Proof of Concept

Here's a tease.

I spent the last couple of weeks conceptualizing a dress for a New Year's Eve party. Nothing major, just utilizing about 6 different techniques I've never used before. Well, I finished it today (since I plan on wearing it tonight -- why finish it two weeks ago when I could wait until today?). That's all I'm going to say at the moment. ;)

A quicky for the sewing nerds.

I bought my first pair of Gingher shears the other day. Now, ain't I a grownup? Sure, they're just the lightweight aluminum model, but I feel so much more ssssserious now.

Animal omens.

Whenever critters unexpectedly cross my path, I always consider it a good omen. Always.

Last night when I got home from work, it was after dark and about 12F actual degrees (windchill unreasonable). The first thing I noticed was Sevie acting weirder than usual, which is saying something. His meow was a little deeper and he was extra-twitchy. Then I noticed something had fallen off the TV, a small figurine. I thought I'd probably brushed the table on my way out that morning. When I saw some things knocked off my kitchen windowsill as well, though, I knew something was up. So I hunted around the house, finding nothing. Whatever it was, it must have found its way back out again.

After I had dinner and cleaned up, I finally sat down to watch TV at around 10pm. Within a couple of minutes, I thought I saw some movement in the periphery -- which, I hesitate to admit, I actually experience quite a lot in that house. (Oh the hauntings, the hauntings.) I got up to stick my head in my dressing room at which point a small bird flew straight at me. I was kind of expecting that, but it's funny how even knowing it's coming, I ducked down with a panic as though I were being shot at. The bird flew around the corner and straight into my work studio. At least that room has a door.

I closed him in and thought, hm, how does one catch a wild bird? I sat down on the sofa for a moment to consider my options. Within a minute, the bird simply walked out of the work studio and into the living room as if to say, "Okay, this has been fun, but could you just open a window now?" Of course as soon as I moved, it started flying around the house again. I grabbed a fleece jacket figuring maybe I could throw that on it, but before I even tried, I opened my front door and the big glass doorwall. When I followed the bird back into my dressing room, it whizzed past me and out the big door.

I'm a little disappointed I didn't get a chance to take a picture of it. I wanted to, and would have gotten my camera before opening the work studio door, but the bird thwarted the plan. (And obviously I don't know how to close doors.) It was small, but probably bigger than a common sparrow, in earthy colors with a blue band behind its eye.

After everyone was safe (where was Sevie through all of this?) and the house warmed back up, I started thinking about bird omens.

A scan through online searches always seems to come up with nothing but bad bad bad omens, for everything. I don't buy it. Since it's all myth and symbolism anyway, why not make up something good? So, here's the omen I made up, which I've decided this little bird in my home was to mean.


When surprised to find a bird in your dwelling
Pay heed to the omen this sign is foretelling.

No doom, no gloom, no luckless portent;
No reaper lurking with wicked intent.

Take heart that lost friendship will blossom anew,
For writ on its wings are a friend's thoughts of you.

Price Reductions in Effect

Loads of great jewelry still available at my store, and as of today, ALL the prices have been marked down. Come take a look, and buy handmade for whatever holidays you celebrate.

Brocade Lion

A minor sigh of relief.

I paid my motorcycle off today.

This is a Big Deal for two reasons. First of all, I never keep anything long enough to actually pay it off (and keep it). I think this is the first vehicle (out of the 2-dozen or so I've owned) I've ever done that with. It's always nice to have a debt removed from over one's head.

Second, when I got divorced, I'd really only just bought the bike. And, of course, we bought it as part of an entire household. When I left that household, I was so sure that I was going to have to sell the bike; there was no way I could maintain not only the payment, but the insurance, registration, all that other nonsense. But this bike makes me happy, so I made my adjustments and held on to it. It's been worth it.

Evening of fire.

Last night was unseasonably warm in Detroit, and we knew this ahead of time. Or, more to the point, I did -- if it's not motorcycle season, I don't usually really pay much attention to weather forecasts. But I knew Wednesday was going to be nice, so I intended to rush home from work and start a fire in my almost-unused firepit.

It was dug for me this past summer, but it sat there, full of wood but forlorn and neglected, until a couple of weeks ago. That was when I started to have to deal with leaves, which brought home the fact that I had several feet of branches stacked up next to my house. (Feet is the official unit of measurement for branches, right?) They obviously weren't going to burn themselves -- well, hopefully -- and leaving them to rot over the winter seemed so unappealing. So I made a fire. It almost cost me my eyebrows, but I managed. Twice. That got me through a good portion of my pre-cut detritus from the summer. (Typically I throw manageable branches down the ravine, and leave the BIG stuff at the curb for the city chipping crew.)

I still contend I suck at fire, but I'm improving. So I had big hopes when I got started last night. With the addition of some now well-dried leaves, it actually got going pretty well without too much effort. I got started at about 6 and didn't come in until midnight, tending and feeding the fire continually nearly the whole time.

At about 9.30, the fire was going quite nicely, and it was still warm enough out that I was wearing just a long-sleeved jersey with no jacket. I'd even taken my hat off by then, but, naturally, still had my earbuds in, listening to some podcast or other. Standing for a moment just enjoying the burn, in the extreme north east corner of my yard, I heard the *beepbeepbeep* of reversing heavy equipment from the street behind me. With the size of my yard, that street is, oh, I'm going to say, 600 feet away. I turned around, popped out my earbuds, and watched a full-size hook and ladder backing across the end of my driveway.

It seemed like the thing to do at that point was to walk down to the street to see what was up, so I grabbed my jacket and made my way. There are no street lights in my neighborhood, and loads of trees on large lots. So I was very near the end of my driveway before the two firemen even noticed me there, acknowledging my presence with about 50,000 candlepower in my general direction.

"Hi there!" I squinted and waved.

"Oh hello. Sorry about that."

"That's okay. Everything all right?"

"Well, we saw some smoke around the neighborhood and wanted to make sure no one's house was on fire..."

Oh good. No one had called -- I'd have been very shocked by that. Because there were still some damp leaves in the burn, there definitely were some smoky periods. And because the air was cooler, the smoke was staying dense and low.

I smiled and told them, "Yeah, that's me. I've got a little firepit in the back. I figured this was my last nice night to really enjoy burning some leftovers from the summer. You wanna come check it out?"

So the two firemen -- and why are firemen always, like, 6'6" anyway? -- followed me back across my yard. "You're not in any trouble or anything, we just saw--"

"Oh, I know, I know. I'm glad you came; I appreciate it."

"Wow, this is nice back here, huh? Got all this to yourself?"

"Yep. I like it, but it's a pain sometimes. Watch your footing, the ground's soft."

When we finally got close enough, the fire was looking healthy and manageable, with my little lawn chair keeping an eye.

"Oh yeah, there it is," the smaller fireman said. (He was only 6'4".) "The open burn is totally fine. Not close to any houses... Have a hose or a bucket nearby and don't burn any leaves."

"All right, I'll do that."

"Sorry to have interrupted. Have a nice night!"

And off they went into the smoky darkness.

Featuring special guest star...

The store is OPEN.

The first group of my convertible necklace/bracelets have made their way to my etsy store. There are more to come (along with other random bits when they come about).

BrocadeLion.etsy.com

The twins from my kitchen window.

Had to come to work early this morning. As a consolation, I got to watch the doe and her twins from my kitchen window for a good 10 minutes. They're getting so big!

Okay then.

I've given it a couple of days now, and based on the combined experiences of my first art festival and the previous blog post here, I at least have an iron-clad response when people squee at me "you should SELL your stuff!" -- not only can I not sell anything, I can't give the shit away.

Heart It Forward

Now that I'm almost caught up after the last couple of weeks, I can finally post about this.

A couple of weeks ago, awesome plexi artist Tonia Davenport made a Heart It Forward post on her blog. This is her take on feeding a circle of kindness and giving, wherein she makes available an object she has made, free for the taking to the first person who pledges to do the same. My near-obsessive RSSing paid off, and I was the first to lay claim to this fantastic "bliss" bracelet.

In less than a week, it arrived at my door, packaged almost as beautifully as the bracelet itself. I am always taken by such great attention to detail. I've worn the bracelet a few times already, and it's absolutely weightless. It's already become one of my favorite things.

Now it's my turn to play my part in this hopeful little cycle. I initially wanted to make something as beautiful as Tonia's, but I'm just a person without all that much pretty in her. So instead, I'll go the SFLAG way.

This bracelet is a duplicate of one I made for myself during the (slightly frazzled) weeks I was producing necklaces for my first-ever attempt at selling. I put mine on more than a week ago and haven't removed it once since. It's clunky, contrasty, a bit noisy, and seemingly indestructible -- in other words... me.

I will happily pass along the spotless and new rendition of this bracelet to the first person who comments -- publicly, as if -- on this post and agrees to heart something forward him- or herself. That would be, of course, anything your little heart desires.

The PAF has been postponed...

The People's Art Festival at the Russell has been postponed due to weather. The new date is Sunday September 21 -- that's next week, people. Another week for me to stress out. Woo!

More deets on the People's Art Festival.

I was at work from 9am to 2.30am yesterday, then I got right back at it at 9am this morning. It wasn't until just now that I could finally eat a sammich and relax for a second... which gave me the opportunity, of course, to stress out again about the art festival this Saturday. Well, stress probably isn't exactly the right term. Let's just say nerve up. I'm a little nervous, just because I've never done this before. But I've been to thousands of similar events and I have no doubt that the people I'm sharing space with are going to be fun and friendly and excellent and all that good stuff.

Here's the official website for the People's Art Fair.

We are going to be in booth 74, which looks like a pretty good location, if anyone wants to come say hello. I'm planning on getting there at set up time (10am), but I am probably going to leave by 2pm (or whenever I sell out, whichever happens first -- lookit me, I'm an optimist!). I'm very happy to say I just got a pair of tickets for the big PBR event in Grand Rapids, which is also on Saturday, including VIP party passes. Yes, I'm serious, stop laughing! Unfortunately, I don't have time to make a dress out of this fabric. Wait, maybe that's a good thing.

People's Art Festival

I'm abnormally busy lately, but if I don't post this now, I won't do it until after the Festival.

I was invited to participate in the People's Art Festival at the Russell Industrial Center this Saturday. This Saturday! The 13th!

I've never participated in anything like this. I never sell my stuff. But really, it was an offer I'd be stupid to refuse. So I did something else I almost never do -- I produced en masse. That's not entirely accurate because ultimately almost every one of these necklaces is different in some way, but there is an undeniable theme. A theme that doesn't photograph well, clearly. They are large, colorful, chunky necklaces that I really like -- the whole series started off as a green and black deal I made for myself. I've test driven a couple of them and have gotten very positive (unsolicited) responses to them every time.

I wish I had time to take more/better photographs, and hopefully I will before I go to the festival itself. If nothing else, anything that doesn't sell will, I'm sure, get a loving photo session on its own (to go straight to etsy). There is one other picture in my flickr stream that I can't fiddle with to post right now. More later.

On love, connectedness and the skull cha-cha.

I saw my grandma this weekend and was the happy recipient of some Grandma Stash.

Gram is a stitcher/quilter/beader/crafter from way back. I'm sure when she started learning these things from her momma, my Granny Daisy, it wasn't "crafting," the leisurely activity as we think of it today. It was Women's Work. It was necessary and important. And normal. I don't know my father's family, and it's easy to credit my grandmother -- the Taylor bloodline -- for any bit of creativity in me. Any drive to make. In any case, if there's a genetic component, it seems to have skipped my mother. And all my siblings. I do have a maternal aunt, though, who is never ever without some fiddly project in her lap.

Grandma has given me some nice fabric recently which has integrated into my own stash, but this trip was all about beads. Using small beads can be a challenge in the best of times, and along with the creativity, I'm quite certain I've inherited my grandma's arthritis. The fingers of my right hand have never been straight, and they certainly aren't getting any better. (At least I don't need my knees for beadweaving.) When Gram let me at her bead supplies cabinet, I was hoping to find some more of the old glass that she'd held on to since Daisy's time. There was some of that, but also, wonderfully, dozens of tubes of beautifully varied seed beads.

Seed beads are either the love or the bane of your beading hobbyist. Working with seed beads is actually what started me "crafting" in earnest. I love large square stitched pieces, with the geometric precision of woven cloth and the sheen and endless color options of glass. In my early beadweaving days -- already in my 30s -- I would sit in bead guild gatherings with my little tackle box of colors, doing my OCD best to get the cheap and sloppy Czech 11/0s to align properly, unable to justify the expense of the hyper-precise Japanese beauties. The other guild members, almost uniformly over 60, would peek across my work and gawp, "How can you WORK with those teeny things!" "It's not easy," I'd tell them, "but I'm going to keep doing it while I can."

I still can, but haven't lately. I've fallen to the allure of the quicker gratification of the stringing project. Or, actually, I've become more focused on apparel sewing for the past couple of years. That may seem a strange choice seeing as I have, at this moment, more than 300 linear feet of mostly ready-to-wear clothing currently hanging in my house. (Yes, I did just measure.) The bigger joke there is that I refer to my dressing room as the Monument to My Self-Loathing.

After getting home Sunday night with my scooter trunk filled to the brim with beads and findings and fabric swatches and sewing widgets and books, I spent a good couple of hours sifting through one of Gram's old tackle boxes, filled with semi-sorted beads of all types. And what a great way to spend a Sunday night, so close to Zen. Shall I sort by color? Size? Shape? Material? Ultimately I stuck with the system Grandma had already started and went by color, moving the groupings from their little plastic cells into the small clear zipper bags that I prefer (a fistful of which she had also sent home with me).

As a rule, I don't feel connected to much. I don't think, in my life, I've ever really understood the concept of home. On those rare occasions when I can talk to my grandma, though, in a room full of people who are related to all of us, and we can speak in words and terms and concepts that no one else really seems to understand (or care to), I get a little bit of a notion of what it's like to "belong" to something. And when she tells me that I'm a good granddaughter -- which I'm not -- and that she's proud of me -- which I have no reason to disbelieve, but still manage to -- I kind of get that this is what it feels like to be loved.

Anyway. One of the things Grandma gave me was a cha-cha bracelet blank. I was surprised she had one at all; it just seemed anachronistically modern, especially when I thought of the one bracelet I've made with the same blank. She, of course, said, "Take it, take it!" I tried describing to her the version I made, a few years ago now, and she just made faces at me.

What can I say. Of all the things I inherited from the Taylor bloodline, my fascination with skulls was apparently not among them.

A moment.

I had a long walk through my neighborhood tonight, under the threat of very large and flashing storm clouds. I knew there was a high chance that I'd wind up under a downpour, but it seemed worth it to meander through the cool but heavy darkness, surrounded by the flicker of fireflies and the booms of toads. I never exactly forget how beautiful my neighborhood is, but there are definitely times I ... feel it more than others. Those times when I'm a little awed that this is my neighborhood. I live here. I made this happen. It makes me simultaneously proud and lonely in a way I can't describe.

After (silently but literally) counting off the 150 paces from my driveway entrance to my doorstep, I made straight for my bath without turning on any lights. When I started the water, I realized it was probably going to be a long one, so I launched a playlist I hadn't listened to in a long while. I settled in and, thanks to the iPhone Remote application, kept a casual eye on what was playing. You know it's a good playlist when every song makes you think "ooh I should play this whole album. I'll wait to see what's next. Ooh I should play this whole album!"

I was several songs in when a long, low intro started to spool out. I knew it was something I liked, something I hadn't heard in a long time. The very moment my mind was grasping the tune -- "Tinseltown in the Rain" by the Blue Nile -- fat raindrops started plinking down on the metal awning over my back porch, next to my open bathroom window, as if the word "rain" in my head had invoked the waiting shower. I laughed, really taken by the moment in a rare and wonderful way.

Blueberry Bomb, or Why I Didn't Miss My Prom

On Saturday, my friend Michelle threw a 1980s prom at Small's. It was a star-studded, gala affair. Well, some of us were more gala than others.

I'm always up for a good costuming, but believe it or not, I did NOT make myself a full formal in the 24 hours leading up to the big dance. I managed to find a choice number at a local resale store -- bright blue, floor-length, puff sleeves, sweetheart neckline, that weird pointy-bottom bodice... A true relic. With the addition of a 20-foot long strand of faux pearls (yes, literally 20 feet; I know because I strung the whole damned thing), I was a thing to behold -- a Disney Princess, as Michelle described, only perhaps slightly debauched.

It's funny how much dressing out of one's norm can alter one's behavior. Normally I don't dance. Normally. But the combination of bubblegum music, vodka and irony was overwhelming to all but the most stoic. There was much joyful jumping about. And sweating. Ohhh the polyester.

Very near the end of the night, a couple of friends and I decided to hit last call at another joint nearby -- a joint that just happens to be a fairly scruffy gay bar on Michigan Ave. As our contingent included me in all my melting blueberry glory, our glittering prom queen (who incidentally was a 6-foot man in drag) and a former-Marine on a half-pint of absinthe, who could imagine a better place?

I'm not sure I was the only woman there (probably), but I was certainly the most visible. Right away I found myself in conversation with a couple of young men who were quite envious of my finery. "THAT is what I need for OUR prom!" one fella told me.

"Oh I think you'd look smashing in it!" I told him. And after a quick sizing by eye, refined by years of resale (no fitting room) shopping, I made him the offer. "In fact, I'll trade you for it."

"Trade me what?"

"Your clothes!"

"You wanna trade me outfits? Really? Where? How would we do that? When?"

"Oh come on, there's a bathroom here..."

So off we traipsed. In exchange for my only slight beer-soaked poofy wonder, I received an old t-shirt and paint-spattered cargo shorts. Oh, and a belt that looked like it had been used to pull a trailer. "I think I got the better end of this deal!" he said. "Well, obviously!" I responded. And it was totally worth it.

I didn't get a picture of myself in the dress -- I always forget to do that. However, I think this photo is even more precious... and sums the night up quite nicely.

Whose brain is this?

Special props to whomever can identify what is actually in that glass.

Further testing the iPhone.

Goofy
Originally uploaded by shefightslikeagirl

I already know I like taking photos with my iPhone -- my fifth now, for the record -- and I use it for a ton of stuff pretty constantly (in addition to taking stoopit pics of myself). Today I am having a look at how it works as a mobile blogging tool. I'm sure technically it's not going to be any different. But I gotta say, I'm well below my normal typing speed of around 120 wpm or so...

Skulls-n-Roses Mark II Finis!

It's a coincidence that I've made two Skulls-n-Roses dresses. I swear.

I never work with blue, though. If you asked me, I'd probably say I don't especially like the color blue. But something about this particular print appealed to me. Then when I found the plaid that melded so well, it was pretty much unavoidable.

I took a little bit of a risk with this sewing pattern -- Simplicity 3745, for the record. I knew there was a high risk that it would not look quite right on me. And I'm not sure how I do feel about how it came out; that is, how it looks on me. As always, it's better on me than on Heddy -- definitely less hausfrau-ish. Still, I'm undecided.

Now, if I wear this one out and get complimented walking down the street, well. Asked and answered.