birdy pot in blue

One by one articles of evidence are brought foward to reveal the (until now unknown) truth about the "blue obsession".

extreme makeover

This weekend I finished the project I began last weekend. I found this chest of drawers discarded on the side of the road ages ago. The poor chest thought it's days of love and beauty were over. But we saw big things for it's future, we entered it into the Extreme Backyard Makeover program. From thousands of hopefuls, this run-down beaten up old chest was chosen for an unbelievable transformation!

This chest was the lucky recipient of:
- Implants (putty in it's gaps)
- Lasic Zoom Whitening (or touching up the paintwork)
- Limb augmentation (fixing one of it's legs)
- Laser Peel Skin Resurfacing (a new coat of linseed oil)
- and Knob Replacement surgery! (otherwise known as a knob job)

TAA DAAAA!

(Friends exclaim! Sisters pretend to be thrilled but are now furiously jealous. Children cry as they look for the parent they once knew. Husbands in shock, but soon start fantasising...)

Okay, it's not so extreme, less is more so they say. Those mis-matched painted porcelain knobs are rockin' my world. Have I mentioned my obsession with blue painted porcelain before? I have an obession...

top marks

The various medical tests I’ve been having have been unpleasant, but now I know interesting things that I never would have known otherwise. I’ve learnt that I have the “iron levels of a man” despite the fact that I rarely eat red meat, and according to the ultrasound nurse I have “beautiful ovaries”.
I never would have known that!
I think they’re my best side; very photogenic I’m told.

Top marks so far, still looking for the illness-causing-glitch.

flame trees

My Illustration Friday attempt for "song".

I’ve been so busy, working through a hellishly busy time at work, trying to make bags, restoring a piece of furniture, doing yoga, keeping in touch with friends, drawing, attempting to do my income tax, spending time with Mr You, having various tests at the doctor, and sleeping and eating somewhere in there too. This week, in an effort to buy myself some much needed time, I have “consolidated” two of those things. My illustration this week is combined with, and has inspired one of the bags I’m making.

This sewn illustration is based on a cover version of the old Cold Chisel song “Flame Trees” re-rendered so beautifully by Sarah Blasko. The song had always had bad connotations for me of really drunk boys at partys sucking the beer out of the end of a keg, barely able to stand, arms around each other wailing away to the lyrics of this song.
It’s always messy and never nice. (Actually made me dispise all Cold Chisel music for a long time).

Thankfully, Sarah Blasko has rescued this beautiful song for me. Originally written about Grafton, a country town up North who’s only real claim to fame is its annual Jacaranda festival. These giant trees bloom every spring with intense purple flowers, and their red counterparts, the ‘flame trees’ do the same, lining the streets and blanketing the ground in rich vivid colours.

“The flame trees will blind the weary driver
And there's nothing else could set fire to this town”

It’s not exactly a bag as such yet, but next week it will be. If anyone is interested I’m thinking of putting it on eBay.

a couple of pics

1. Learning after only one wear, why NOT to buy $9 shoes
2. Requested snap of my valentines cushion (with tassels)
3. Part of the new dress I mentioned last week

(This must make it look like I'm so girly, I'm not really, honestly)

best advice

Penelope; with endless energy and abounding inspiration, has provided us with yet another cool project (I swear if it wasn’t for her I’d be sitting on the couch every night eating and not blinking at the tv). This weekend she launched the final product for ‘The Best Advice I Ever Got’ gallery. Check it out, it’s great. There’s loads of valuable advice in there, and of course some very special illustrations as usual.

I submitted an entry with some personal advice I got years ago, that I’ve never forgotten…
(Insert sound of harp playing up and down scale of notes. Screen wobbles in big waves. Transition to flash-back)

Scene: Teenage Flossy in art class at high school, 1994.

All the way through high school I had amazing art teachers, people who actually still made art in their own time, and who were wise and very talented. Then in my last year a new teacher came who somehow landed the ‘head of the art department’ role, and ended up teaching our class. He was hopeless. I won’t go into the details, well maybe just a few…
Annoying traits of my final year art teacher:
1) We would get to class and he wouldn’t be there. We’d have to wait 20 mins for him to arrive and let us into the classroom, then only have 10 mins to get stuff done before the end of class.
2) We’d get to class and he had nothing prepared. We’d then have to put in an order of stuff we needed; “Yellow paint please sir”, “Glue please sir”, “Brushes please sir” etc. He’d head off to the storeroom with the order and never return. We used to joke about the black hole in the corridor that must have sucked him into another dimension. We secretly wished it was true and he would never return.
3) One day we got so sick of waiting for him we formed a small but determined vigilante group to track and hunt him down. He was found playing ping-pong in the teachers common room.
4) He had no talent, no skill, and his knowledge of artists was limited to a 20 year block in Australia in the early 1900’s
5) Then there was that patronising laugh when we asked him a question about something we didn’t know (and neither did he apparently).

In summation he was not the teacher you wanted to end up with in the final year, especially when the only reason for staying at school was to get into ‘fine arts’ at university after I left. Eventually I boycotted. As a frustrated classroom refugee I turned up at the art room next door, to a teacher I’d had the previous year. I crashed his year 9 class and spent the rest of my year there.

He was a brilliant artists and teacher.

The only thing was that he begged me not to go to art school. He said it would only do damage and that everyone came out the other side remodelled into creating all the same stuff, leaving no originality. I was feisty, determined and didn’t believe him, and he knew that. One day while watching me quickly sketch something down, explaining one of my ideas, he interrupted…

“I love the way you draw. At art school, don’t whatever you do, let them change that. They will try, but don’t let them change the way you draw.”

But if you recall I was feisty, determined and didn’t believe him.

The following year at art school my first drawing teacher said “Step back step back, you’re suppose to be drawing, not scrubbing!”

Eventually, even with my art teachers warning in my mind, they broke me down, I emerged from uni with no originality remaining. Learning to believe that what you draw, paint, write, create, etc, is any good, takes a long time. It takes hardly any time to undo that. I did very well at uni, I was given very high marks, was offered Honours, and was given an award, but I couldn’t wait for it to end. It did damage that has taken me years to rebuild, but my school teachers’ advice is still with me, and his faith in me is what’s helping to guide me back.

Lots of lessons there:
Be true to yourself. Don’t let people make you believe you’re wrong. Have faith. Don’t give up.

Take what you will.

simple

My Illustration Friday attempt for "simple".

'Simple' had me stumped, then after a few days the ideas came flooding, unfortunately I didn't have any time to put any of them on paper. "A likely excuse" I hear you tutt. Honestly I just didn't have time. Anyway what you see here is part of my simple but sweet valentines card to Mr You. The card wished him a 'Happy Valentines Danish' and was accompanied by a yummy apricot danish.

What did I tell you? Simple but sweet.

(Well, it was a tart really, the danish's didn't look as nice, but I couldn't very well wish him a 'Hapy Valentines Tart' could I? God only knows what trouble that could have brought).

P.S. Mr You got me a cool chair cushion to bring me comfort during my extended bouts of sitting at the sewing machine. It has tassels, and everyone knows how I love tassels.

the edge

Okay, for those of you I haven’t bored to death yet, here’s what’s going on. Monday I marched into work to quit, my boss jumped into action, asked me not to leave, offered all sorts of change and big pay rise and 6 months of backpay and holidays and gave me loads of good feedback etc, etc, etc. Pulled out ALL the stops basically; in a genuine way.
I told him I’d think about it.

Today we spoke again and I told him I’d stay until later in the year. He was so please he hugged me. (Whenever I speak about him here it’s the bad stuff, but he really is a sincere guy with good intentions and is generally a really good boss). I know it may sound like I’ve backed out, and in a way maybe I did, but believe me I thought it through and I’m feeling good about it. (I bought myself a great dress to celebrate).

Love Squalor left me a great comment with a couple of inspiring quotes:
“Come to the edge,” he said.
They said, “We are afraid.”
“Come to the edge,” he said.
They came. He pushed them…& they flew.

I’ve learnt in this last year, that it’s not always easy to identify what it is that we fear. Marching into work with the intention of quitting seemed to me at the time my way of facing my fears about finding a new job. What I discovered on my march is that I was trying to take the easy way out; just leave, not deal with what was making me unhappy, just forget all about it and move on. What I was really afraid of was asking for what I wanted, and saying how I felt. Why do I find that so scary? I do this over and over again in all areas of my life. I never tell people what I’m feeling or ask for things I need or want. Then I get enraged when I can’t make everything happen myself and feel so misunderstood. It all sounds silly when you say it out loud, but for some reason (actually many reasons) I find it to be one of the most difficult things in life.

Something happened on Monday. After waiting all day, I finally built enough courage to tell my boss I needed to talk to him in private. Just asking him that was enough to get me over the hurdle, then I was on a roll, all downhill and easy. It all came out, I told him everything I had secretly wanted to say, and he was attentive and understanding and responded to each one of my concerns and more.

I remembered that I’m not living under my boss’s rule, it’s my life and I have choices and options in all areas. (Did I mention I bought a great dress to celebrate?!)

Sorry to get all ‘Dr Phill’, I needed to respond. I think now I’ll be far less grumpy and get back to being chatty again… I have a new dress and a holiday to look forward to!
Thanks for listening.

rollercoaster of a post

LOOK! I came home on Thursday night to find a gift from Mr You; a cork board above my desk. I've wanted one for ages, how lucky am I? (and not just for getting a cork board).

It was a wonderful surprise and really helped to cheer me up. I'm really down at the moment, contemplating what to do about my job. I've asked all my friends this week about what I should do. Should I talk to my boss and explain why I'm so unhappy and stick it out, hoping it'll improve, or should I just leave all together? I THINK I've come to the decision to leave. The dilemma now is should I be sensible and wait until I have another job lined up before I quit, or should I just quit and then try to find work? It's all so hard, and hard to make decisions when I'm feeling so upset and emotional about it all. So hard to feel positive about being able to find another job when I'm feeling so down and burnt by the whole damn thing.

The nice thing is that we've been surrounded by friends this weekend. We were given an old BBQ and a gas bottle on Friday and have been outdoor entertaining ever since. Everyone loves a back-yard barby.

Unfortunately the weekend is over and tomorrow I have to go back to work.

musical chairs

Do you remember that game you used to play at birthday parties as a kid, musical chairs? There'd be a group of kids and a group of chairs, and there was always one less chair than there were kids. As the music played you would all have to dance around and around the chairs, then when the music stopped everyone had to scramble to sit on one of the chairs. There was always one kid left standing, chairless, they were "out". I'm afraid to say that I too am chairless for this weeks Illustration Friday. I'm out.

Well it's not that bad, I just turned the attention of my little free time to sewing this week instead of drawing. In another one of my ill fated grand plans, I have started a handbag production line in my loungeroom. You have no idea how many production lines of one sort or another I start and never do anything with. The grand eBay cushion plan failed to meet my expectations, my Christmas decorations that didn't make it to their new owners in time to see Christmas, and Fimo that is still unwrapped in its packs, just to name a few.
So now I've turned to bags. I'd say stay tuned, but who the hell knows!

(Sorry. I'm grumpy tonight. I'm overworked, underpaid, and I've been sick. grumble grumble grumble...)

what to do on a beautiful sunny afternoon

Minus 5 is a bar in Sydney that is minus 5 degrees inside and is made entirely of ice. A complete gimmick, and considering we came in out of a hot sunny Summer afternoon it was quite the novelty. We were clad in regulation Eskimo style get-up, complete with ugg boots, 2 layers of gloves (which proved tricky to wield a camera), and a giant fluffy hooded coat. We all looked so cute, if I do say so myself. I was thrilled to be in a Sydney bar without feeling like a cheap try-hard, (never able to be as glam as those real women out there in those fancy shoes and slinky dresses). It’s my kind of place where you can wear sensible comfy woolly lined slippers.

Elle and Kilkenny have been living in Dublin for the past 2 years, so they know the cold. Mica and Dale have been in Belgium in Winter, so they know the cold. Mr You and I have never been anywhere really cold, so I was worried that we might die, but it actually wasn’t too bad. Mr You was thrilled to be living out a Star Wars Planet Hoth fantasy, and I went nuts attempting to take squillions of photos before the camera battery froze.

A little bit amazing with everything made of ice; walls, bar, seats, decorations and even the glasses you drink from. We got vodka cocktails in the ice goblets which didn’t freeze due to the high concentration of alcohol, but Mr You’s juice on the other hand, proved a challenge. Also a little bit tacky though, with ice sculptures of a koala, opera house, harbour bridge, etc. Oh, AND the creepy Bambi-skins on the seats!

If we go again I’ll make sure it is dark first. It was a bit weird being there during daylight, sun pouring through the windows onto the ice furniture. With people walking by outside in sandals and singlets, no doubt seeing us through the window and thinking we were North Alaskan tourists too afraid of the sunlight to leave the hotel room.

More photo’s on my flickr, or others from around the world.

glamour

My Illustration Friday attempt for "glamour".

Glamour to me seems forever unattainable. As soon as I think I've got the gist of what it entails, something changes, there's something else on the market, and I'm always left behind. Giant eyelashes that reach the sky, perfect flawless skin, shiny full pouty lips, and clothes I can't afford.
Those I-refuse-to-admit-I'm-over-40-pop-star-glamour-pusses can have their botox and silicone implants.

Aging with style, grace and dignity rates far more highly in my eyes. (For now anyway, give me a couple of months I may change my mind... I do turn 30 this year you know!).