Sew-strava-ganza

Ok, not much activity from me on here recently, but I have been sewing and gathering materials and trying to sort all the ideas.

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!
terrifying!

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.

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!

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.

I kajiggered me thing-a-me-bob and now i'm disappointed

I love the term 'Misc'.

It covers so many things and for a lazy person like myself, i am grateful for these words in particular:

* stuff
* things
* thing-a-me-bobs
* kajiggers, and of course
* miscellaneous

Ok, some of those may not be real, but they are real to me and that's all that counts.

I use the term 'misc' today to be able to lump a broad range of things together in a big catch up pile.
Firstly, there's been the usual work thing-a-me-bobs, where I have been kajiggering exhibits. here:

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.

These pics are of the 'frozen shadows' exhibit which is brilliant. there is magic 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.

I maaay have borrowed some inspiration for this one...got that song in your head yet?

Then top it off with a girl and a balloon, and a sign

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.
All these things can be found at the superfantastic Discovery centre, Bendigo

Post Ho Ho. The days of our Ho. The Ho days.

I am starting a new Christmas tradition.

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.

What is more relaxing than knowing that Christmas is another 364 days away?
It is at least 350 days until you need to shop.
It is another 360 days until you need to buy the food.
It is another 363 days until you need to panic.

If you are not on board with me, let me lay it out in terms you will understand:

SHOPPING
It is another year until you need to get a cluster headache from shopping with ALL THOSE OTHER PEOPLE!
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.

FOOD
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.

PEACE
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.
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.

SMUGNESS
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.

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.

Oh, and here's some pictures i couldn't leak before 'the day' Just the pet ones.

Enjoy your Post Ho Days ")

Woah Woah Woah...Merry Xmas

Sometimes 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?).

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.
Well, this happens in my house anyway (except for the multiple husbands).

Never is this creative eruption more active than at Christmas time.
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.

I blame the printing companies.
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.
Yes, printing presses and Christmas has a lot to answer for.

I am not a materialistic person. But come catalog time, I am a voracious velociraptor vacantly devouring various vestments and vouchers with vulgarity.

 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.

(note - clause is that I will promise to only make items I have time to finish)
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...
my excuse anyway...

Sticks unite!

When you boil it all down, there is one thing that is guaranteed  - and that is that nothing will stay the same.

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.
'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.

Where would we be if the seasons never changed? If the laws didn't change? If the remote didn't change the channel?
Stuck. that's where.

This brings us to where I live most of my life, my modus operandi, if you will - is at stuck.
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 - sticks maybe?). To give you an example of what gets me in this predicament, here's my own checklist of sticking points;

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"...? = stuck

"Do you want to wear dresses or climb trees?" ...? = stuck

  

"Combat boots or heels?" ...? = stuck

"Computer games or classic literature?" ...?  = stuck

"Cup of tea and blankie or vodka and lipstick?" ...? = stuck

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...

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.

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 page of stitched flaw babies 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.

Happy sticky beaking. (see what I did there? shyeah...)

you say intention, I say pretension; lets blow the whole thing up

Most 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.

Either way there is, is find, a level of pretension involved in art viewing.

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.
"Why?" you might ask?
"Because there is always - that one". I will reply and point to the person bailing someone up in the corner.

This is going somewhere. Here:
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: Bendigo Art Gallery

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.
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.

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.

"I just want to feel it beneath my fingers."
"No, you really mustn't" said the poor usher who was obviously abandoned by her usher friends.
"But the form and the composition...this is my heritage."
"Please don't touch the things."

My friends and I raised our collective eyebrows and continued our tour.
In the next room was the opium den 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.
Ok, I only heard a little bit, but I think I got the gist. I'm sure some of it was quite interesting...

Then into this room.

 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.

Walking back through the rooms, we encounter splendorous hair again.
"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).
"Please don't touch the things."
"But don't you just want to enjoy the contours? I love the way the form has been primitively juxtaposed in this picture..."
"Just...sigh...don't touch the things."

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.
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.

Hypermyalgia / 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.

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.

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.

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.
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.
I can see movement around a corner, next door, on another planet.
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.

In a way, you can sum up Fibromyalgia by putting a -hyper- infront of anything.
Hyper-emotional. Hyper-aware. Hyper-sensitive. Hyper-tired. When I get in my car, I Hyper-drive.

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.
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.
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.

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.
Hyperbole? hypothesis? No, just really hyper-accurate.

I art, therefore I calm.

 Tyrion Lannister - (Peter Dinklage) Pencil, Hyper drawing

back to the drawing board

Literally. I am back to the drawing board. Except picture it without a board, just the drawing.

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.

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.

ok, no nude models.
ok, no models - maybe nudity.

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.
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.
Sound a little melodramatic? It has taken me years to realise that it isn't. It is just a basic truth of life.

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.

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.
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!

Link to made it store!

a jarring experience

The 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.

No, if we're completely honest with ourselves, it's the kitchen pantry. 

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.

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  hoarding  saving just for the occasion.

Now, I am not one of those blogging home goddesses that has glitter on their spray bottles and colour coordinated toilet paper holders.

I do not bedazzle, distress or ruffle.
I do bemoan, stress and shuffle things into out of way locations where they can not be seen.
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.

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.

So I ordered a small alphabet stamp kit, picked up a stamp pad, purchased some craft tags and set to.

 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.

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.

For this I used sticky labels and kept hold of salsa and pasta sauce jars. I think it has a rustic appeal. 

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. 

For what was once the most intimate of embarrassing places, is now a domestic goddesses'  delight. 

For now it is shabby chic, instead of shabby eek.

To keep is to save, to store is to hoard

When I keep things, it is for a purpose.

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!
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).

Of course, when my husband keeps things it is because he is a hoarder and no good can come of it...

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.

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;

 'we are going to end up with moldy jars decorating the house in a month or so'.

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.

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. 

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 mold garden to grow. 

Having said that, I am eyeing off the rice and pasta glassware for potential garden-ariums. 

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. 

So, I say, let the hoarding saving begin!