grrl+dog

Junk Journals

2012-02-10T14:02:00.000+11:00

junk journal here

Of course it's not all puppachinos and kibbles, this dog loving.

Oh no.

Beloved Bruce tried to eat a 100 year old cat.

Goliath reigned supreme on our street for 19 years

till Bruce mistook him for a fluffy toy

and wanted to play.

Goliath spent two days in intensive cat care,

under an oxygen

tent like Michael Jackson and I got a bill for $500.

It's going to be hard for Goliath,

and I am asking every guardian angel around to lend a hand.

journal here

Goliath's parents are furious and upset, and rightly so.

While Goliath is on the mend,

I will be wearing a paper bag over my head.

Actually, I'm using paper bags to make junk journals.

After taking MaryAnn Moss's Remains of the Day course,

creating sewn mishappy pages gets addictive.

I prefer using the Zutter for binding,

so the gutter of the book is accessible

and will lay flat. Thirsty thick pages to mess in.

Oh, and I had to clear Bruce off my art table too.

He jumps.

Over the front fence (which led to the cat munching incident)

and also up onto a rather high art table.

The things you discover about a potential new dog.

It would be fair to say the honeymoon is over.

I am learning how to keep him safe

from huge vet bills.

large one here

A halti lead to stop pulling me over when he gets excited.

He hates this, but learn he will.

And best of all, a DAP collar.

Oh how I wish they made these for humans.

It works like a flea collar only it kills stress, not fleas.

Bruce can be in his happy place 24 hours a day.

It's a pheromone mother dogs release.
It tells the puppies they are safe
and loved in this big, big world.

Copied in the lab and produced in handy

room vaporizers and collars.

Who wouldn't want a dose of that every now and then?

Clearing more paper from the studio is fun, and clears the mind.

There seems to be a fine line between working in happy chaos and overwhelm.

It's a razors edge in a studio bursting with fabric and paper.

inside cover of the large one

In other news,
I drop my camera on a cement floor,
the coffee machine blew up and

a chandelier fell out of the ceiling.

An expensive week.
Hope your full moon was smoother than this.

Therefore as a stranger give it welcome.

2012-02-04T12:06:00.000+11:00

doggy guest Jack enjoying the park at our Hotel for Dogs

"There are more things in heaven and earth,

Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

Scene 1: Eleven years ago: I sleep with a guy at a party.

He wears a black corset and platform boots.

When the drugs wear off I high heel it out of there.

End of scene 1.

this isn't him

Scene II: Not so long ago

Corset guy is serving me at the counter.

Fat and married but nevertheless ..him

Shit what is his name?? I'm going to have to say hello.

Awkward.

It's annoying when your brain wont work.

Days go by, annoyed. By coincidence my new optometrist's name rings a dusty bell.

Ah, that's it.
Relocate file, insert lost info ands close file,
happy my brain still functions.

End of Scene II.

Jorja the pumpkinhead guest - Don's favourite

Scene III: Important Facts

Our doggy guests refuse to sleep on Hound's old bed.

We call it "the ghost bed".

A large plastic kennel was deposited outside the house.
No one knows where it came from.
There is a tinkling of dog chain near the ghost bed

and no dog there.

End of important facts.

Hound modelling for Ingres

Scene IV: Ill winds blow

The Desmond and Molly barrow is packed for the marketplace.

It's a January scorcher with an ill wind blowing.

Hot and dry - rubbing the wrong way filling every one's cracks with unease.

I say to Desmond, " There's an ill wind blowing, and my crack is filled with unease."

Desmond says, "I have heat stroke."

Geisha Hound

Market man cant be found because he is in hospital.

This is a giant hassle. We discover Market dog living in squalor

on the back staircase. Market dog is stinky, gets a big wash and comes home with us.

He makes straight for the ghost bed and plonks down.

End Scene IV

Our lady of Beloved Hounds

Scene V: Market dog's name turns out to be Bruce.

Corset guy's name was ..... Bruce.

New optometrist's name is Bruce.

Not sure where this ends.

Bruce enjoying not living on a staircase

got vintage paper?

2012-01-27T11:09:00.001+11:00

Vintage paper packs + goodies here

O bla di

O bla da

Life goes on, LA!

Disguised as long haired Beatles lyrics,

Don and I have created a place to pass on the mountain of art,

assemblage, steampunk and crafting supplies

massed over the past ten years.

Say hello to Desmond and Molly Jones, coming to tempt you via Etsy.

Specialties include

Personal Documents from the war

vintage letters and photos

and documents from my own family.

I loved collecting letters and things with handwriting,

and had a special penchant for medical and pharmaceutical texts.

Oh the good old days when one could purchase cocaine,

laudanum and amyl nitrate at the local chemist,

When this copy of the Crimes Act came into my hot little hands

I was glued for days, catching up on how many whippings

you get for stealing a sheep,

and how a chauvinist slip of the tongue enabled a woman

called Tilly Devine to be Sydney's most notorious brothel owner.

You see, the law stated that it was a crime for a man to run girls,

which left it wide open for someone like Tilly.

In real life she was was pug ugly and rough as guts,

and here she is at 25 on her 66th arrest for assault.

Maurizio Anzeri

2012-01-19T13:45:00.000+11:00

Maurizio Anzeri makes his portraits
by sewing directly into found vintage photographs.

They remind me of the old spirographs we had as kids,
that drew elaborate geometircal circular designs
with a ball point pen - remember those?

Maurizio's technique began as a classic, "what if?"
Out of curiosity he began stitching onto a found vintage photo.
His work centres around stitching and threads in general
and it was a natural progression
to use his collection of vintage photos.

Someone, somewhere had these photos
and they were important - then they end up
in a box at a flea market.
"Photographs from the 40s and 50s
have a totally different quality from photos
we’re used to today. We don’t recognise them
as photographs now,
they really look like watercolours or drawings.

He begins to stitch,
and build up a three dimensional texture,
and Maurizio calls them Photo sculptures.
"I put tracing paper over the photo and draw on the face until it develops.

Sometimes the image comes straight away,
suggested by a detail on a dress or in the background,
but with the majority of them
I spend a lot of time drawing. "

Once the drawing is done,
he pierces the photo with a set of needle-like tools
and takes the paper away.

He seems to be meticulous
about the spacing and that is what gives it the eerie look.

Part of the face peeks out,

like a mask and he only has one rule -

to leave one or both eyes open.

He gets his ideas from many different sources:

theatre, a person on the train, a tribe in Papua New Guinea,

or Versace. It’s never one specific thing.

This is my favourite quote from him:

"It’s all been done before but it’s never been done by you: if
you don’t look into the past there is no chance to go into the future."

His website seems to be under construction,

but he is represented by some cool galleries.

Read his interview here

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The circle of life

2012-01-12T11:20:00.000+11:00

Does your life have a soundtrack?

Right now it's the Lion King's greatest hits.

Standing on a dining room chair brandishing a stack of old journals, I

I belt "The circle of life.."

After a long romance with vintage fabric,

eight large boxes of paper got sad.

Out they came for a new year review.
it was fun to look back.

Clearly I am a fan of the grid, and a landscape format.

These pages were done almost five years ago.

How it would be now?

What would I say?

Back then I had a voice - a journal voice.

Lets get a new journal and find out.

An inch of crust lay over my paints and inks.

Many had dried out and died completely.

Some stank.

The collection of art materials was enough
to restore the economy of a small African nation.

I leap into a fresh new journal like an eager lover.

Full of joyous expectation and beckoning potential.

Except I stank.

Like stale paint, I was crusty.

My journal voice croaked like a toad.

They say it takes 1000 paintings

before you get any good.

Maybe that's a rule of thumb for most things;

1000 collages, 1000 softies, 1000 cupcakes.

Coming back to journaling
after such a long time feels awkward,
clumsy and uptight.

How did I get this tightly wound?

Where is the sweet journal voice that brings tiny birds
from their trees, and fauns to gambol curiously closer?

Lynn Whipple has the answer.

Her art teacher said you have to keep going,

and the first few attempts will be crap,

that is part of the process.

In fact she is bravely showing her crap paintings at the moment.

As I am a complete coward,

all I'm showing you are old ones.

I'm vain.

My grandmother was so vain

she showered and dressed with her back

to the mirror till the wig was on.
Only then did she turn around.

I need to loosen up.

Shake free of restriction and listen again

to the small voice of intuition to let it run onto the page.

I want to drip paint,
splash ink and cut and tear

my way through all eight boxes
of precious paper waiting to be reborn.

So here's the solution.

Flora Bowleys' e course.

Brave Intuitive You

Journal just for me.

With no perceived audience and
strangle that little narrator bedfore it strangles me

Flora Bowley's work is colorful, free and gorgeous.

Then maybe the toad may turn into the prince again.

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Hotel for Dogs

2012-01-04T10:09:00.000+11:00

Not sure how long my fifteen minutes of fame

was on the front page of Etsy -

but it's enough keep the puff my balloon for some time.

With the new year, summer has truly arrived in Sydney.

That means less time in the stifling hot computer room

and more time in the studio room actually making.

Something about the ending of a year sends you into review.

I dug through the wall of never ending art supplies,

hauled them out, sang happy 10 year old birthday

to some lucky ones,

stroked a few more fondly

and passed a bucketload on.

The house has become intolerably clean.

No wading ankle deep in dog hair tumblebunnies,

or discoveries of semi digested dinner in the hallway.

The comforting jingle jingle jingle of dog tags

as the morning scratch and lick begins.

It was all too much.

We are now a hotel for dogs.

We have become minders for Don't Fret Pet .
It's a company offering home accommodation
to dogs whose parents go on holiday.

It beats a cage in a boarding kennel
and the prices are competitive.

Our Inner West kennel has

a private door leading to the shady and grassy back play area. No holding it in waiting for the humans to wake up

Water bubbler for fresh water to attack, (doubles as a water feature for humans.)
Upstairs bed with toys

Downstairs bed with other toys
Front yard bed with view
Backyard bed that humans call their day bed, but is really a higher up bed.

Couch privileges even if you are a great Dane and take up half of it.
Designer grass patch to poop on
Peep holes in the fence to watch other dogs walk past and bark at them.
Doggy Day spa around the corner
Doggy companionship with optional romance package.

So far only three guests,

but the joy is great.

One guest took up the romance package,

falling in love with studly dog next door.

They rumbled and played the whole time and

poor old studly dog howled when she went home.

It's win win here for two lonely dog parents,

whose house is too big and clean

but who cant bear to think of a permanent replacement.

(As if there could ever be one.)

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Tiny Guardian Winner

2011-12-17T16:27:00.002+11:00

Oh Bugger - I cant seem to find a way to post the result

from the totally random, and not pseudo random number finder.

In any case it was number 12.

Random.org say they produce true randomness

using something called "atmospheric noise"

Well there is

plenty of atmospheric noise
in my head without resorting to a generator.

However this seems to be the way it is done.

I enjoyed reading about all the soft and cuddly

and papery friends you had as children,

and spent the week making making making.
Would you like a tutorial so you can make
all the angels you ever need?
Think I'll do one.

Congratulations to Robyn from Fragments Treasures Memory.

She is an amazing painter, and has her own angel here:

I have to dredge up some Christmas spit from somewhere -

goodness I really don't feel like it.

Totally grinching out this year,

but there is plenty of champagne to be drunk

and prawns to peel.

Wishing you much HO HO HO

for the holi/holy days, and I'll see you on the flip.

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Tiny Guardian giveaway

2011-12-08T09:01:00.001+11:00

We all know art heals. We know that first hand.

But what do art therapists do?

Would you believe one of my little softies

is now assisting Karen Wallace the famous art therapist?

Tiny Blessed may be tiny, but her heart is big.

Her job is helping children sent to foster care

transition into their new surroundings.

And you know how tough that is.

You need lots of trusted allies.

That's where Tiny comes in.

She sits patiently in one of her many offices,

observing a time to be of service.

She watches each child's body language

for clues as to their state of being.

She never pushes,

but is glad to offer cuddles when invited.

Sometimes she may even be told secrets

which she never ever tells. She is reliable,

and does not break her word.

This is her "office".

This is her other office,

and she even got to see snow!

Karen's beautiful story about her new assistant

is here.

I was touched deeply, as you will be when you read it.

As a child whose innocence was lost early,

I know the value of a safe place.

Had there been people like Karen Wallace when I was small,

who knows?

My life may have been different.

Our guardian angels come in all shapes and sizes.

Which leads me to

the giveaway

Time to give back

the bounty.

No need to do anything,

just leave a comment,

I will draw it next week.

I am making more

as the world needs

many guradian angels right now.

Did you have a special toy

who was your "therapist" when you were small?

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Gift tags for Christmas

2011-11-30T17:47:00.000+11:00

I was going to go for "wordless Wednesday" but...

I cant shut up.

Using a super huge circle punch,

and lots of hand cut fabric, I piled them on

and sewed..

Round and round, added a bit of nice string.

String's all in right now.

Then the recycled linen pants needed hacking into.

Why buy linen new when

the op shop has all you need,

and wash softened for half the price?

More circles cut.

Doilys stitched, "joy" stitched.

More groovy string. Everything

depression era is so chic right now.

Have you seen the classy interior shots

featuring pallets and fruit boxes?

Hung on a child size vintage clothes hoist,

they are all ready for the Markets at Eveleigh this Sunday.

I hope whatever you are doing is bringing you joy.

Even if it's the joy of rent being paid,

or falling into bed after a hard day.

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All you never needed to know about pincushions

2011-11-25T15:15:00.000+11:00

I was born on the 13th,
a Sunday, under a full moon in Virgo.

The Virgin commands me
to ask uncomfortable questions.

Like why things have to be the way they are.

It goes a long way to explaining
why I wasn't popular in the family

and why I need to know about pincushions.

When a desire to make patchwork pincushions

overtook me, it was important to find out what went inside them.

Some old ones were filled with sawdust,

wood chips, and some kind of sand.

This is "emery sand" the kind that

nail files have on them, and fish tanks have.

It keeps your pins sharp.

A good pincushion is also filled
with sawdust and wool roving.

The abrasive action removed dirt and rust

and the wool's lanolin acted as a lubricant.

At a pinch you used to run the pin
through your hair

so it picked up oils
from the scalp and smoothed into the fabric.

Of course that was when natural scalp oil
was normal, and why we brushed our hair

100 times to work the shine down.

Shine didn't come in bottles then.

I put steel wool inside my pin cushions.

You want to stay sharp as a pin, you know.

Somewhere deep in our ancestral bones,
we know pins are special.

In the Tudor era, metal pins were expensive

and showing them off in an ornate pincushion

was like owning a Prada bag
or driving a flashy car.

The tomato shape
that is still seen had a double action;

it attracted prosperity
while keeping evil spirits at bay.

Mimi Kirchner's pincushions are tiny worlds.

I could eat up every one.

buy her pdf tiny-world pattern here

Guaranteed to keep your own spirits lifted.

21 pincushion tutorials here.

patchwork pincushion tutorial here

the first pincushion I ever made tutorial here

dead easy pincushion tutorial here

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why monkeys hate facebook

2011-11-13T08:45:00.001+11:00

eye candy from pinterest

I know about monkeys.

My (ex) sister in law is a primatologist

and my brother is one.

A monkey, not a primatologist.

They were a perfect match for about ten years,

but his thinking parts
were way smaller than hers,

(PhD vs cab driver),

and she high heeled it right about the time

the money ran out.

eye candy from attic24

So I know about monkeys -

they hang out in social groups,

make bonds and pick each others fleas.

my hexagons

Pretty much like facebook.

Only I just don't get Facebook.

Sure I had an account, then a page,

then linked it to etsy

then had to have

a landing page because everything on facebook looks so cluttered,

then I "liked" a whole lot of stuff.

Then a whole lot of people I didn't know "liked" me.

And it pretty much felt hollow.

Am I a late adopter
or is all this a pile of crap?

What currency does a "like" have anyway?

Does it equate to anything in real life?

Do I want to understand Facebook?

It just feels empty.

In my heart.

tutorial for crochet flowers from pinterest

A while ago, a Scottish anthropologist

and monkey lover called Robin Dunbar

figured out that social groups are sized

according to the size of the brain

of the mammal doing the socializing.

While that certainly explains

my brothers lack of friends,

it also explains how humans can really only deal

with around 150 contacts before everything gets fuzzy.

And that really, only a handful are the closer-than- close.

The ones you confide in.

my dottie angel inspired apron and freckly legs via my pinterest

Like the time I ordered the "corkage" on the menu

because it was the cheapest.

I was poor and young and desperately unsophisticated.

Those are the things only the closer-than-close know.

make the most of your time here wall hanging

It also saps your brain.

While I remain mystified by Facebook,

image sites like Tumblr and Pinterest

totally blow my skirt up.

No one is selling anything,

it just pure, clickable eye candy.

At a time when my neocortex

was Capuchin monkey sized,

index finger extended like ET,

I was all: see pretty picture,

click pretty picture,

like pretty picture.

It was all I could do after the hound went.

make the most via flickr

I love Tumblr for sheer idea and image exchange

from creative wonderful people

who continually blow my tiny mind.

I love Pinterest for the organization board

so I get to keep my inspirations on line

instead of in some book somewhere.

(via pink-gypsy-cats)

So troupe of baboons, shrewdness of apes

and barrel of monkeys;

my finger hovers over the delete account

button on FB.
Will anyone really care?

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Toy Story

2011-11-08T09:24:00.000+11:00

I have a thing for plastic toys.

I grew up collecting the cereal figures

that are now worth over $40 each for some.

I even have my original collection,

and earned a Brownie badge by showing them.

So when I spotted Paris-based Lucas Mongiello

it struck a deep, nostalgic, childhood chord.

One day, like the bisque dolls of the nineteenth century,

plastic dinosaurs will be treasured.

By casing them in Napoleonic glass domes,

Lucas creates an air of austerity and classic museum

feel about them. It's a bit ironic and funny,

but it also says something about our disposable world.

Did you know that 75% of all toys are made in China?

There is another guy making monuments out of potential landfill too.

Michael Wolfe is a journo living in China,

and he collected over 20,000 toys to make his point.

He was at a thrift store getting a bag of toys for his child,

when the idea struck.

He decided to drive across California,

going to every thrift and charity store he found and get toys.

But they had to be made in China and had to have a face.

Back in his Hong Kong studio each got sanded back,

a magnet applied to them and then installed.

Great idea, so the installation is portable and changeable.

He also photographed the workers in process of making the toys.

images of the exhibition

I struggle with the new bloggy editor, it wont let me format well, so apologies for that.

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Normal broadcast resuming soon,

2011-10-24T11:08:00.004+11:00

So many gentle thoughts and wishes
flowing our way over the last two weeks,
the world is indeed very small
and cyber space is very real.
Thankyou.
Normal broadcast will resume shortly,
but meanwhile, can you guess what I am doing?

(Hint: Op shop is Australian for thrift store.)

He's gone

2011-10-12T19:01:00.003+11:00

I spoke too soon.
My little mate departed for
his next adventure yesterday,
peacefully and quickly.

I'll be turning off comments and the blog will go dark.

See you in a while when I feel like talking.
I don't feel very plus dog after all.

Homage to the hound

2011-10-08T21:31:00.006+11:00

I remain grrl+dog still.
If you have been skipping the pet posts,
go ahead and skip, because it's one of THOSE.

Skip now.

Back in November it looked like grrl minus dog,
however Hound has other ideas.

Hound is determined. He does a lot of lying about watching
the world go by, but still loves his two walks and snacks.
We love the green lipped mussels and pain meds
so he is comfortable,
but watch his lack of muscle strength warily.

He simply hasn't got the muscle tissue left.
But he is happy, and a determined survivor.

When I met Don, Hound was not at all pleased.
Dingoes mate for life,
and who was this interloper
trying to make away with his mate?

Don was a painter.
After nearly five years of not having
a brush in his hand, he rendered Baxter in oils.

The house smelled of linseed and color.
It was delicious.

Times like these I feel lucky to have two beloveds so close.
Counting my blessings every day.

After it was done, hound cast a critical eye,
giving the sniff of approval.

Yes, I remain grrl+dog,
even when it may be grrl - dog.
He will always be +dog.

and yes, it will be one of THOSE blogs.
The ones with dead pets on the side bar.
Just not quite yet.

What are you grateful for right now?

Filling the cracks - urban grafitti

2011-09-25T09:35:00.011+10:00

Had to share this - you may have seen it.

A new way of urban textiles and graffiti.

Disgruntled with the potholes and unfixed cracks
in the streets of Paris, Juliana Santacruz Herrera
decided to beautify her surroundings.

It's brilliant.

As my own practice moves away from "standard" knit graffiti,
(is that a thing, yet?)
this lady's work really blows my skirt up.

She coils and braids, rather than knits,
as you can see here if you embiggen the image.

Then there is Jan Vorman in Germany.
He uses humble Lego.
Here he fills in bullet holes
from the war in Berlin.

Jan Vorman has spent the past 3 years
traveling the world repairing crumbling walls,
building facades and monuments with Lego bricks.
He has left his mark on the streets of Amsterdam,
St. Petersburg and Tel Aviv, among other places.

I love how both these works still reference play,
and an innocence that knit graffiti has.

Apparently he wanders about with a bag of Lego,
working wherever he can.

He calls his street art DisPATCHWORK,
with the emphasis on the patchwork.

More about Jan Vormann

Here for a short time and gone again: a short clip abut him

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2011-09-19T11:03:00.007+10:00

Nothing quite says playtime
like watercolors and paper, right?

Paper mache, that is.

We all did it.
That piggy bank from a balloon and egg carton knobs?
Took about two terms if I recall.

My toadstools are taking slightly less than that,
but have commandeered the kitchen.
One fights through the fairy forest to get
to the espresso machine,
where all the cool the unicorns hang out.

They are about to be featured in a new kid's magazine, published here.

Little One Magazine looks to be super cute,
and paper mache toadstool friendly.

I used an old copy of David Copperfield -
it's pages were so delicate,
and I love the snippets of story
peeking through the paint.

Room enough for an entire family of fairies.
See them at the shop,
or come share a frappacino with the unicorns.

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Lauri Faggioni

2011-09-11T15:14:00.004+10:00

After seeing the Science of Sleep for the second time

I had to track down the artist responsible
for the amazing soft sculptures.

She is Lauri Faggioni.

The simple lines, rough linen
and dynamic poses fascinate me.

This is the delicate paper boat featured in the movie.

Of course her houses are right up my alley.

Not to mention the primitive stitched elephant.
I love the reference to vintage patterns and top stitching.

About animation, Lauri says,

“[Growing up] I had an obsession with tin toys, these German windups, and I wanted to learn how to make things move and have certain characteristics, so I thought I was going to have to move to the Black Forest and study watchmaking for 20 years before I could learn how to do it. But instead, in walks this amazing, crazy Frenchman teaching me animation, and it’s the exact same thing only another way I hadn’t thought of before.”

The dish who runs away with the spoon...

There but for the grace pt 2 Clarrice Collien

2011-09-05T16:50:00.004+10:00

This is Clarrice,
an extraordinary lady whose textile art
is as fresh and uninfluenced as Judith Scott.

I've had the honour of knowing Clarrice for over five years,
volunteering at the local art outreach centre.
She lives in a boarding house,
one of the many in my area,
luckily this is one of the legal ones.

Institutionalized at age 10 after polio went to her brain,
she didn't learn to speak till she was 27,
and these days you cant shut her up.

She carries a large bag of woolly treasures.

Offcuts, thread, lost pens and stale cracker fragments.

I've been asking what we may do with this.

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We made pom poms.
Then we made a mobile to hang them on.
Clarrice using sticks found outside and wrapping wool around them.

My job is to assist Clarrice in new work
for an upcoming exhibition.
After showing her some of Judith Scott's
pieces she was excited.

A cast off plastic bottle was transformed,
then we had giraffes, baby giraffes and horses.

Seed pods become heads in the simplest of ways.
She does not waste time pondering or trying on ways to suit.
Artistic decisions are immediate and final.
She is always moving forward.

The day is clear and bright when I arrive at Roomies Art space
to a chorus of hellos,
many boarding house residents want
to show their work all at once.

There is a pile of old records
and a street salvaged player,
and Dave is in charge of the music.
He likes country.
When Jolene comes on, everybody sings.

There are scratches and Jolene sticks,
repeating a phrase over and over and over
till Dave stamps the wooden floor and reverberates his foot
up to the ancient needle and jump the next groove.

There is Smiley Kev, who does not speak,
but for the last 6 weeks there has only been one color on his canvas.
Today there are four.
It's a celebration.

Phyllis painted this spring scene.
Her husband sent her away in the seventies.
You could do that then. Commit someone just like that.
Phyllis received the standard treatment of the day - lots of ECT.
Her husband never signed her out and now she calls the boarding house home.

I got a "Hits of Doris Day" record for 50 cents yesterday,
I cant wait to give it to Dave.

It's humbling. It's rewarding.
It makes you cry sometimes.
But the art and the pureness of expression are priceless.
There are invisible people living like this all around.
Go seek them out.

There but for the grace pt 1

2011-08-26T09:25:00.001+10:00

You may already know
I do art with with less -than- abled people.
In particular one woman.
For five years Clarrice has been astounding me.
And this photo isn't her.

It's Judith Scott,
but it could be Clarrice.
Their stories are similar.
More about her in part 2.
This is about the simplicity of creation.

Like my mate Clarrice,
Judith Scott had the misfortune
of being born in an era when disability
or "otherness" was brushed under the table,
like so many breadcrumbs.

Born a twin, with Down syndrome,
the wisdom of the times labeled her
retarded and promptly did the right thing -
institutionalized her.
No one noticed she was deaf.

Thirty five years later,
this strong, mute woman finds her groove
and begins to create fibre sculptures.
So obviously un influenced
by outside stimuli, her creations
are wrapped, gathered, knitted
and bound, often in twos,
maybe referencing the deep bond
she had with her twin sister.

She used whatever she could find,
and her objects are buried deep
under layers of wool,
knotted fabric and string, like a gift.

Once she got going,
and it took two years of turning up
to the art centre, randomly scribbling
before she picked up fibre - she was unstoppable.

Judith had found her medium
- the language with which to communicate.

This is the magic,
the gift that I envy.
Such an artist is free,
they go to that place of pure making, and the road from deep within to the outside is clear and straight.

No white noise,
no perceived audience,
no external evaluations,
it is communion.

It is what keeps me returning
to hang out with Clarrice. She has no deadlines,
no what-will-others-think distractions;
no how-will-I-pay-for-the-new-roof worries;
no will-this-be-good-enough-to-get-in-a-show fears.

Sure she has other worries, but at the art table, all is immersion.

If you are really goofing off
and want to hear more about her,
this 4 minute clip is wonderful.

more about Judith's life and art

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Breach Birth

2011-08-19T16:04:00.002+10:00

These new softies came out butt first.
Ouch ouch ouch.

A deliberate journey far from the usual
bits of frippery to a strange and distant land.

The travel was bumpy.

Right now they feel a tad alien,
teratogenic,
but mother and child are bonding.

It was a journey to the world of opposites.
Whereas previous designs were roughly stitched,
laden with color and embellishment,
the new lot are sleek,
monochromatic,
and anthropomorphic.

Last night they woke me up to say they wanted arms,
and had to have their own softies.
It's a full moon,
and they'll do that, you know.

Travelling to the polar opposite of one's regular
way certainly is refreshing, not to mention scary.

What did I learn from this adventure?

It reinforced certain design elements,
that are simply me. They are part of me.
Part of my language of making.

That language was defined more clearly by
deliberately making the opposite.

Thanks little weird softies for the adventure,
you may be an endangered species.

Have you ever done this?
Was it weird and did it help you grow?

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Labour pains and a japanese monkey named Imo

2011-08-12T09:48:00.003+10:00

Come sit with me in the studio,
I am playing around with some new ideas.

The old kitchen cupboard brims
with vintage teacups and dolls.
Ideas and inspiration flow when I look at them.

I have a yearning to return to something,
a feeling that fleets but never lingers
to be held in an open palm like a butterfly, and examined.

Fiddling with materials familiar, coaxing the unfamiliar from them.

What do you do when you feel a new thing birthing,
but not quite there yet?
It floats beyond the left brain,
still ephemeral, and teases, and calls in my sleep.

The process is familiar, and at stage two labour,
my cottontails are migrating steadily northward
to wedge in my butt as I worry
about being original.

This is of course ridiculous -
as fellow fish Albert Einstein points out:

“The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.”

Picasso said, "good artists borrow, great artists steal."

Einstein didn't invent a new kind of math.
He did not need to credit other sources
because he took those existing ideas
and used them in a way nobody had before.

The patchwork teacup pincushion
may not rock the world of relativity,
but it's my take on things.

If you ever want an experiment
in 100 monkey theory, just Google your "New" idea.

I am not a reincarnation
of a lady monkey in Japan after all.
Unlike innovative Imo,
who in 1958 didn't like eating her sweet potato
with dirt on it,
I did not invent a new way
with teacup pincushions.

But there are not many
combining patchwork and the cup,
and it suits my taste, and that is that.

But I digress.
Still pushing and panting to birth the new idea -
the new form of softie that may crown any minute.
Right now all that springs
from these creative loins feels
derivative and ordinary.

In the last stage of labour
apparently you can swear.
Good thing The Book Thief is playing
on audiobook . I can swear in German now.

Saumensch...

I'll let you know if it's a boy or a girl or a softie..

Legacy

2011-08-06T11:07:00.003+10:00

The 8 week course just whetted the appetite.

I discovered low light photography
and the magic of Pia Jane Bijkerk,
who lives in Sydney
(when not floating on a romantic house boat in Amsterdam.)
That's her, above.

Pia has two books out that sport
my saliva.
I managed to get them out
of the shop before the body fluids flew.

Just dreamy, soft, calm images in her style.
I want to be her low light
shadow for a while.

Does she use actions or filters? Maybe.
Not sure, but it was Pia I was channelling
in the small country town of Ngatea
in New Zealand a few weeks ago.

Country women know how to put on a spread
after a funeral. Not the two dry sandwiches
and a luke warm tea that comes
in the "package", these days.
Not for Pauline.

Pauline lived a strong, practical life,
and one of her sayings was,
"Make a mark on every day."

Which she did, right up to the end.

The tiny wooden church hall was packed.

Pauline was buried with one of her hole in ones,
(she has four) and there was a golf lady guard of honour.

The rain poured,
but the golf ladies stayed.
A lady piper piped her out and then the tea flowed.

The kind of platters that drip comfort,
mother made and recipes handed down.

There is provenance in these plates,

and in these faces,

And in the tradition of giving comfort
in the form of food,
or just your presence.

Being a dairy area,
the lammo's had
authentic whipped cream.

and I learnt to juggle a cup of tea,
a strawberry lamington
and a camera.
Our Sydney posse especially loved those.

Back in May, Pauline gifted me
with needlecraft ephemera.
Rich in patina and use, there was a box of lace making
and lace made by her own mother.
Sitting next to her, I learned how to make a bullion
and the best way to do a french knot.

She shared her recipe book,
I copied some out and lore was handed down.

Back home, Pauline is here as I bake,

As I stitch,

As I share time with her daughter,

I will be making a mark
on every day.

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Kate MccGwire

2011-07-30T18:13:00.033+10:00

Imagine gathering over 20,000 feathers

from pigeons and doves
that only moult twice a year.

Cleaning them, sorting them
and creating these sculptures?

This is the work of Kate MccGwire , whose studio
is a dutch barge boat on the Thames.
She lived in such close proximity to so many pigeons,
they became her muse.

Kate began collecting magpie feathers years ago
and only has enough this year to begin using them.
Kate MccGwire: I deliberately choose materials that possess a beauty
and power when used in abundance and in a context beyond
which they can popularly lay claim.
The common pigeon is considered a pest, dirty and feral.

The dove however, is the symbol of purity,
peace and hope. Cherished, they are given their own
dovecotes to live in yet they are exactly the same type of bird
as the pigeon just with white feathers.

Pigeon-fanciers would indeed disagree with the opinion pigeons
are “rats with wings”, and that dual perspective adds
another ‘layer’ to the feathers meaning.

She says, "I find it compelling to work with feathers
that connotations are ‘loaded’ and find it fascinating
that each bird has its own mythology and presence.

The magpie is regarded as the bearer of bad omens
(one for sorrow, two for joy etc), the thief and collector of the bird world.
Similarly the crow too has certain associations,
seen as a symbol of witchcraft particularly
when feathers are found vertical,
pointing quill down into the ground."

photo courtesy Barney Lidster

Kate's most recent site specific installation, EVACUATE,
at the Tatton Park Biennial is made from feathers
of all the birds that would have been cooked
in the oven over the 300 year history of the house,
EVACUATE is made up of feathers from pheasants,
chickens, turkeys, mallard, goose, peacock, woodcock etc.

eerie and beautiful,
the presence of the oven suggests
things that lie way back in our subconscious.

In fact, Kate's work has been linked
to Freud’s ideas of ‘Unheimliche’
(German for uncanny, or, literally, the ‘unhomely’);
the idea of the familiar somehow exciting fear.

She will take an everyday thing and re-frame it,
inviting you to re-examining preconceptions and prejudices.

read more here
her site here

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Getting of Groove part 1

2011-07-20T08:32:00.012+10:00

Funny how pearls of wisdom plop from unexpected places.
"Game of Thrones" has just begun on cable tv,
and it's the full fantasy epic with rival families,
talking wolves and annoyingly passive princesses.

I am half watching, more interested in Tumblr than what is on TV.

One kings' son is a dwarf, drinking and
carousing his way through life, exempt from princely duties,
and another kings' son is illegitimate,
bearing it's shame and walking beneath a shadow.

They meet.
The dwarf begins to taunt illegitimate Jon :

"And you, " he says, " you're Ned Stark's bastard,
aren't you? Did I offend you? Sorry. You ARE the bastard, no?

Let me give you some advice, bastard: Never forget what you are.
The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor,
and it can never be used to hurt you. "

Jon the bastard," What the hell do you know about being a bastard?
"All dwarves are bastards in their father's eyes. "

It was an "Aha!" moment.
Maybe you already have this one under
your belt and in your groove, but..

my dusty armpits became armour.
My bingo wings flap proudly like a flag.
Why despair over something you cant change?
Wear it with pride and it's weakness becomes a strength.

Applying this idea to that wretched Underbelly arts program
I was not accepted for,

months ago, not that I hold on to grievances much and why yes,
I do have a digestion problems - how did you know??

I am that middle aged artist who applied for Underbelly
amongst hundreds of Gen Y applicants.
This makes me brave, unconventional and unique.

Not only that, but unlike a current public art trend,
I choose warmer, non digital materials,
analogue, old school,
no animation,
or electrical intervention.
Not even an on switch.

"But remember always that the true self is never a fixed thing....because the true self is always in motion like music, a river of life, changing, moving, failing, suffering, learning, shining. That is why you must freely and recklessly make new mistakes-in writing or in life-and do not fret about them but pass on and write more....and do not try to be consistent, for what is true to you today, may not be true at all tomorrow, because you see a better truth."

by Brenda Ueland from
If You Want to Write

I guess I will just ramble on about groove
a bit.
Random thoughts, trying not to reinvent the wheel,
more anecdotal and narrative, than any real pearls.
So you can have some company on the road,
going, "Oh yes... I have been there, nod nod"
or add your five cents worth.

Please.
My creative "spine" as Twyla Tharp calls it, is contained in this quote.
The desire and motive for creating stems from a sweet childhood time
spent blissfully making silly things.

Now they are blissful silly things on Etsy.
We don't change much.

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Mary Emma Hawthorne

2011-07-11T06:40:00.003+10:00

I am in a small country town
in New Zealand.

With a dear friend
whose mother passed away.
The air is full of sweet flowers
and there is calm now.

Sharing the calm
are the quiet compositions
of Mary Emma Hawthorne.

She uses covers of vintage books
as her collage substrate.
I love this one
with a little needlecase attached.

Mary Emma Hawthorne describes her work in ten words:

Delicate, intentional & unintentional, subtle, evolving, provoked from my recent past.

"I just like to add subtle collage
elements at this point in time.
less is more and just add in some
small drawings as well,
and let the negative space be as important."

Back soon,

Mary Emma Hawthorne

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To market, to market

2011-07-04T12:16:00.007+10:00

Another thing I am too old for is outdoor market stalls.

Battling the elements trying to look happy in a 50 knot gale
is not the way to have fun.
Trudging 500 metres to a dubious toilet structure wrecks the mood,
and bad coffee should be a federal offense.

Being old means you have had the time to know yourself better,
to be comfortable in the skin, bingo wings and all.
It means your target market is known, and you won't
be at the market
where flocks of hairdos
shuffle past in cut off denim shorts and the wrong hosiery
saying, "Ohmigod, that is so cool".

It may also mean you've gotten your groove.
During the week a phrase looped in my mind on high rotation.
It was about style.
Your own groove so deep, so bone knowing,
you are unshakeable.

I felt it at the Eveleigh Markets .
The stall next door set up softies that were roughly sewn with
mixed up fabric and linen backgrounds.
My groove faltered.
The strong vines that secured the groove
shuddered and I felt a wimble coming on.

You know a wimble - it has a cold tummy,
an overwhelming sense of weeniness.
Only sitting inside your fort will fix it,
and maybe chocolate if it's a full on wimble.

I looked at my stall.
Every item chosen to tell a story.
Each piece another sentence,
adding up to paragraphs so clear,
the message is heard 12 feet away.

The groove vines curled, returning to my ankles,
and I ventured from the fort.
The little softies were cuddled and talked to, and
my particular song was heard at the markets.

In the latest issue of Cloth Paper Scissors,
Kim Radatz talks about having an open dialog with your materials,
she sees herself as a partner in creation, and dances with her art.
She listens to her inner voice of what is working.

If you have found your groove,
no one is going to put you off for long.
This is the benfit of bingo wings and dusty armpits.

And of being in an under cover market
with decent bathrooms and great coffee.

Maybe I should talk about
the getting of groove,
and how to refine the groove, once gotten.
Yes.
I am home again, home again
jiggetty jig.

Tamar Mogendorff

2011-06-26T17:24:00.003+10:00

I have a new artist crush.

Tamar Mogendorff.

"Using thousand and thousand of fabrics and threads to create her ideas in her Brooklyn workshop, Tamar Mogendorff's world is populated with swans, bears and mushrooms carefully made by her fairy fingers. The originality of her creations is in the choice and assembly of the fabrics from gaudy to the precious, the subtle or solid."

I love the avocado seed, growing.

She has a blog.

and makes chickens

Selvedge magazine had a pattern tutorial.

You can make her chicks here.

While my concept of hip is more chiropractish than stylish,
my pajamas are loving Tamar Mogendorf.

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Cocooning artist

2011-06-18T12:39:00.004+10:00

All this talk of emerging artists has me
doing the opposite.
I'm too old to "emerge".

More like something dusty

waiting to be unpacked.

A recent rejection to the Underbelly program was the catalyst.
Some non genY but emerging friends
were also knocked back
but accepted in Brussels.
Europe does not mind a bit
of dust under the armpits, apparently.

And dont talk to me about the "young designer" moniker.
Elbowing in propsals under that banner
has me even grumpier.
Why isnt there a hip and happening arts program
with oodles of funding for older, dusty armpitted artist wannabes?
I can see the by line now.
It would sell out.

So I am cocooning with new found camera skills.
I almost know the difference
between shutter speed and aperture.

And making bead soup.

Low winter light and
a mountiain of stuff to list on etsy and eBay
in the hopes of emerging as a less cluttered butterfly
in the spring.

Wooden bead soup with felt.

Cream vintage bead soup.

Beach glass bead soup.

Rich bead soup.
On etsy soon.
Bring on Spring!

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Art Book Destash - huge sale

2011-06-11T11:13:00.005+10:00

Sometimes the space a thing occupies is
more precious than the thing.

Having a sale in eBay

Go on..

have a look.

There is a stack of about 50 books, magazines and dvd's to trawl through.

See anything you like?
Excellent chance to buy up
great craft books
especially if you are in Australia.

Mention the bloggy and get extra goodies.
I'll be generous.

Help me get more space
and continue refining the narrative
down to a steady trickle
of vintage fabric and old lace.

No more vintage paper ephemera.
That will be the next thing to go out in huge fat lumpy packs

Shamelessly touting my wares here.

Tiny Stitched Houses to Wear

2011-06-05T08:39:00.004+10:00

Since no scrap of fabric
is ever small enough to throw away,

hoarder that I am.

And vintage patchwork quilts ask to be unpicked
so their faded feedsack selves can re incarnate,

out pop tiny houses.

They are brooches -

pins.

Inspired by joyous days and nights

listening to Tim Winton's

Cloudstreet on audiobook.

The story of a house,

dusty and magical, standing between

the planes of the seen and unseen,

and the lives it affects.

With a battered school case

full, I am off to the markets.

Eveleigh Artisan Markets to be exact.

The application was long, the competition fearsome,

and the wait gruelling.

Like Sam Pickles in Cloudststreet,

who lives by "the shifty shadow " of luck,

I woke with a knowing in my bones

on the day they called to accept me.

Previous failed projects

and applications fade into the past now, and
my cloud has a silver lining.

of course Orbit is going,
as well as Carrie and the rest of the mob.

They are all very excited,
to be going out to their first ever market stall.

See you there.

No pressure.
And if you get held
up snoop in the etsy shop

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New beauty in old

2011-05-27T10:51:00.012+10:00

Mandy Puttullo is Thread and Thrift.
You may have seen her blog on the side bar.

These images adorn my desktop.

They inspire some current work.

Mandy Pattullo has a sensitive eye for old textiles

and does not shy away

from old, worn and patched.

She uses these forgotten shreds as a base for stitching.

Wear and tear is not a flaw.

it's a story.

Does that philosophy extend to faces?

Sometimes she will unpick old quilts

to their original elements to discover

new beauty inside.

Jude Hill of Spirit Cloth

may be one of the leaders in contemporary boro,

the art and appreciation of make, do and mend.

She has a Whispering Cloth series

of on line classes that are very tempting.

Boro is the Japanese word for rags,
and it's an aesthetic growing more and more in our world too.
Hide your wallet and tape up the clicking finger
if you travel to each little world to find out more.

I warned you.
Because Sri Threads sells antique Japanese cloth,
and has a sale every Wednesday online.

"We do not live an equal life,
but one of contrasts and patchwork;
now a little joy, then sorrow,
now sin,
then a generous or brave action"
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Meet Giles.
Giles is handmade from 19th century garments
and bits of antique quilts and blankets.

Created by Ann Wood, and evocative
of western style boro.
Ann's blog is beautiful,
generously showing work in progress.

See him being made here.

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Brownies for Logan's Dad

2011-05-22T12:52:00.015+10:00

When you have a dog, you know people.

You know the cranky old lady
who yells everytime you walk past,
the staffy up the road whose only desire is to eat Baxter,
and your front door is a stopping place for
canine conviviality.

And so it was one morning,
as Logan sniffed and Baxter peed,
Logan's Dad heard my tale of hard drive woe.

He said, "I can fix that"
I said, "No you cant - it takes total FBI computer
nerds and costs a fortune."
Logan's dad said, "I can fix that."

Not long after, there was Logan's Dad
with the contents of my hard drive restored.

tea lights bought at Finder's keepers markets this weekend

He was encouraged with vintage cheddar
and home made fig paste and sent home with eggplant parmegana
and lemon bake and wanted not a cent for his trouble.

I baked for Logan's Dad and for all like him who give of themselves
with no thought of anything in return.
Neighbourhood is not dead.

Here is the ridiculously evil and simple one saucepan recipe.
Maybe there is someone in your street like Logan's Dad.

One pan Peanut Butter Chocolate Brownies

Prep time: 15 mins
Cook time: 1 hour

Make them in one saucepan - no mess cleanup and brownies in an hour.
These brownies will keep all week if you can make them last that long - they get fudgier as time goes.

Preheat oven to a moderately slow temperature: 160 Celcius or 320 F

180 grams butter 6.3 ounces 1 1/2 sticks
150 grams dark chocolate chopped 5.25 ounces
1 cup caster sugar 250 grams 9 oz
4 eggs beaten lightly
1 teaspoon vanilla essence
3/4 cup 110 grams plain flour
2 tablespoons self raising flour 1 ounce
1/2 cup cocoa 125 g 1 1/2 ounces
50 grams dark chocolate chopped extra 1.75 ounces
1/3 cup 95 grams peanut butter any kind 3.35 ounces

Get out a saucepan, and gently gently melt the 150 grams dark chocolate and butter. Stir all the time and don't leave it.

Keep the heat low as you don't want to burn the chocolate, which will happen very quickly. If in doubt, use a double boiler.

Stir in sugar, eggs and vanilla, then sifted flours, cocoa and extra chocolate.

Pour the entire goopy mix into a lined pan and drop little nuggets of peanut butter over the top. I used a small teaspoon and flicked chunks till it looked about right.

Bake for about 50 minutes or till firm.

If you wish to glaze them, melt a block of dark chocolate with 1/4 cup of full cream together gently and pour this velvety mess over.

Disgustingly good.

We don't DO sticks of butter in Australia,
however the markings on the wrapper seem clear.
If in doubt go here to check measure met conversions.

Great grandmother Hilda's cake stand
came out for the shoot.
The blue glass goes all milky toward the edges,
and highlights roses brought by other friends.
It's a good day to be alive.

Something's Happening Here

2011-05-12T21:10:00.000+10:00

In the words of Buffalo Springfield....
"There's something happening here
What it is ain't exactly clear"

Did you ever get an idea,
no
not even that,
a whiff
of an idea

so outrageous

so right

but planets away from your present consciousness

it slipped between the cracks and

slid straight into your DNA?

A minute before the tooth's
ensuing pharmaceutical fiesta,
(- and by the way, taking drugs for non-recreational
purposes is no fun at all-)

something happened.

My hard drive died.
Half way through card creating
for gorgeous one's upcoming 45th, and

I lost everything,
as backup was last performed in 1982
and is for geeks anyway.

Call it 60mgs of codeine,
but I feel lighter.

A burden has lifted,
my head drifts gently
from it's sinews, scattering stuff in in the wind.

I don't really need the hard drive contents...?
OK, pictures of the hound
as a tiny foundling, but he is here in my heart,
and there are old fashioned
hard copies around.

And right before the tooth,

I read about this:

and a guy named dave
and had fleeting thoughts about
how nice it would be
to have less.

Just less.

But that's not all.

Also performed on 60 mg of codeine,
enough local anaesthetic to stay
drooling for 48 hours and no safety net:

I cut loose an art job that wasn't feeling right.
Kind of deep in the belly not feeling right.

"I think it's time we stop, hey,
what's that sound
Everybody look what's going down"

The art job would have sent me to
France to bask in the glowing light
of Julie Arkell this September,
not to mention a chunk of mortgage.
But it didn't feel right.

Instead I feel lighter.
More in line with the great groove.

Not sure where this is heading,
but who knows that anyway?

Some priorities have shifted axis.
More aligned with the heart

And it feels fresh.
Gorgeous man got his birthday card,

while I scurry in the wake of
hard drive foolishness. Making good use of :

dropbox for online back up
irip to get all those songs off the ipod.
Photo liberator to rescue images from tedious ipoo/ipod .

Tucked In

2011-05-09T09:20:00.003+10:00

I am Tucked in.
Tucked in is a handbook for
everyone having a doona day.

Illustrated by an Australian with
such soft watercolors,
her pages are irresistible.

I had a tricky wisdom tooth removed
in a nice private hospital.
The surgeon did some tricky orthodontic
dancing and now my IQ is that of a chipmunk,
with a face to match.

Painkiller cocktails with yogurt
is a novelty lasting only so long.

The trick is to eat enough goop
so it lines the tummy and
prevents throwing up when the pills kick in.
Ask me how I know.

Expect a few non sequiteurs if I come to visit,
however the hexagon pile grows.
Sewing in the ends does prevent madness,
and may not be considered
operating heavy machinery.

Halfway through another color was added.
Was bright orange a drug induced decision?

The screw-in-bits to the camera
and tripod don't match anymore,
and one slipper is missing.

Then a serene colorway calms
as we stitch along with
with Jude Hill of Spirit Cloth.

I love her relaxed approach
to online courses.
Drop in, watch a video,
no pressure to comment,
or act, just observe and witness.

Her intimate chats make you
feel your armchair is right there, next to hers.

Small stitching pieces for chipmunk brains.

Tucked in is available in Australia -
Borders or Angus & Robertson
or the wonderful Pentimento in King St, Newtown.

Meredith Gaston 's site has such prettiness all over it.
Pass the custard.

Grrls who stare at crochet

2011-04-27T10:55:00.002+10:00

I have discovered crochet hexagons.
Right now they are circles. They
get hexagonned in the last round.

Granny Hexagon is an outgrowth
from the "use up all your stuff"
mission embarked upon a while ago.

Of course like the Easter Bunny
there is no such thing.

"The stuff" will always be there.
Like dog hair. Best live with it.
The mission to refine my narrative now embraces
happily "the stuff" and is part of it.
Just wider.
Like a five lane highway of narrative.

But it suits for now.

So I have trawled the universe guilt free for lost dye lots to match
these vintagey looking cotton colors
and buying a heap more.

Seems making 200 of the same thing can be done,
as long as it's on the couch in front of the TV
with fragrant French Earl Grey close by.

Tiny, crochet circles are easy for the commitment phobic,
not to mention addictive.
It's good to know your work habits.

It's a voyage of self discovery on a crochet hook.

All stitch work is devotional.
Time and patience and many cups of tea
are devoted to the practice.

How does one

calculate color combinations and variables?

There has to be an easy, instant and obvious
mathematical
equation for that.

Since flunking attribute blocks as a child,
the art of numbers eludes me.

I have resorted to physical
universe pile making,
combined with lots of staring.

The inspiration for hexagons came from Attic 24.

She shows you step by step
and her color choice is brave and bright.

Hope you had a relaxing extra holiday treat.

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And they called it, puppy love...

2011-04-23T18:17:00.002+10:00

A recent community poll
showed dog lovers in the Inner West
spend more on their pets than their partners.

While the poor partner only got a beanie,
guess what Baxter got?

All that glorious stitching and watercolors...

The catchy "doggerel" on the canvas..

Yes,
Like Lola the Chihuahua above,
Mimilove has captured the hound on canvas.

I love her sassy rhymes.
She takes his canine peccadilloes
and creates an ode:

Mongrel Dog! Houndy Woundy!
Eats treats from the street
And stuff that he's found...y
He growls, he snores, he barks, he farts
And most of all he is lion heart!

Mimi is not afraid to stitch straight onto canvas,
something I view with trepidation.
One wrong stitch and it's a hole forever.

She is also not afraid to charge for a comission,
Something else I admire.

She does not under price herself,
and the detail is tremendous.

I asked for a Waratah, New South Wales' flower
and also a symbol of spiritual strength when times are tough,
and she rendered it beautifully, squeezed in his favourite penguin,
and included a guerilla knit as well.

MimiLove says she is one woman,
a needle, a paintbrush,
a disturbing music back catalogue in her brain
and too much time on her hands.

Mimilove

blog

Mimi does cats too....

Sarah Appelbaum

2011-04-15T09:56:00.020+10:00

Moving knit from a flat existence to a
dimensional one is a challenge.
Transforming blanket to art form is even harder.

Installing it in a way that
goes, "hell yeah,
I used to be a blanket,
but look at me now!"

Sarah Appelbaum has the answer.
She lives in San Fransisco
and her approach is cheeky,
fun and big.

See the guy on the left
with the granny square head cover?
It's an outfit.

I love her approach.
Knit as art needs to hang from
the ceiling, defying it's blankie-ness.

or drip on the floor,
or be a big soft sculpture,
or all of the above.

Sarah's website is rich with knit splendor.

Isabel Berglund- Robe

has nailed it on interactive knit.

Her "City of Stitches" is large scale,

and invites people to engage.

A usual art gallery no-no.

Climb in and be part.
This is so inspiring.

It covers two concepts I want to explore,
interactive knit installations on a large scale,

And inviting, touch friendly installations.

More flowers and bunting

2011-04-10T12:26:00.014+10:00

Quick!
Race outside in the glorious last rays of summer
to lie in the grass under vintage fabric bunting.

When I was little, Mum used to read us old German children's stories.

We loved the stories about "Mecki" the hedgehog.

One day he went to a land made entirely of sweets,
but to enter,
he had to eat through
a door of porridge.

Looking at my mound of vintage fabric,
I kinda know how he feels.

Perhaps it was overly optimistic to
announce "Finish it February".
By the time the mountain
of vintage fabric is chewed through,
it may be the end of the world as we know it - 2012.

Perhaps the land of sweetness
is a tidy studio,
free of overwhelming piles of stuff.

In any case,
bite by bite,
Old seventies sheets, thin, and well washed
are transformed into
flowers and sweet foo foo.

The stems were an engineering dilemma.
The needed to be strong, yet slightly flexible.
In the end it was clear plastic tubing,
with a thin satay stick up the middle for some resistance.

I also discovered that "production line" making
is death to creativity for me.

Zealously cutting and stitching over fifty petals
meant they had to be joined and finished
and they languished on the table for nearly
a week of procrastination.

What tricks do you employ for getting through multiples of things?
Does it become dreary or do you approach it in some way?

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Flowers

2011-04-06T14:46:00.020+10:00

Autumn follows me with its dragons tail.
Daylight savings zero balance has conjoured it
and my photos turn out as grainy as I feel.

It's a shit-shaped day,
perfect for pajamas and the pulling up
of doonas to the nose.

Beloved ones uncoil and leave.
The freezer bloats with donated bones
from Baxter's best friend,
who snoozed off to another place in his sleep,
tail up and peaceful.

Fido, fide, faithful - he could do no wrong in Baxter's eyes.
He could pilfer leftovers from the backyard
to bury them in the front,
such was hound's love for Fido.

It's two weeks later, and Fido's ashes sit heavy
at his house across the road.
On the day Fido trotted over, side shaven and cloudy
I took these shots.

Baxter licked Fido's
face and refrained from the usual rumble -
they say dogs can smell cancer.

After he went, and as he lay tail up
and pseudo sleeping as they found him,
the camera tried to do him justice.
It was him, only it wasn't.
I shot his little paws at rest
and the bits the sheet didn't cover.

Baxter still insists on going over there where Fido lived.
Now he patrols the backyard,
as if carrying on a duty for his mate,
tail thumping at the mention of his name.

I need flowers,
and the repetitive motion
of needle and thread.

Stitching in pajamas in front of re runs and
lamplight.
I stitch words I want to hear and feel.
I stitch them into myself.

Words from David Bowies Drive in Saturday
act like a meditation in linen.

I need to smell the roses.
So I made some.

Not exactly roses, but they will do.

Vale Fido.

Knit Plants

2011-03-31T08:30:00.014+11:00

It's a lamp

and it's also an exploding flower
that drips with resin blood.

There is a subtle pull cord
that lights up the interior.

I just got the latest copy of Fibre arts magazine,
and in it was Tatyana Yanishevsky.

Here is what they says about her:

detail of "love Muffin"

Rhode Island–based artist Tatyana Yanishevsky
could be described as a modern-day Renaissance woman,
blending interests in science and art to cultivate her knitted creations.

In the recent series, Rupture,
botanically inspired forms appear
to grow from walls and drip life onto the floor.

Pollen covered anthers are replaced with twists of “yarn blood”;
glossy petals and leaves are transformed by soft bouclé surfaces.
Lit from within to highlight the translucence of their knitted corollas,
discreetly placed pull cords
invite viewers to turn their lights off and on.

This sense of strange familiarity
invites viewers into another world.

In another series, Tatyana knitted anatomically correct botanicals,

installing them in natural surroundings.
Above are rose hips.

And this is a rotting berry.
I love the wire armature she uses to display the petals.

A hibiscus..

An anatomically correct passion flower.
She uses different stitches and yarn
to get as close as possible to the real thing.

Tatyana Yanishevsky's process of hand knitting,
stitch by stitch, is like a plant growing, cell by cell.

As autumn approaches,
bringing out the knitting seems less crazy.

I have been lurking locally
Updating some sad old knits
that were well past their use-by date.

Here in Newtown Square you can see a guerrilla sculpture
by Will Coles.
A life size cement tumble dryer.
He casts junk into sculpture
and he is part of the Newtown Street Art landscape.

The Organic shop got a fresh new knit.

And Wilford Lane, a gallery of street art for a long time
had it's knit replaced.
All this was supposed to happen in Finish-it February.
Squeezing in on the last few days of March is the best one can do.

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Op Shop Love

2011-03-23T12:17:00.004+11:00

In case you are inspired
to ransack op shops for
anything remotely retro or crafty, forget down south.

Culburra Beach has been pillaged of
a vast hoard of doileys,
vintage pillowcases and the odd weird little sparrow.... by me.

Anyone who loves thrift stores will tell you

It ain't like it used to be and heave a long sigh.

These days one is obliged to travel
far and wide in search of the charity end
of the Charity Shop.

Those lovely havens of home made jams,
mothballs and the faint odour of urine.
Nice old ladies packed behind the counter
to process your three items.

Each lady with strict job descriptions
and very specific breakdowns of task management.
If your purchase is more than five,
or the total price reaches double digits,
a sixth person is required to handle the overload.

"We had a big day, "she said,
"We took 12 dollars and there were five of us on."

What a pleasure it is to be
3 and a half hours south of Sydney
to the land that
overpriced- Charity-stores- who- need- to- get -over- themselves forgot.

Installed once again in a 50's fibro beach shack -
the ocean pounding at the door
and surreal plaster seabirds in the garden.

The second bedroom is untenable -
as it contains beach art guaranteed to produce nightmares.

At Culburra's mega charity store,
I lumped a stack of vintage craft books to the desk,
a mound of beautiful table linen,
doily's and hand embroidered bits.

"Ooh," she paused, not sure if I would balk at the $17.00
the mountain of pleasure totalled.

Op shops are a place of charity
and it's not just the retro linens.
People drop in and say hello,
widowers looking for a chat,
single mothers and the father
passing on thrift store lore to the younger generation.

The old ladies volunteer and give freely their time,

and more valuable, their charity of spirit.
She was 83, and stacking shelves.
She said, "Hello how are you, I haven't seen you here before."

The old man said,"Well I live alone
and don't come out much."

She answered, "That's why I work here,
to chat, and be with other people,
I get a bit lonely sometimes."

Behind the shelves on the other side,
I pawed the hand knit patchwork
blanket with a $2.00 price tag and smiled.

There is nothing like the patina
of many washed cotton.
The melding of palette to soft tones
and the way it feels to work with.

And who knows, the stack of vintage craft books
may contain directions for shell art.
At least there is pasta collage.

Since granny chic is the new little black dress,
and macrame is the new corbusier,
why not get ahead of the trend and bring back pasta art?

I did a quick google to see just how
five-minutes-from-now the idea is.

Sure enough, pasta collage is not dead.

Directions on how to make this simple
and stylish home made ornament are here

Meanwhile I am sticking to granny chic
bunting and stitching quietly.

I cant stop making bunting.
The little shop will be full of it soon.

I love Anne Lene Lovhaug

2011-03-16T10:11:00.002+11:00

I love it when fibre artists make jewelry,
or when they use non precious material

to redefine what is precious.

Anne Lene Lovhaug is a Norwegian artist
who modestly says, " I make jewellery
and I try to make things
that have emotional qualities."

She found a one legged teddy in the street.
Beginning at the nose,
she crocheted a cover for it,
adding a cord where the other leg
would have been.
Now it's a pendant necklace.

Making small mass produced,
almost kitsch ornaments into
something more precious,
she redefines what has meaning.

Next time you see a Swarofski bear
in an op shop, think of Anne Lene Lovhaug
and get out the crochet hook.

Wilemijn Degreef
is also defining what is precious to her.

She is a dutch fibre artist aware
that traditional crafts and customs
of her native land are fading.

Her pieces are inspired by
the men and women of the dutch Zuiderzee.

She has made these pieces
of wearable art using material
more natural to the fishing way of life.

Her knotted pieces tell a story
of small fishing towns fading
and the fine crafts that go along with it.

See more of Wilemijn Degreef

Foundling Museum and creatures

2011-03-03T21:23:00.001+11:00

Not much got finished for "finish it February",
but I did acquire more stuffed creatures
and won something on a give-away too.

Of course you know Heike Gerbig, of Gerdiary.
While not stitching and hand dying delicate monochrome neutrals,
she makes softies so delicately abstract and
alive they are snapped up
quicker than you can say"paypal."

The pearl wearing masked lady
had to come live in Australia,
and her dog too.

Lucky she accepted a swap
for the gorgeous being below.
See her hand dyed wings
and the bindi on her third eye?

She is tiny and has
very lady like lady bits too.

Heike's softies are one of a kind and I love them.

Visit Gerdiary if you haven't already.

Another favourite fiber artist is making softies,
Viv from Hen's Teeth.
Her work is gently colorful,
clean and feminine without
the slightest hint of prissy.

Except that's what she's named her softies.

You decide how prissy they are.

Stitched brooches are funky and hilarious,
while the mixed media postcards are tender,
sweet and fine.

But best of all I won something!

A postcard from her visit to the Foundling Museum

and a hand made heart by Hen's Teeth.

You can see the original fabric scrap
on the top right that was pinned

to this entry from 1758.

The Museum had some
of the fabrics reproduced and put on sale.

This is the sweetest heart made and won.

Thank you Viv,
and Heike for making softies
that resonate with your creative selves,
and then telling the world they exist
so we can gaze at their beauty and be fed.

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Joost Pop Up Bar Sydney - a review

2011-02-27T11:29:00.003+11:00

I am sitting inside the new,
fabulously promoted,
magically funded pop-up Joost bar on Sydney Harbour.

I am drinking watered down orange juice
from a jam jar and the lip makes spilling
down my front inevitable.
Forget a straw.

I sit inside a stack of shipping containers
and wait to be served.
It's a pop up bar
and it's uber trendy and eco chic.

On my left is a wall of strawberries
grown totally from restaurant waste.
Further out tiny model train people are lined
up atop the Harbour Bridge.

Those tiny dots on the left.
They are people.

While I continue to wait I can amuse myself
with views of the opera house and jiggle
to some pretty fierce club music that would have
everyone going "woooo"if it were 3am.

But it's not.
It's noon and where is the godddamn menu?
It's not on the walls,
they are filled with eco slogans.

The waitstaff are all groovy gen-x'ers
whose gaze is permanently fixed to the middle distance.
They wear recycled clothing as uniform
and there are a heap of them.
Just none at my table.

Its the kind of hip-and-miss service
Sydney is sadly known for,
and if I am to pay $9 for wine
in an empty jam jar then it better get fun soon.

Someone saunters up, visibly surprised
to see a table in front of him.
He wears a beige beanie rescued from too many washes
and jiggles to the music as he takes our order, and all is well.

My wine is a "natural" arriving in kegs or
casks and it's awful.
It has two ice cubes in it.

By now we are laughing
but that fades when beanie boy forgets 30% of the order
and we are left with char grilled vegetables
on slab of orange plastic.

The stone ground flour that became house pasta was fantastic,
arriving as it did on a slab of plywood.
(Do they wash the plywood, or throw it out??)

I love being a Sydney sider.
Us early adopters flock lemming-like
to any new thing as long as it's shiny and packaged well.
In this case it's recycled everything,
down to the wait staff's clothes, and a plastic folding table
for a toilet door.
Oops - no mirrors though, and no "off " tap in the bathroom.

What's my point?
Joost Bakker demonstrates impressively
what can be done to recycle and cut waste in a novel
and in-yer-face way,
I wonder if saving our species
will just be another glamorous thing
to throw money at while we wait for the
next shiny, well packaged fashion.

It's cringe worthy to hear snazzy
sound byte slogans bandied about.
I hope it's not all green-wash
and some of his ideas rub off.

Meanwhile I'm checking my tounge for splinters.