The burned heart gets the calf skin vellum to contain it.
calfskin, sterling findings, thread, Hydrocal, wax
Thursday, September 17, 2009
calf skin vellum
The burned heart gets the calf skin vellum to contain it.
calfskin, sterling findings, thread, Hydrocal, wax
seal
I kept the straps apart, not attaching the fronts to the backs as I did with all the rest. I like the way they lie there with lassitude or having just given up; yet, all dressed up and shining. The presentation will then be different. Again, I think this works to the advantage of the piece... breaking the monotony created by the rest of the hanging containers.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
back to the drawing board
I went back to the pattern for the next heart-container I am making. The material is calf vellum and I wanted to add a few more articulations to it. There is now 11 pieces to the pattern, where in the original there was 9. This being said, I added 10 then 11 respectively to the F3 felt and the baby seal.
Friday, September 4, 2009
seal container
The carrier - container I am making now is from vintage baby seal.This is still in progress as I have not put on the straps. I am going slightly closer to the fashion end with the straps and the closing system. The clasps are a sterling magnet system and the straps will be braided sterling mesh. The continued use of furs in the fashion industry is an easy read for this one. I do not need to delve into the heatbreaking nature of this too much here as there is great information already on the PETA website and others listed below. There is a very informative video about the fur trade in China, for example.
some helpful links for the interested:
http://www.fashionwindows.com/room_service/2006/06010.asp
http://www.harpseals.org/
http://www.all-creatures.org/articles/act.html
http://www.all-creatures.org/anex/seal.html
http://www.peta.org/
http://www.hsus.org/protectseals.html
Monday, July 20, 2009
looking through poems for a line
from the writer's almanac from public radio.org
here is a good one:
Meditation on Ruin
by Jay Hopler
It's not the lost lover that brings us to ruin, or the barroom brawl,
or the con game gone bad, or the beating
Taken in the alleyway. But the lost car keys,
The broken shoelace,
The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment — these are the things that
eat away at life, these constant vibrations
In the web of the unremarkable.
The death of a father — the death of the mother —
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! But the broken
pair of glasses,
The tear in the trousers,
These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it's this ache to which we will ourselves
Oblivious. We are oblivious. Then, one morning—there's a
crack in the water glass —we wake to find ourselves undone.
this is the one I was looking for, having heard it many months before, a line got stuck in my head:
Return I
by Elisabeth Stevens
When I am traveling,
hurrying hundreds of miles
in trains or by car,
I pass houses
where we once lived.
All those places
once seemed permanent, immutable,
part of our marriage, home.
Now they are abandoned stage sets,
insubstantial cardboard and canvas.
Like clothes sent to the thrift shop,
there were lives that we left behind—
just like taking out the garbage,
dropping it in the can,
slamming the lid.
I return as a tourist to
our old lives. Speeding by,
I see our first roof top through
a soot-marked window. I could walk there
from the station. I do not get off the train.
When I have the car,
I park down the block from
another place and keep the motor running.
I see tulips whose bulbs I held,
brown and flaky in my palm.
Without moving,
I cross the lawn like a specter,
ring the bell like a prankster, run away.
The house has been painted
a different color. The swing set is gone.
At the country place, our last,
I stop behind the privet hedge you planted
to see your tree. Set out in September when
you'd measured your last summer's sun,
it now shades the terrace, just as you'd planned.
When you died, I thought of
putting your ashes under your tree.
Instead, the summer after,
I sat out alone in the evenings,
waiting, listening to the leaves.
I still have your car, our child,
the dog, and some of the money.
The cat, the rabbits and the goldfish
are gone. I release the brake.
Driving quickly, I take a familiar road.
I do not see anyone we knew.
"Return I" by Elisabeth Stevens, from Household Words. © Three Conditions Press, 2000.
The line that got stuck was the bit about the garbage.
here is a good one:
Meditation on Ruin
by Jay Hopler
It's not the lost lover that brings us to ruin, or the barroom brawl,
or the con game gone bad, or the beating
Taken in the alleyway. But the lost car keys,
The broken shoelace,
The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment — these are the things that
eat away at life, these constant vibrations
In the web of the unremarkable.
The death of a father — the death of the mother —
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! But the broken
pair of glasses,
The tear in the trousers,
These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it's this ache to which we will ourselves
Oblivious. We are oblivious. Then, one morning—there's a
crack in the water glass —we wake to find ourselves undone.
this is the one I was looking for, having heard it many months before, a line got stuck in my head:
Return I
by Elisabeth Stevens
When I am traveling,
hurrying hundreds of miles
in trains or by car,
I pass houses
where we once lived.
All those places
once seemed permanent, immutable,
part of our marriage, home.
Now they are abandoned stage sets,
insubstantial cardboard and canvas.
Like clothes sent to the thrift shop,
there were lives that we left behind—
just like taking out the garbage,
dropping it in the can,
slamming the lid.
I return as a tourist to
our old lives. Speeding by,
I see our first roof top through
a soot-marked window. I could walk there
from the station. I do not get off the train.
When I have the car,
I park down the block from
another place and keep the motor running.
I see tulips whose bulbs I held,
brown and flaky in my palm.
Without moving,
I cross the lawn like a specter,
ring the bell like a prankster, run away.
The house has been painted
a different color. The swing set is gone.
At the country place, our last,
I stop behind the privet hedge you planted
to see your tree. Set out in September when
you'd measured your last summer's sun,
it now shades the terrace, just as you'd planned.
When you died, I thought of
putting your ashes under your tree.
Instead, the summer after,
I sat out alone in the evenings,
waiting, listening to the leaves.
I still have your car, our child,
the dog, and some of the money.
The cat, the rabbits and the goldfish
are gone. I release the brake.
Driving quickly, I take a familiar road.
I do not see anyone we knew.
"Return I" by Elisabeth Stevens, from Household Words. © Three Conditions Press, 2000.
The line that got stuck was the bit about the garbage.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
f3
As I finish the f3 felt heart bag, I think about Bourriaud's concepts of relational aesthetics, "...ways of living and models of action within the existing real..." and "learning to inhabit the world in a better way". Yes this is everywhere now, and not surprisingly new in 2002 when it was written; yet, it sums up what I am working towards. A better way to move forward... sometimes even just a way. It is fraught with emotion and that cannot be separated out, yet emotion is part of the problem. To surmount and transcend...
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