note - clause is that I will promise to only make items I have time to finish)<br />
So good luck to everyone out there. Especially those of you (like me) that have yet to brave the shops to buy all the useless things we don't need for presents. Just remember, sometimes the wrapping can make up for a crappy gift...<br />
my excuse anyway... <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-56860023532647804302014-11-15T01:51:00.003-08:002014-11-15T01:51:53.263-08:00Sticks unite!When you boil it all down, there is one thing that is guaranteed - and that is that nothing will stay the same.<br />
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Now, I'm not opposed to change, in fact I crave it sometimes. When things are the same for too long, the gypsy in me gets pouty and begins secret machinations to get things moving. This can be (and is mostly) without my consent.<br />
'What?' you say, 'are you hiding some extra personalities in there?' well, yes. Who isn't if we're being honest? See how fast change can happen? I didn't even see that one coming...boy, this computer age really is fast.<br />
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Where would we be if the seasons never changed? If the laws didn't change? If the remote didn't change the channel?<br />
Stuck. that's where.<br />
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This brings us to where I live most of my life, my modus operandi, if you will - is at stuck.<br />
I'm writing this in the hope that I might find some other 'stuck-ees' out there who feel the same (perhaps one of you can come up with a better name for it - <i>sticks</i> maybe?). To give you an example of what gets me in this predicament, here's my own checklist of sticking points;<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"What do you want to be when you grow up?"...?<i> </i><i>= stuck</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Do you want to wear dresses or climb trees?" ...?<i> = stuck</i></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Combat boots or heels?" ...? <i>= stuck</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Computer games or classic literature?" ...? <i> = stuck</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Cup of tea and blankie or vodka and lipstick?" ...? <i>= stuck</i></span></blockquote>
Now, all those things can and have changed as I've grown. And by that I mean I have mostly chosen both. That is probably due to the gypsy inside of me again - I mean, really, who says change means you must let go of what you already have in order to move forward? Can't we do as the Romans did and embrace the new in one hand while weaving it into it's already thriving culture? Let's move past the fact that the Roman empire is now defunct and focus on the 500 years or so that advanced civilization existed...<br />
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So being stuck maybe isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's a mechanism that means we don't throw out things that make us who we are in a bid to keep up. So be stuck. For a little while, then embrace the bits you want and move forward with it.<br />
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I have been stuck on drawing for a while now, but still here with me is the Forest goodies that made me start this venture in the first place. So to honor being stuck with my past while still moving forward, I have compiled a <a href="http://theforestflaw.blogspot.com.au/p/blog-page.html" target="_blank">page of stitched flaw babies</a> so you can peruse them all in one place. They are still all made to order, so If you get stuck on one of them, I can make it happen for you.<br />
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Happy sticky beaking. (see what I did there? shyeah...)</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-70621894866723888292014-11-02T23:55:00.002-08:002014-11-02T23:55:19.793-08:00you say intention, I say pretension; lets blow the whole thing upMost of us, when going to an art exhibition, will have a preconceived notion of what we will be viewing. Maybe we are being dragged to something that holds no interest, or perhaps it's an exhibit of famous underwear or something that we have been waiting our entire lives to see. From the classical to the mundane, Art can encompass anything that is put together and displayed for us to see.<br />
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Either way there is, is find, a level of pretension involved in art viewing.<br />
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Yes, yes, I may have rankled someone. Don't get me wrong, I love to view art. As an 'artist' myself, I find it inspiring and sometimes reflective. Sometimes moving, but always annoying.<br />
"Why?" you might ask?<br />
"Because there is always - that one". I will reply and point to the person bailing someone up in the corner.<br />
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This is going somewhere. Here:<br />
Last Saturday, I went with friends to an exhibition I was itching to see. It was 'Body beautiful' at the oh so prestigious Bendigo Art Gallery. This is not sarcasm by the way, it really is an amazing gallery, you can check it out here: <a href="http://www.bendigoartgallery.com.au/" target="_blank">Bendigo Art Gallery</a><br />
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After handing over our tickets, we walked into the dimly lit, hushed space and spread out to ogle the goodies. Not five minutes after we entered we saw an usher walk very quickly by. Then not long after, another.<br />
As we made our way through the exhibits of Ancient Greek statues, tombstones and some of the oldest surviving representations of the human form still in existence, a loud nasal tone wafted towards us.<br />
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There, between the iron age statue of Pan and the Classical busts and carvings, was a lady who was desperately trying to compete with it all. In her enormous haired splendour, She was trying to run her hands over all the things. All the things that were dated from about 5000 BC to about 1AD.<br />
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"I just want to feel it beneath my fingers."<br />
"No, you really mustn't" said the poor usher who was obviously abandoned by her usher friends.<br />
"But the form and the composition...this is my heritage."<br />
"Please don't touch the things."<br />
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My friends and I raised our collective eyebrows and continued our tour.<br />
In the next room was the <strike>opium den</strike> the oversized round lounge that had well dressed people draped across it awkwardly watching a video explaining the 'vision' of the artists. The value of the design, the florid strokes that encapsulate the essence of time in the way that only true visionaries can. <br />
Ok, I only heard a little bit, but I think I got the gist. I'm sure some of it was quite interesting...<br />
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Then into this room.<br />
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I like to let art speak for itself. I will enjoy it as long as I can before I read the plaque explaining it. After all, isn't this what art is? If a picture is worth a thousand words, then why do we need to spend ten thousand pulling it apart and examining it? This statue was larger than life size and really takes your breath away. Which is mostly all I need to know. I did overhear that it is not the original head. Bam, lalala, don't really want to know more. just want to enjoy it.<br />
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Walking back through the rooms, we encounter splendorous hair again.<br />
"This is my heritage! I just want to breathe it in you know? Touch it, It's where I'm from" (Arms are flailing ala sound of Music on a hill top).<br />
"Please don't touch the things."<br />
"But don't you just want to enjoy the contours? I love the way the form has been primitively juxtaposed in this picture..."<br />
"Just...sigh...don't touch the things."<br />
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And so, the exhibition came to a close. As enjoyable as it was to admire the pieces, it is invariably pretentious art 'lovers' that can ruin it for others.<br />
Surely with that, I have secured myself a position of never ever working in an Art gallery again, but most likely, I am being pretentious in thinking that anyone who might employ will read my blog any time in the future.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-46854020021592795222014-10-25T19:02:00.001-07:002014-10-26T04:20:32.816-07:00Hypermyalgia / Fibrosensitive. It's Fibromyalgia and damn you spell check!Updating my 'condition' from, just good old Rheumatoid Arthritis to Fibromyalgia has had some strange effects on my psyche, which funnily enough is apparently where all my issues are arising from in the first place.<br />
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Some of you will say 'Fibro-ma-who-now? some of you might say 'oh yeah, my cousin / aunt / in-law has that, and others of you will say 'what a load of crap'. Even though it is a medically proven illness and 8% of the population are diagnosed with it, I have found in my own studies, that fibromyalgia is yet to be upgraded to the status of a 'oh, yes, that's no good' condition. Even the spell check doesn't really believe in it as every time I write fibromyalgia it insists on putting a red, squiggly line underneath it. See, there it is again.<br />
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Apart from the main features of this disease, which include, but are not limited to: chronic fatigue, acute pain, constant pins and needles, muscle weakness / spasms, IBS, TMJ, memory loss, memory loss, mem... It is also an anxiety driven state of hyper-vigilance.<br />
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I am overly sensitive to noise, light, sound, touch and activity. It is all too much for my puny brain to compute. I can smell the perfume that my neighbour is putting on, I can smell the fricken cheese on the moon.<br />
I can hear the bathroom door blowing back and forth in a breeze at 4am, then I can hear a cat a block away, then I can hear time itself.<br />
I can see movement around a corner, next door, on another planet.<br />
These are my super-powers. However they are also my kryptonite. I can't relax. I am hyperactive whilst being chronically tired and my body will not allow itself to sleep deeply enough to get the refreshing REM sleep it needs.<br />
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In a way, you can sum up Fibromyalgia by putting a -hyper- infront of anything.<br />
Hyper-emotional. Hyper-aware. Hyper-sensitive. Hyper-tired. When I get in my car, I Hyper-drive. <br />
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This really does explain the way I live my life. I don't just do things at a normal rate - when I get the urge to create something I Hyper-create. This is never more true than when I am so tired I am stubbing my toe on everything and can't remember what my own face looks like.<br />
So I have learned this about myself this past couple of weeks. I art because it keeps me 'hyper-focused' on one thing. If I am focusing on drawing / sewing / writing then I am not aware of how crap I feel otherwise.<br />
I stop hearing the mice scurrying in the vacant lot a street away. I no longer can smell the toast I burnt a week ago. I quit seeing movement out of the corner of my eyes which I am convinced is me seeing dead people - probably another blog for another time. It helps me to shut down all the parts of me that aren't necessary for the creation of the thing i'm working on. It's art therapy and unbeknownst to me, I've been doing it for a long long time.<br />
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Prime example is this week's drawing. Done after a long day of work, almost in tears from pain. There's nothing like drawing a fascinating face to take you out of yourself and your surroundings. <br />
Hyperbole? hypothesis? No, just really hyper-accurate.<br />
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I art, therefore I calm.</blockquote>
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Tyrion Lannister - (Peter Dinklage) Pencil, Hyper drawing<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-9420714961056875772014-10-14T19:03:00.003-07:002014-10-14T19:03:51.223-07:00back to the drawing boardLiterally. I am back to the drawing board. Except picture it without a board, just the drawing.<br />
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Since being diagnosed with RA (or whatever it is going to morph into after seeing the specialist) - I have been having a lot of trouble sewing by hand all the little foresty friends that got me through a really rough artless time in my life.<br />
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It's amazing what excuses we will give ourselves to not be true to who we are. My main excuse has been lack of space. I have lived in a mailbox for over five years now in which time I let my drawing and painting wither and then die because it is too much effort to keep a small house clean with me cluttering up the house with easels, fumes, shavings and nude models everywhere.<br />
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ok, no nude models.<br />
ok, no models - maybe nudity.<br />
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It has taken for my body to complain so hard, to force me to stop using my left hand, to stop me from hunching over material and my sore eyes from focusing on the eye of a needle - for me to get back to my roots. It has been some time since I have had art exhibitions, longer since I have held a paintbrush, and far too long since I have made a huge mess and had a life affirming moment doing so.<br />
Anyone who has a creative need will know exactly what I mean. If you don't let it flow, your life can feel very stifled. Sad, empty and worthless.<br />
Sound a little melodramatic? It has taken me years to realise that it isn't. It is just a basic truth of life.<br />
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So if you have a burning desire - I suggest strongly that you make the time to let it grow. Breathe a little life into it - make a spark that will give you the will to get up in the morning. Without taking the time to work on what we're meant to do - we're just taking up time.<br />
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Happy to announce then that I've decided to push for some work in this field again. It will take some time to get back to where I was, but I'm going to seriously enjoy getting there.<br />
So, my first listing to sell portraits is up: wish me luck! With so much amazing competition out there, i'm going to need it!<br />
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<a href="https://www.madeit.com.au/Main/Item?itemId=1002496">Link to made it store!</a></blockquote>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-67375655389766366372014-10-07T19:43:00.001-07:002014-10-07T19:44:53.181-07:00a jarring experienceThe most intimate of places in our home - let's face it - is not necessarily our underwear drawer, the bathroom cupboard, or even where we keep our jewelry. <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
No, if we're completely honest with ourselves, it's the kitchen pantry. </blockquote>
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Have you ever had someone helping you prepare a meal, only to cringe in embarrassment when they walk towards that cupboard? Because you know inside, there is that packet of pasta in a plastic bag with a hole in it. The box of cereal with the cardboard all ripped down one side and soggy on the other, That container of slightly wiffy - whatever it is - just behind the out of date vinegar. Pegs, rubber bands, hair ties, labels and paper stuck to the shelf.<br />
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Ok, maybe that's just how my pantry looked - until I decided enough was enough and I finally tackled it with the items I had been <strike> hoarding </strike> saving just for the occasion.<br />
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Now, I am not one of those blogging home goddesses that has glitter on their spray bottles and colour coordinated toilet paper holders.<br />
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I do not bedazzle, distress or ruffle.<br />
I do bemoan, stress and shuffle things into out of way locations where they can not be seen.<br />
But the kitchen shelves are on display and I do seem to collect spices and jars. So the two came together and exploded one day into a domestic goddess moment.<br />
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To achieve this, I spent an entire afternoon clearing, cleaning and trying not to contemplate what was running along the back of my shelves that looked like tar. Surely I hadn't bought tar? I can't recall the recipe in any case.<br />
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So I ordered a small alphabet stamp kit, picked up a stamp pad, purchased some craft tags and set to.<br />
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The first week I tagged all the big stuff. Rice, pasta, flours and the like. These sit on open shelves so they had to look good. I used many tags, had to buy more. Washed so many jars, had to buy more. I was satisfied. I could survive the apocalypse. For a week or two at any rate.<br />
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But not being satisfied with that, I cleared out the tar infested (or whatever it was, let's not dwell on it) pantry and hit the spices and condiments.</div>
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For this I used sticky labels and kept hold of salsa and pasta sauce jars. I think it has a rustic appeal. </div>
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So now when I am in the kitchen and someone is assisting me, no longer do I cringe. No more do I jump in front of the cupboard or distract visitors with a tap-dance. Never again do I have to invent recipes that consist of tar. </div>
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For what was once the most intimate of embarrassing places, is now a domestic goddesses' delight. </div>
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For now it is shabby chic, instead of shabby eek.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-5641115273599856452014-09-30T18:29:00.002-07:002014-09-30T18:29:19.847-07:00To keep is to save, to store is to hoardWhen I keep things, it is for a purpose.<br />
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A lamp might break, but the shade is still good! A handle comes off something, but the pattern on it is too nice to throw away! A jar lid might break, but the jar is still perfectly fine!<br />
Now, sometimes I admit, keeping bits and pieces might be holding onto junk, but I figure if I put those pieces to work within twelve months - it's a save! otherwise, I will go on a spring rampage and throw things out (then look for those things two months later and kick myself for getting rid of it).<br />
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Of course, when my husband keeps things it is because he is a hoarder and no good can come of it...<br />
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So, upon reviewing my broken, salvaged items for a spring clean, I decided it was time to use it or lose it. The first items on my agenda: jars.<br />
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I had always admired the beautiful tiny worlds of 'gardeney goodness in glass enclosures' - (or terrariums). I don't know why I had never thought of giving it a go before. Perhaps I was concerned that, as my husband pointed out;<div>
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'we are going to end up with moldy jars decorating the house in a month or so'.</blockquote>
But no. I have done my hasty homework and I realise the mechanics of gardening in jars...I think. I'll let you know in a month or so.<br />
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My research has led to this: there are two types of terrariums, open jar and enclosed. The open jar is suited for dry rockery plants, such as succulents. The closed jar is a little more tricky, and can be used for ferns and humid climate plants. In this type, you really need to add activated charcoal (apparently) or the dreaded moldy jar syndrome (or husband is right-itis) might ensue. </div>
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So open jar appeals because of the ease of care and - well I'm trying to use the jars with broken lids - hence the whole not hoarding but saving dilemma. I used large pebbles on the bottom for drainage, coir mixed in with the soil (also for drainage) and more large and small pebbles on top. Mist with water until it is damp but not wet. Then pop in a couple of plants and sit back and wait for the <strike>mold</strike> garden to grow. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VtsAV3qi_SE/VCtUqBUJxOI/AAAAAAAAAq4/92G2LkP9PIg/s1600/IMG_20141001_103810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VtsAV3qi_SE/VCtUqBUJxOI/AAAAAAAAAq4/92G2LkP9PIg/s1600/IMG_20141001_103810.jpg" height="640" width="420" /></a></div>
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Having said that, I am eyeing off the rice and pasta glassware for potential garden-ariums. </div>
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My attempts are very simple so far. But I know myself too well by now to know that they will end here. I already have plans (and jars) for moss carpeted scenes with little cutesy pie figurines and tiny ferns and oh my god I might just want to go live in one. </div>
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So, I say, let the <strike>hoarding</strike> saving begin!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-79384236633798251932014-09-22T01:36:00.001-07:002014-10-04T05:58:27.463-07:00Drawing from experience<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lgrQnxrYs5M/VC_udbwlOmI/AAAAAAAAAzs/rrcVg3280pY/s1600/IMG_20141001_054640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lgrQnxrYs5M/VC_udbwlOmI/AAAAAAAAAzs/rrcVg3280pY/s1600/IMG_20141001_054640.jpg" height="219" width="320" /></a></div>
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"I hate your stupid face".<br />
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This has been heard at my house a bit lately.<br />
No, there's not marital problems or tourettes sufferers visiting. I have been getting my hand back in at portraiture.<br />
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There's an old saying ' use it or lose it'. It seems that in the years between art school and sketching for fun, my hands have forgotten the pathways that lead from what my eyes see to the paper. So I am beginning to 'use it' again, but I fear I may have already started to 'lose it'!<br />
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This life has held many artistic endeavors for me, one of them for some time was pet portraits. I drew animals in pencil or pastel from photos, because they are incredibly hard to make sit still for a few hours.<br />
But most of all, I have always enjoyed sketching people in pencil. Hands, faces, friends, poses; a sketch pad was never far from reach. But now, living in a house the size of a large postage stamp has changed my habits considerably.<br />
'I'll just pull them out when I need them', I said to myself as I delicately stuffed them in to a place where they fit.<br />
I think we all know what happened next...<br />
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Somewhere, by a large armchair, next to a floor lamp, behind a creaky wooden door lives an old gothic style desk. In that desk live a number of things, all crammed in with napkins and unused teatowels, covering my sketch pads and pencils. </blockquote>
So now, if the urge grabs me, I think of that armchair, floor lamp, creaky door etc., and am too damn tired and lazy to go grab my gear. I'll make a cup of tea instead. Or take a nap. Equally important in the scheme of things.<br />
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Now since I put my mind to it, and decided to cut back on the tea and naps, I have pulled out all my tools, thrown away the dusty teatowels with pictures of cats on them (I also decided I am never going to dry my dishes with horrible, cottony abominations), oil that creaky door and DRAW to my heart's content.<br />
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Since I have done this, however, I have not been so content. The whole process is far more swear-y than I recalled, a lot more hateful and somewhat embarrassing when reviewing attempts.<br />
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But as my ever wise and beardy husband said to me - "keep failing until you don't" ... then "stop swearing at me".<br />
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I have put my efforts into one of those things - I can't promise both...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_7z7rpY_A-o/VB_d3DO0aGI/AAAAAAAAAng/38MWuRQICtg/s1600/IMAG0029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_7z7rpY_A-o/VB_d3DO0aGI/AAAAAAAAAng/38MWuRQICtg/s1600/IMAG0029.jpg" height="400" width="324" /></a><span style="font-size: 13px;">the bearded wise guy</span></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-58473323041859722852014-09-14T18:52:00.003-07:002014-09-25T19:52:16.923-07:00Learning is the new black<div style="text-align: center;">
Some years are just earmarked for growth. </div>
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They are painful, trying, and ultimately you come out the other end changed in some way.</div>
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Last year was just like this. </div>
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But life is about change and if I don't get it, I sabotage myself. It's a pattern that I'm familiar with and however much I know it's true, doesn't stop it from happening. So after five years at the one job, every little thing started to build up to one great big thing, like a pyramid built stone by stone, layer upon layer; the weight of standing still overcame me.</div>
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Instead of bowing out with dignity and grace - I did what I always do and scurried out of there when one incident gave me the catalyst I needed to leave. Instead of going before it became too much, I waited until I had my "aha, look what you made me do" moment. </div>
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What I didn't know, is that it wasn't just the job that was making me feel this way. It wasn't just sick days and feeling anxiety and my legs literally buckling under me for psychosomatic reasons. </div>
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I took a job in a plant nursery. My dream job, running it all by myself, in the great outdoors! And the pain remained. </div>
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The pain got worse.</div>
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After a few months, I could no longer perform the physically demanding job, couldn't sew, couldn't hold a pen properly and the great big break from the Forest Flaw - the thing I loved to do - began. </div>
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I took another job in a cafe, I was running for 7 hours with a ten minute break, and in tears by the end. I took another job and another, the pain shot through my body like a bullet. I thought I was having a nervous breakdown and I wasn't even forty. I won't lie, my mind went to some pretty dark places. </div>
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Eventually my husband dragged me to the doctors to get some answers. It seems ridiculous now that it took so long before I decided it was a physical problem and not a mental thing. I underwent x-rays and blood tests. </div>
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I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. </div>
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You have surely heard of this; it is an autoimmune disease, that inflames joints and soft tissue in your body. The doctor put me on steroids for a month or so and I nearly cried when I realised I had no pain for the first time in over a year. </div>
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You don't know what you've got til it's gone I guess.</div>
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Medication is hit and miss, you can bomb yourself out and not function, or put up with pain and get on with life. I chose the latter - not because I am a super martyr, but because I still had so much to do and I wasn't giving up working and creating because my body is a jerk. Also, the diagnosis could have been so much worse - </div>
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So here I am, I still work two jobs and do the Forest on the side. I would love to work more from home but sewing copious amounts is not an option for me now. I would love to have more time for painting and making - and I will - (I am bloody minded when I get an idea in my head!) but I am content to be plodding along - walking the tightrope of doing too much one side and being fulfilled mentally, or sitting back sometimes and learning to say 'no'. </div>
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Learning is the new black I guess.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-27928354378056619972014-09-11T00:12:00.001-07:002014-09-30T00:29:50.788-07:00sign of the timesSo, if you read my blog, you will know I have had an extended period of inactivity followed by a recent influx of posts.<br />
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I have been spending my time branching out in other directions.</blockquote>
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Originally, this blog was just set up for my critters, so it didn't even occur to me that I could post other artsy endeavors on here. So this, combined with a week off one of my jobs (week off! woooo!), means time and inclination to share what has been going on behind closed doors. Or behind the trees if we are keeping to forest-y sayings. </div>
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In the bushes maybe? </div>
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So, to go out on a limb (eh?) I am going to overload this space with pictures and crazy things. If I make a nice item, i'll post it. Heck, if I make a particularly artistic sandwich, it might make a mention. </div>
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As showcased in the 'illusion' post, I worked on an Ames room recently. I also made a sign to explain it's cunning inner workings. </div>
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For this one, I painted an mdf board in matt black paint (chalkboard paint would work) and used oil pastels for great popping colour. It was then sealed with spray lacquer. </div>
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<i>Unfortunately, people love to touch with grubby fingers, so it got a little smeared in these photos before I had a chance to clean it up.</i><br />
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Now, while we are still at the science centre, here is the A frame I did in similar style:</div>
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these were done with chalk paint, harder to control.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N0ryfbXWTV0/VBFIWIf5JdI/AAAAAAAAAjo/iNmUncfxg6Q/s1600/20140620_140415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N0ryfbXWTV0/VBFIWIf5JdI/AAAAAAAAAjo/iNmUncfxg6Q/s1600/20140620_140415.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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A couple more signs are below, they are a set of four i'm currently working on. I would LOVE to post the others, but the event hasn't happened yet so I don't want to spoil it. I will post them later on for your general perusal. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0NaSwos3S78/VBFC2BjxEOI/AAAAAAAAAjA/IAZPPSprYVQ/s1600/20140911_143806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0NaSwos3S78/VBFC2BjxEOI/AAAAAAAAAjA/IAZPPSprYVQ/s1600/20140911_143806.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WWWuUUJiwQM/VBI8UIU5E2I/AAAAAAAAAkg/sLmm0u8BOd0/s1600/20140912_101833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WWWuUUJiwQM/VBI8UIU5E2I/AAAAAAAAAkg/sLmm0u8BOd0/s1600/20140912_101833.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love how the oil pastels really pop on the black background, while still giving that chalkboard feel.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-caujsVqApnQ/VBIt2pT2AbI/AAAAAAAAAkU/ccWJyFjhbPk/s1600/20140912_090026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-caujsVqApnQ/VBIt2pT2AbI/AAAAAAAAAkU/ccWJyFjhbPk/s1600/20140912_090026.jpg" height="183" width="320" /></a></div>
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So signing off, (eh?) for today, but be assured I will be posting more and varied items soon!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-50933107293724914302014-09-09T16:34:00.000-07:002014-09-09T16:34:05.487-07:00Why didn't you say sew?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> People often ask me if there is a way they can view all the 'other' things I sew. </span></div>
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"So, what do you mean you sew other things?" they ask. </div>
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"I don't know," I reply. "Clothes, hats, pillows, tableware, general...misc."</div>
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There is the inevitable pause while they formulate the next question. </div>
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"Can you show me something?"</div>
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Then there is the <i>other</i> inevitable pause while I contemplate pulling out my phone, flipping through random pictures of my dog, meals I ate, places I've been, feet I've accidentally snapped with my finger half over the lens.</div>
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But as there is no alternative, I do and it always goes like this:</div>
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"Oh, that's my dog...that's my backyard...haha, my feet..."</div>
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You can see their faces go from 'mild interest' to 'I think someone's calling me" in a few seconds flat.</div>
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"Oh, here's a dress I made, oops, my dog again, haha, more feet!"</div>
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By the time I have found a few pictures of genuinely interesting items, they have had a tour of my shoe collection, enjoyed all the seasons in my backyard and traveled the world through pictures. Well not the world, mostly my neighborhood and occasionally a town 20 minutes down the road. </div>
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I am more of a grasshopper than a globe trotter.</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWCb28bAMZg/VA7v1SMdPQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/Nq-rtqrzouo/s1600/20130119_173115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWCb28bAMZg/VA7v1SMdPQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/Nq-rtqrzouo/s1600/20130119_173115.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tRnzyRLFNe4/VA74lF9nK2I/AAAAAAAAAYU/0d9JI0jwjDU/s1600/20130119_172811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tRnzyRLFNe4/VA74lF9nK2I/AAAAAAAAAYU/0d9JI0jwjDU/s1600/20130119_172811.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWCb28bAMZg/VA7v1SMdPQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/Nq-rtqrzouo/s1600/20130119_173115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hWCb28bAMZg/VA7v1SMdPQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/Nq-rtqrzouo/s1600/20130119_173115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3R9Rogf3Ptk/VA740LyBzoI/AAAAAAAAAYc/wYdSjfA5KGE/s1600/20130119_173122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3R9Rogf3Ptk/VA740LyBzoI/AAAAAAAAAYc/wYdSjfA5KGE/s1600/20130119_173122.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><br />
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<span style="text-align: left;"><i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">A nautical dress I made from an old coat. </span></i></span></div>
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<i style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The lapels were the cuffs from the sleeves.</span></i></div>
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Fact is, I only really started sewing a few years ago. I am more of a general maker. </div>
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Skilled in the art of 'crafting'. </div>
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Proficient in the ways of painting and drawing, </div>
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Fantastic at fluffing.</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Positively wondrous at time wasting.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KknMoyWqLPg/VA76UfIrGBI/AAAAAAAAAYs/putFdbasamI/s1600/DSC_0721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KknMoyWqLPg/VA76UfIrGBI/AAAAAAAAAYs/putFdbasamI/s1600/DSC_0721.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P-n8Hwe9frs/VA7v6ohBMFI/AAAAAAAAAXc/1iiNeOugy0o/s1600/DSC_0730.jpg" imageanchor="1"><span style="float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KknMoyWqLPg/VA76UfIrGBI/AAAAAAAAAYs/putFdbasamI/s1600/DSC_0721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </span><i style="clear: left; color: black; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: start;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KknMoyWqLPg/VA76UfIrGBI/AAAAAAAAAYs/putFdbasamI/s1600/DSC_0721.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KknMoyWqLPg/VA76UfIrGBI/AAAAAAAAAYs/putFdbasamI/s1600/DSC_0721.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P-n8Hwe9frs/VA7v6ohBMFI/AAAAAAAAAXc/1iiNeOugy0o/s1600/DSC_0730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P-n8Hwe9frs/VA7v6ohBMFI/AAAAAAAAAXc/1iiNeOugy0o/s1600/DSC_0730.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HukUJQLERMo/VA76S4PUSKI/AAAAAAAAAYk/EY1qEmTyggg/s1600/DSC_0740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HukUJQLERMo/VA76S4PUSKI/AAAAAAAAAYk/EY1qEmTyggg/s1600/DSC_0740.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></i></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oO5s0UUtfNQ/VA7v6w-WduI/AAAAAAAAAXg/RPIbU6OplzE/s1600/DSC_0737.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oO5s0UUtfNQ/VA7v6w-WduI/AAAAAAAAAXg/RPIbU6OplzE/s1600/DSC_0737.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Satin lined and handmade labeling in my garrison caps</i></div>
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So this post, whoever you are, is for you. </div>
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If you have ever had the misfortune of asking me to see some of the 'other' things I sew, I have conveniently decided to extend my blog past the critters that it once exclusively showcased. </div>
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Yep, I'm opening it up to the glorious world of MISC.</div>
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You can be sure to see more posts in the near future of all the 'other' 'other' things I do.</div>
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After all, It is for your benefit, lest you want to see my outstanding, blurry, finger covered shoe collection. </div>
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This is just a small selection of things, more will come in other posts, but what's that? I think I hear someone calling you...</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g2Mue7HByT4/VA78aECo-sI/AAAAAAAAAZM/5OWC6jyXu_k/s1600/20140709_181727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g2Mue7HByT4/VA78aECo-sI/AAAAAAAAAZM/5OWC6jyXu_k/s1600/20140709_181727.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ilzbpz2RcUU/VA7wq43eWsI/AAAAAAAAAXs/MnYOWVv47ag/s1600/20140709_181854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ilzbpz2RcUU/VA7wq43eWsI/AAAAAAAAAXs/MnYOWVv47ag/s1600/20140709_181854.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P2U3m8kOO6E/VA78ZPDOOcI/AAAAAAAAAZE/v8g20Viw9k8/s1600/20140709_181750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P2U3m8kOO6E/VA78ZPDOOcI/AAAAAAAAAZE/v8g20Viw9k8/s1600/20140709_181750.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><br />
<i> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> Deer oh Deer dress</span></i><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y8NyoBBsudM/VA79UE_I7SI/AAAAAAAAAZU/XGVLF0j0bTc/s1600/cache_00000137176852906c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y8NyoBBsudM/VA79UE_I7SI/AAAAAAAAAZU/XGVLF0j0bTc/s1600/cache_00000137176852906c1.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i0DzQWlSle8/VA7v3YClopI/AAAAAAAAAXU/KxTKMqEmf4Q/s1600/cache_0000013717674e286c0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-i0DzQWlSle8/VA7v3YClopI/AAAAAAAAAXU/KxTKMqEmf4Q/s1600/cache_0000013717674e286c0.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <i>Yodel-e-hi-hooooo</i></span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3BoRLBh7RZE/VA7_jqMVgqI/AAAAAAAAAZk/n5KOC1Ay6dA/s1600/20140909_232156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3BoRLBh7RZE/VA7_jqMVgqI/AAAAAAAAAZk/n5KOC1Ay6dA/s1600/20140909_232156.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Placemats and table runners - my, that pattern looks familiar...</i><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UpX0zQEKJX8/VA7wtCi45HI/AAAAAAAAAX0/WHLOzn3HI0U/s1600/20140702_191031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UpX0zQEKJX8/VA7wtCi45HI/AAAAAAAAAX0/WHLOzn3HI0U/s1600/20140702_191031.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i> Leftover material from curtains were made into bonus pillows. BONUS!</i></div>
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It says: <i>'something</i></span><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">that</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">deceives</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">by</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">producing</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">false</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">or</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">misleading</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">impression </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"></span><span class="oneClick-link" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">of</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> </span></i><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><i>reality'</i>.</span><br />
<span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Not very useful. If I was to write a dictionary, I would like to think that the definitions would be somewhat provocative, stimulating... questioning even. My dictionary might say after every entry, 'what do </span><i style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">you</i><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"> think it means?' Then we could all use any word, anytime and ascribe our own meaning to it. Solved! The end. More wine please!</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Wait, I haven't written anything vaguely interesting yet. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Ok, so this year has almost come and gone and I have not blogged or tweeched or generally put myself in anyone's cyber face at all. So instead of placing all my achievements in one overwhelming post, I have decided to drip feed them into the seething pit of insta-webness so as not to overwhelm anyone with my sheer awesomeness... </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Earlier this year, I was able to spend some time creating a mural for the science centre, Discovery, here in Bendigo.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">The brief was to create something on a wall of an Ames room. If you have never heard of an Ames room, it is basically the principal they used behind filming the Hobbits in the Lord of the Rings. Stand in one corner and you look tiny, like a dwarf. In the other corner you are enormous! Like Hodor! or Hagrid! or if you prefer it more old school, a heffalump!*</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Either way, luckily I was painting the outside, or it could have become crazy confusing. (I actually did paint the inside later on - but that's another blog altogether).</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tyfhjlky2kQ/VAwusHzTGAI/AAAAAAAAASQ/onk08xu3FC0/s1600/20140215_151019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tyfhjlky2kQ/VAwusHzTGAI/AAAAAAAAASQ/onk08xu3FC0/s1600/20140215_151019.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">nearly done</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I came up with a few different designs, giant beakers, amoebas, Newton and his telescope. But in the end, since it was a room for illusions, I was given the go- ahead for a 'Trompe Loiel'. This became quite the catchphrase about the place while I was painting. Partly because it's fun to say, but mostly because everyone thought I was some kind of snobby artistic weirdo who liked to use phrases they had never heard of. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">n.b. in my dictionary, 'Trompe-L'oiel' might mean; a fancy toilet. </span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A4KaYQJfg0k/VAwuwCmzLSI/AAAAAAAAASY/EU7QWfwwi1o/s1600/20140201_134320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A4KaYQJfg0k/VAwuwCmzLSI/AAAAAAAAASY/EU7QWfwwi1o/s1600/20140201_134320.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">blank canvas</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-49WupZJom5M/VAwu5cKTZWI/AAAAAAAAASo/KTHRKgwDcPw/s1600/20140216_151250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-49WupZJom5M/VAwu5cKTZWI/AAAAAAAAASo/KTHRKgwDcPw/s1600/20140216_151250.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">peeling paper</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Painting illusions is such a satisfying thing to do. It means getting angles and perspectives spot on, but the results can be amazing. If you feel the need to see more images of Trompe L'oiel, <a href="http://www.creativebloq.com/art/trompe-loeil-12121498">click here</a>. However, if you are impressed by my meagre attempts, don't click and spoil the illusion... </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-54g3buIbV7g/VAwvwcgkEiI/AAAAAAAAAS4/T1ug4Wc8gA4/s1600/20140216_151307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-54g3buIbV7g/VAwvwcgkEiI/AAAAAAAAAS4/T1ug4Wc8gA4/s1600/20140216_151307.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">just hanging out in this dimension</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UJ8gSWIBqYg/VAwvEWzQUGI/AAAAAAAAASw/erzuDqk7ubg/s1600/20140216_151228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UJ8gSWIBqYg/VAwvEWzQUGI/AAAAAAAAASw/erzuDqk7ubg/s1600/20140216_151228.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So my aim was to make it appear that the walls had giant holes in the plaster and you could see into (and through) the room. It took a while to create the effect, it was the middle of summer and the AC was being fixed, I was on my own and I'm pretty sure the building is haunted...But it was great to be painting again!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was my first attempt at a Trompe L'oiel. and for a fancy toilet, I am pretty pleased with the result</span>.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px; text-align: start;"> *note, Ames room does not give you the illusion of an amazing beard or hunchback or turn you into a purple elephant. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.discovery.asn.au/">Discovery Science Centre</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-32010862773569100462013-08-29T02:26:00.005-07:002013-08-29T02:26:54.069-07:00Why can't everything be easy?<br />
The cat is howling for breakfast. He knows two words; NOW and MUUUUM. I swear, they are his people words.<br />
<br />
Awake since <strike>5:30</strike> the dawn of time thanks to the dog apparently only I can hear across the road. determined to sleep through it, I doze until <strike>9:30</strike> 11:30 when I get up with a cluster headache from clenching my jaw.<br />
<br />
I haven't let the dog out for a 'business meeting' yet as I am in my pajamas. She will only conduct her 'business meetings' on the nature strip.<br />
Yes.<br />
She is especially adept at conducting business if other neighbours are walking past or pulling up in their cars. This morning is no different. Another dog walks past so they decide to have a conference call. Much business is conducted.<br />
As I am the lowly secretary, I have the fortune to clean up after the whole affair. I mentally move around some appointments and re-schedule her next appointment to be hosted by my husband instead.<br />
<br />
<strike>Breakfast time</strike>. Lunch time.<br />
Pop down the toast. check some emails. ooh, some hits on my latest listings, what have people said? I'll just reply to a few...why is everything so smoky?<br />
I have put the toaster on the crumpet setting. One side is almost black whilst the other side is under cooked to perfection.<br />
Nevermind, we're out of butter.<br />
<br />
'MUUUUM, NOOOOW'.<br />
Ah.<br />
Slop him some food, consider not feeding the dog so as to not have to have more meetings.<br />
<br />
Now, just pull out the sewing machine, ooh another email. Reply.<br />
Reply.<br />
Reply reply reply.<br />
No I am not super popular, the internet has stopped working. Reset internet. Reset. Reset reset reset. Ok will come back to that.<br />
<br />
Dog barking like the apocalypse has hit.<br />
Postman.<br />
Yes I know our gate is broken.<br />
Call real estate.<br />
No, I do not have the time to come into town to write this on a piece of paper hence - <i>I am calling you</i>. Email it? I can do that.<br />
Ok, email. email email - oh right internet broken.<br />
<br />
Sewing. hmm, to sew. remember the time I...<br />
<strike>5</strike> 30 minutes later.<br />
Ok. OK. Ok ok ok. lets go.<br />
#time lost in fuzzy montage of cat meowing, phone calls, three - possibly four visitors all telling me the gate is broken. Stubbing my toe, getting partially dressed, pulling out materials, yelling at the computer#<br />
<br />
It is <strike>3:30</strike> 5:30; nothing done. Haven't eaten.<br />
I decide to give up on the objectives of the day and pick up some material and sew my sorry little feelings out. Something for myself, yeah, a big old 'screw you world' <i>and</i> your dog poo, broken gates, burnt toast and constant distractions.<br />
<br />
So I've sewn myself a mascot. A misanthropic piece of crap whom I love and sympathize with deeply. For those of you who watch the Adult Swim comic, Metalocalypse, you will know who I mean. For those of you who don't, well, here he is. William Murderface. My hero.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fr4C-F6EEEU/Uh8S_tkulMI/AAAAAAAAAPA/7hYcOSFYuFw/s1600/20130828_170817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fr4C-F6EEEU/Uh8S_tkulMI/AAAAAAAAAPA/7hYcOSFYuFw/s320/20130828_170817.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1WOqIHi9ODo/Uh8TIB3_rCI/AAAAAAAAAPI/TyopIN6pb9s/s1600/20130828_170834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1WOqIHi9ODo/Uh8TIB3_rCI/AAAAAAAAAPI/TyopIN6pb9s/s320/20130828_170834.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And here's the song that makes it all make sense: <i><span style="color: #cc0000;">Warning, there is much swearing </span></i><br />
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKFX8kWHDzo<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-34260124492479810102013-08-08T22:24:00.000-07:002013-08-08T22:24:20.294-07:00Pirates Captains and BuccaneersSomeone asked me the other day if I blogged.<br />
Deep in the recesses of my mind a cog turned and I remembered "I used to!" Then another wheel turned and I recalled that I actually enjoyed doing it too.<br />
I will admit it took a few more levers, cogs and a hefty amount of WD40 to remember my password. But now my mind is fully lubricated and the rust has begun to shed, so back to the keyboard we go.<br />
<br />
Due to life changing events that I can't a) be bothered talking about and b) literally would rather bury my head in the sand about - I am sewing again. And I like it!<br />
<br />
Now, when I start a new creation, I usually begin with a blobby, misty shape of a thing in my head and will start gaining momentum as I go.<br />
I am not a planner.<br />
In fact the ideas are all in my fingers. My brain is merely there to shoot the electrical sparks required to get the muscles moving. I can feel my fingers talking to each other while they work and there is usually one who is yelling out things like <b>"faster! you scurvy maggots. There'll be no dinner for you until this coat is done..."</b> you get the idea.<br />
<br />
In fact my fingers have been quite salty of late, because the last thing I made was a pirate. In fact, a rather swarthy Buccaneer.<br />
My fingers have had a field day with this. Do you know how many accessories a pirate has? Think about it - cutlass, eye patch, hook, wooden leg, parrot, blunderbuss, hats, coats the list goes on. The more I made the more my fingers wanted, they became quite agitated, irate even that my puny little brain could not keep pace to their demands.<br />
I finally had to take charge and draw the line, lest my Buccaneer become swamped in a sea of cliches and all you could see of him was a hook poking out of a deep sea chest with a parrot wearing an eye patch sitting on top.<br />
"No" I told my fingers. Still they kept working. I could hear them murmuring about mutiny but I kept on going.<br />
<br />
At last he was complete. But they did have one final victory. I found an eye patch stitched to his face. How did it get there? I have my suspicions. Which were confirmed when I looked down at my hand to see them all hiding in my palm, all but one defiant member, standing straight up in the middle.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UGYF_wHoG7I/UgR8UA4C2hI/AAAAAAAAAOo/zOqyGprYQ8k/s1600/20130809_141907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UGYF_wHoG7I/UgR8UA4C2hI/AAAAAAAAAOo/zOqyGprYQ8k/s320/20130809_141907.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7469728206920543160.post-64424232801267741812012-06-18T21:29:00.001-07:002012-06-18T22:20:03.402-07:00Camera CrazyBeen watching New Zealand's next top model? I have *cringe*. And I happily sit in my armchair telling the contestants to move their face or pose better or generally not to look like Bambi when his mother got shot.<br />
<br />
I hate photos. Well, I hate taking photos of myself, or looking at photos of myself.<br />
All of a sudden my lips don't know what to do, my eyes dart furtively and by the time the camera snaps I end up looking like a starving owl that has just spotted it's prey limping hopelessly at its feet.<br />
<br />
End effect: a smarmy and confusing "here's my dinner I must kill it my precious" expression.<br />
<br />
It is a must that I take photos of my products, I enjoy the posing and capturing - and editing and posting them. I then sit back and wait like a Supervillain in his throne for the world to fall at my feet and supplicate to my awesomeness at creating such a wonder.<span style="background-color: white; font-weight: bold;">*</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">However, I have just branched out my creative genius into a new venture called <b>The Forest FlawDrobe</b>.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">So exciting, so fun, so great, so far. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">But I must take photos of this product. I must take photos of this product being used. I must take photos of how cool, vintage, fun, sexy and quirky these products are. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">I must convey the feeling that I have just swaggered off a B52 after swilling Martinis, entertaining the flight crew with my worldly tales whilst remaining collected and sexy ala Jessica Rabbit. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">So begins photo shoot.</span><br />
<br />
End effect: a confronting and blurry "I just fell out the door of a helicopter after drinking too many apricot schnapps, whilst entertaining the flight crew by having my skirt tucked into my underwear the entire flight.<br />
<br />
And so ends my photo career. Crop. Edit. Crop again. Fed up, I post the photos. Then sit back like a Supervillain and and wait for the world to not look at my product but buy it regardless because it is awesome.<br />
This is just the beginning of The Forest FlawDrobe, so I must improve. I will watch the Supermodels and copy what they do. I will practice Jessica Rabbit and make sure my skirt is not tucked into my undies. I WILL master my lips and eyes.<br />
If not, at least it will be entertaining to watch, so keep an eye out.<br />
<br />
*This rarely* ever happens.<br />
<br />
*Never.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w2J3jNood8g/T9__ez9aa_I/AAAAAAAAAM8/lyJoSVBuy9I/s1600/1340077009074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w2J3jNood8g/T9__ez9aa_I/AAAAAAAAAM8/lyJoSVBuy9I/s1600/1340077009074.jpg" /></a>I see dinner, must kill</div>
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Oh, I've had my skirt tucked in where?<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vEL9FvN-_74/T9__hkPkerI/AAAAAAAAANE/oq9P6SbcRAg/s1600/1339713717393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vEL9FvN-_74/T9__hkPkerI/AAAAAAAAANE/oq9P6SbcRAg/s1600/1339713717393.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2LlojskXTxI/T9__sBiy_CI/AAAAAAAAANU/e1G8fBt7abc/s1600/1339713658922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2LlojskXTxI/T9__sBiy_CI/AAAAAAAAANU/e1G8fBt7abc/s1600/1339713658922.jpg" /></a>I salute you supermodels. Your life is tough.</div>
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<a href="http://www.madeit.com.au/detail.asp?id=563772">Vintage Garrison Cap</a>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11097874009365587967noreply@blogger.com0