Drawing from experience

"I hate your stupid face".

This has been heard at my house a bit lately.
No, there's not marital problems or tourettes sufferers visiting. I have been getting my hand back in at portraiture.

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'!

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.
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.
'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.
I think we all know what happened next...

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. 

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.

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.

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.

But as my ever wise and beardy husband said to me - "keep failing until you don't" ... then "stop swearing at me".

I have put my efforts into one of those things - I can't promise both...

the bearded wise guy

Learning is the new black

Some years are just earmarked for growth. 

They are painful, trying, and ultimately you come out the other end changed in some way.

Last year was just like this. 

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.

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. 

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. 

I took a job in a plant nursery. My dream job, running it all by myself, in the great outdoors! And the pain remained. 

The pain got worse.

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. 

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. 

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. 

I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. 

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. 

You don't know what you've got til it's gone I guess.

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 - 

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'. 

Learning is the new black I guess.

pain schmain!

sign of the times

So, if you read my blog, you will know I have had an extended period of inactivity followed by a recent influx of posts.

I have been spending my time branching out in other directions.

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. 

In the bushes maybe? 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

Now, while we are still at the science centre, here is the A frame I did in similar style:

these were done with chalk paint, harder to control.

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. 

I love how the oil pastels really pop on the black background, while still giving that chalkboard feel.

So signing off, (eh?) for today, but be assured I will be posting more and varied items soon!

Why didn't you say sew?

 People often ask me if there is a way they can view all the 'other' things I sew. 

"So, what do you mean you sew other things?" they ask. 

"I don't know," I reply. "Clothes, hats, pillows, tableware, general...misc."

There is the inevitable pause while they formulate the next question. 

"Can you show me something?"

Then there is the other 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.

But as there is no alternative, I do and it always goes like this:

"Oh, that's my dog...that's my backyard...haha, my feet..."

You can see their faces go from 'mild interest' to 'I think someone's calling me" in a few seconds flat.

"Oh, here's a dress I made, oops, my dog again, haha, more feet!"

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. 

I am more of a grasshopper than a globe trotter.

             

          A nautical dress I made from an old coat. 

The lapels were the cuffs from the sleeves.

Fact is, I only really started sewing a few years ago. I am more of a general maker. 

Skilled in the art of 'crafting'. 

Proficient in the ways of painting and drawing, 

Fantastic at fluffing.

 Positively wondrous at time wasting.

        

                                                       

Satin lined and handmade labeling in my garrison caps

So this post, whoever you are, is for you. 

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. 

Yep, I'm opening it up to the glorious world of MISC.

You can be sure to see more posts in the near future of all the 'other' 'other' things I do.

After all, It is for your benefit, lest you want to see my outstanding, blurry, finger covered shoe collection. 

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...

                                                               Deer oh Deer dress

                                                                 Yodel-e-hi-hooooo

Placemats and table runners - my, that pattern looks familiar...

 Leftover material from curtains were made into bonus pillows. BONUS!

It's an illusion!

To steal every bad speech writer's favourite trick, I looked up the definition of 'illusion' in a dictionary. It says: 'something that deceives by producing a false or misleading impression of reality'.

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 you think it means?' Then we could all use any word, anytime and ascribe our own meaning to it. Solved! The end. More wine please!

Wait, I haven't written anything vaguely interesting yet. 

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... 

Earlier this year, I was able to spend some time creating a mural for the science centre, Discovery, here in Bendigo.
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!*
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).

nearly done

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. 

n.b. in my dictionary, 'Trompe-L'oiel' might mean; a fancy toilet. 

blank canvas

peeling paper

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, click here. However, if you are impressed by my meagre attempts, don't click and spoil the illusion... 

just hanging out in this dimension

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!

This was my first attempt at a Trompe L'oiel. and for a fancy toilet, I am pretty pleased with the result.

 *note, Ames room does not give you the illusion of an amazing beard or hunchback or turn you into a purple elephant. 

Discovery Science Centre

Why can't everything be easy?

The cat is howling for breakfast. He knows two words; NOW and MUUUUM. I swear, they are his people words.

Awake since 5:30 the dawn of time thanks to the dog apparently only I can hear across the road. determined to sleep through it, I doze until 9:30 11:30 when I get up with a cluster headache from clenching my jaw.

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.
Yes.
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.
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.

Breakfast time. Lunch time.
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?
I have put the toaster on the crumpet setting. One side is almost black whilst the other side is under cooked to perfection.
Nevermind, we're out of butter.

'MUUUUM, NOOOOW'.
Ah.
Slop him some food, consider not feeding the dog so as to not have to have more meetings.

Now, just pull out the sewing machine, ooh another email. Reply.
Reply.
Reply reply reply.
No I am not super popular, the internet has stopped working. Reset internet. Reset. Reset reset reset. Ok will come back to that.

Dog barking like the apocalypse has hit.
Postman.
Yes I know our gate is broken.
Call real estate.
No, I do not have the time to come into town to write this on a piece of paper hence - I am calling you. Email it? I can do that.
Ok, email. email email - oh right internet broken.

Sewing. hmm, to sew. remember the time I...
5 30 minutes later.
Ok. OK. Ok ok ok. lets go.
#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#

It is 3:30 5:30; nothing done. Haven't eaten.
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' and your dog poo, broken gates, burnt toast and constant distractions.

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.

And here's the song that makes it all make sense: Warning, there is much swearing 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKFX8kWHDzo

Pirates Captains and Buccaneers

Someone asked me the other day if I blogged.
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.
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.

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!

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.
I am not a planner.
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 "faster! you scurvy maggots. There'll be no dinner for you until this coat is done..." you get the idea.

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.
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.
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.
"No" I told my fingers. Still they kept working. I could hear them murmuring about mutiny but I kept on going.

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.

Camera Crazy

Been 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.

I hate photos. Well, I hate taking photos of myself, or looking at photos of myself.
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.

End effect: a smarmy and confusing "here's my dinner I must kill it my precious" expression.

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.*
However, I have just branched out my creative genius into a new venture called The Forest FlawDrobe.
So exciting, so fun, so great, so far. 
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. 
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. 
So begins photo shoot.

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.

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.
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.
If not, at least it will be entertaining to watch, so keep an eye out.

*This rarely* ever happens.

*Never.

I see dinner, must kill

Oh, I've had my skirt tucked in where?

I salute you supermodels. Your life is tough.

Vintage Garrison Cap

Breakfast Interruptus

As a rooster crows in the distance, the sound of a gentle breeze rustles the amber leaves outside my window. I rise and fetch a hot cup of coffee, quickly shuffling back to the warm cocoon of bed. An hour of reading my book and gently napping and I'm ready to face the day.
Slowly pulling my robe on I enter the kitchen and prepare a breakfast of eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, spinach, mushrooms and zucchini. While husband makes pot of tea and toast.
It takes an hour to eat and talk, but I'm feeling pretty Zen and about to set up my sewing orders for the day.
'I'll just check my emails first'.

AHH.
Chaos.
It is like the universe has discovered how relaxed I am and decided that I can't have any of that.
Despite my recent windfalls in having advertising in two magazines at once: Shop4Kids and LittleOneBaby, it seems that at least one of them has risen up to bite me on the proverbial.

The lovely administrator and creator of Downthatlittlelane website, Tessa, generously picked me out for some advertising in Shop4Kids. I diligently made up and sent off my two creatures, with DOWNTHATLITTLELANE plastered all over the packaging, so they would know who it came from. I also had my normal tags which displayed my email address.

A few months later, I was pleasantly surprised when some lovely person from madeit posted the spread on Facebook.
(major plot spoiler here - I DID NOT EVEN TWIG AT WHAT HAD CONSPIRED AT THIS POINT BUT SHOULD HAVE - MASSIVE DERR MOMENT)
Weeks passed.
Cobwebs grew between my ears.
I made up all my orders.
I went to work and came home again.
Until I awake to the sound of a rooster crowing and the sound of a gentle breeze rustling the amber leaves outside my window...and check my emails.

Umm...did I ask for Shop4Kids to display my madeit link especially?
*heart attack ensues. time rushes backwards to the point where I see the spread on Facebook, and then a montage of everything in-between* (yes, my life is like a movie).

No, I did not. Nevertheless, still feel like major douche. But what can I do? It is in the hands of the magazine and breakfast Gods now.
But next time the rooster crows in the morning, will I be slowly rising to a leisurely breakfast, or will I be rushing to my computer to check first.
Only time will tell.
Maybe this blog will feature in my next montage.

Mad Max and Wild Things

And as all good things must come to an end, so does the life of Maurice Sendak, the creator of Where the Wild things are.

[read for literary review of WTWTA]
Sendak wanted to show that kids are not always the saccharine 'mummy dearest' characters as often portrayed in books, but instead are sometimes seething with anger, boiling with indignities and ragingly happy all at the same time. And that instead of processing the emotions individually, they will tend to create scenarios to play out these feelings in - resulting in some pretty wild imaginary places and characters.

Obviously Sendak was still pretty closely in tune with his inner child. Where the Wild Things Are has struck a chord with audiences all over the world, enabling us to romp around an imaginary place and ride the rollercoaster of youthful expressionism. All of this brings us out the other side without realising we have just been through the churning catharsis of youth's unprocessed emotions.

[Read for quick summary]
Where the Wild Things Are is a classic book. The monsters are great, the night forest and adventure is fun, and you should just read it if you haven't. If you have, read it again just for the fun of it and remember how frustratingly easy, however difficult, life was when you were 8 years old.


here is Maurice

here is my Wild thing created IN HONOUR (note not copyright infringed) of Max

with my cat Zack, who is trying to pretend Max doesn't exist. Note terrified expression of denial.