I never like dolls. I was certain that they were up to no good the minute you closed your eyes. It was not tea parties and play for them. It was lose the homework, spill soda on the carpet, or hide one sneaker. Evil doers all.
I let my two sisters fight over what few dolls I was given, including that freakish bubble-do Barbie with the plum colored lips and odd skin tone like she'd died from carbon monoxide poisoning. "Dusky" the coroner would call it.
The stuffed animals I trusted. Thinking about what I am going to do with this bear has reminded me of an old friend that I haven't thought of in years. I had to be seven when this one was as close to a horse as I would ever own. It was a mule I think, from his general proportions and demeanor. Little mean eyes, no tail - all business. I used sewing needle to unpick a bridle that had been stitched to his head - my horses ran free! He was not soft. Stuffed tight with dense cotton, I could swing him by the leg and give Kitty or Patty a good stiff thwack without leaving a mark!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
skins
the Ikea Octopus understands indignity but remains stoic. the Bear has some kind of glitz woven in. It's stomach was cut open hastily with something sharp. I'll be there was contraband - this is Georgia after all. The scene of the crime is mere steps from the local post office.
Now I have to think about resurrection, reincarnation, rebirth and a witness protection program for stuffed animals.
no fiber post, almost
I have no idea idea what this shrub is but it's about the only photogenic thing around my office besides the moss gardens.
We don't have a lot of road kill here in Georgia. I mean, I'm sure it happens as much as anyplace else where hapless critters meet careless drivers but we have a healthy population of vultures here (you do not want pictures) so bodies don't linger on the pavement at all.
Apparently they can tell real from fake. This poor thing has been in the ditch for too many trips to the post office for me to ignore it one more time.
Who could be so deliberately cruel. What was the story? Was he smuggling something? Did he talk?
To be continued....
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Fling Flys
"Stories In the Garden With Monkey Teeth" will be on it's way to a new home tomorrow. I took some time this morning to sign it.
"Just when I thought I was out... they pull me back in"
Handwork,that is. Piecing and appliqueing simple, hand-dyed cotton muslin.
It doesn't get any more simple or satisfying and I'm paying close attention.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
deranged
It would have been a good idea to take a better picture of this once I had finished stitching on it rather obsessively (and quite pointlessly) for over a week before I took the scissors to it at work last night.
There were a lot of elements that I really liked, that worked nicely on their own but just didn't add up to anything all told.
So I chopped it into about a dozen pieces, batting backing and all, and spent several hours shuffling things around only to find I had forgotten to bring along my pincushion
Here it is hasty basted together in what I hope will be a more successful composition. try to hand stitch this mess back together will be too frustrating so I'm going to wake the Janome up from it's hibernation (more like neglect) and see what comes of it.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
more macro
Friday, April 23, 2010
Backyards #1
It was "sit & stare" time last night which I have come to recognize as the STOP sign this hand stitcher.
I'll need to find something to back it, protect the exposed batting and stitching, but it's done and I'm most pleased that it's prompting a series for me at a time when I've been coming up empty.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
private stash
I tried duplicating the effect of the cloth I used for the body of the trees using bleach to discharge some of the overdyes I did this weekend.
Several pieces are going straight into my private stash for future development.
Gravitating to the fine textured sacking - flour sacks probably - I find myself planning out more dreamscapes along these lines.
My old Canon A95 came back from the factory ostensibly repaired at no charge.
I say ostensibly because it came back without the honkin' huge old style memory card that I swore I left inside it. I thought they needed to see some messed up pictures to diagnose and fix the problem.
My problem is now I have no memory of removing the card and stowing it "someplace safe" ...kinda like those diamond earrings I once had (sniff). These memory lapses are nothing new for me so I'm not alarmed. Just aggravated. It'll turn up somewhere unlikely but perfectly obvious to the devious mind. It's a backup camera now so it can wait.
PS. After looking in all the likely places and quite a few unlikely ones and finding nothing, I called Canon and said "What's up with sending my camera back brainless?" They were so nice, kind and generous and will be sending me a suitable card.post haste. Squeaky wheel got greased.
more studio archaeology
My very own Rothko which grabs you by the throat the moment you walk in the room.
"Blood Orange & Lime Martini" 2004
47" X 29"
Hand dyed muslin and vintage percale cottons over cotton batting, machine quilted to hand dyed cotton canvas.
The green cloth came from sheets that my Aunt Jo had custom made for her vacation lodge in Flint, MI possibly in the 1940s or 50's.
more info and details
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