It's the "ssssss" on the envelope flap that elevates me from "cool girlfriend" to "awesome girlfriend."
Showing posts with label dekoupage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dekoupage. Show all posts
Monday, January 6, 2014
God Rest Ye Merry 5th Graders
It's the "ssssss" on the envelope flap that elevates me from "cool girlfriend" to "awesome girlfriend."
Monday, September 10, 2012
My First Craft Fair
I did manage to get 61 Lucky Cats made in time for the Have a Heart Bazaar. My awesome planning and production skills did not account for my packing materials, so only 50 little cats and 4 paired cats (two cats on a bigger canvas) actually made it to the show.
When packing up, I remembered the advice on Craftster that having too much stock of too much variety could confuse and confound potential customers. As I looked through my already made items, I decided that I had no idea what people might actually be interested in, so I might as well bring some lightweight items and put price tags on them.
I bought acrylic frames for my brand sign and a sign for the Lucky Cats. I had wire shelves so the Lucky Cats sign and my framed cross stitch could sit a bit higher. I didn't bring my camera since I didn't want to have to worry about that, but my set up looked great. Lucky Cats in little protective sleeves (with a Jupiter Star Power label on the back) lined up on one side of the table, crochet and cross stitch items on the other, and a sign up sheet for custom items in the middle with my Jupiter Star Power sign.
Unfortunately, I was placed in the middle of resellers. "Bazaar means glorified yard sale," I texted my sister.
"Yard sale?" Kristen texted back. "Damn, there's all kinds of crap you could have sold." I don't think she realized that even if it was junk from our grandparents' house, I couldn't just leave it in my parking spaces at the end of the day.
My two spaces were also in the middle of the sun. Sitting down, the sun was directly in my eyes. It wasn't much better standing. Along with the true meaning of the word bazaar, I also learned that canopies weren't optional.
Yes, I knew I was going to a parking lot in Virginia in early September. Yes, I knew smart people used canopies. I also knew I could not afford to invest in a canopy for my first craft show. I could always put my leftover minicards in sold Etsy orders and my acrylic sign frames were 60% off at A.C. Moore (since I was smart enough to recognize that Staples' pricey professional sign frames were really cheap craft store frames). The rest of my set up was borrowed from my parents, and I might not have signed up at all if we hadn't had a folding table in the attic. The chairs were on loan from Amy, my accountant and legal intern. I don't actually know how much a canopy would cost, but I assume it's too much for someone dipping their toes in the land of craft fairs. Also, once the wind started to really kick up, it probably would've blown away.
I didn't account for the wind. I taped my sign up sheet down and gradually started taping down the little cross stitch pieces, but I don't know how we could have secured the increasingly cracked and chipped acrylic Lucky Cats sign. By the fifth or sixth time it blew over, I was ready to throw it as hard as I could and swear loudly.
There were never very many people. Several people walking by slowed down to look at the cats and say, "How cute!" or pick them up and look at the backs, but my explanation of the prices seemed to scare them away. Two different Baptist churches came to scout for their craft fairs. After giving me a flier, a large woman picked up one of the hats and fondled it while repeating how cute it was. She ran her hands around the inside and tugged on it and put it back down before walking on to the next booth. A well dressed woman from a different church took one of my cards and handed me a flier.
Julia came to visit. She picked up one of the hats and immediately wanted one, "in my size. Dark red. Not bright red." She tapped the frame of the Super Mushroom cross stitch. "Not this." I asked her to write it down on the custom order sign up sheet (earlier in the day I'd considered adding Marcela's rainbow scarf like putting a few coins in a donation jar to get people started). We talked yarn choices. We mostly talked about her new job and my now less new job.
A woman came through with two elderly women--Miss Maxine and an unnamed woman with a cane. The younger of the three--though older than me--was either a nurse or a devoted family member. Nurse or Devoted Relative looked at the cats and told one of her charges that she would like those. Then they kept going to their real destination: the reseller next to me.
"These are the shoes I like," said Miss Maxine.
"What's your shoe size?" Nurse or Devoted Relative asked in the tone used for the mentally incompetent or the presumed mentally incompetent. Miss Maxine was already taking off one of her own shoes and sliding her foot into one of the pink shoes. She had enough balance to pull this off, but not enough to use her hands to help her try it on.
"You're an 8 and a half," said Nurse or Devoted Relative. Miss Maxine had already moved her foot back and forth. The shoe fit. "How much?" asked Nurse or Devoted Relative.
"$3," said one of the people running the table.
"How about two?" asked Nurse or Devoted Relative.
The vendor paused. I could practically hear her weighing her options. Not many people had come through. It was already after 10, and no one in our corner of the lot had been selling well. Her hesitation and her expression screamed that she wanted $3, but she was afraid that would mean the shoes wouldn't sell at all. "Okay," she said.
Miss Maxine got her shoes in a plastic grocery bag. She walked slowly off, holding the bag behind her back.
A woman with younger children had come up to look with the shoes while Nurse or Devoted Relative was bargaining on Miss Maxine's behalf. Young Mom picked up a pink high heel while her children ran around the parking lot shrieking and grabbing toys from a currently unguarded table. "How much?"
"$2." I wondered if this was because the woman had clearly heard Nurse or Devoted Relative's haggling.
"Would you take one?"
I stopped listening to turn to Amy and start judging. We'd both been fervently eavesdropping since it was yet another slow time at Jupiter Star Power's temporary West End location. We agreed that there was something petty and mean about haggling over a pair of $2 used shoes. You either want it or you don't was my philosophy. I find used shoes in my size so rarely that analyzing how I would behave in this situation was akin to deciding that I would never unethically use the ability to turn invisible.
"Yard sale people," Amy said. "Even my dad wouldn't do that."
My signs and my price tags and my smiling face as I explained prices probably told people I was not willing to dicker. Or maybe it was my scowl from squinting into the sun or my willingness to reapply sunscreen while sitting behind my table.
It never came up, but I don't think I would have been willing to accept an offer of a lower price. As always, I'd calculated the cost of supplies and the time I'd put it. I named prices to myself and decided if they sounded right. I'd priced some things that morning, holding up an item and telling Amy a number. She'd either say yes or tell me to go higher, and I that's what I wrote on the tag or sticker. Even as the hours passed by and Kristen texted, "Sold anything?" I never felt that desperation to sell something at any price. By 8:30 that morning I'd accepted that I might be out my table cost. I didn't consider the loss of my supplies or marketing stuff to be a loss; I had it for next time, and I'd just take it with me when I left.
Around noon I noticed condensation inside some of my Lucky Cat packages. The ones with black backgrounds were getting hot enough to sweat. I quickly packed them up and hoped their coats of clear sealant would protect them. I wondered if it was time to consider packing up and leaving.
Across from my table was a couple selling fake flowers arranged in vases and other containers. It--like the beaded holiday decorations further down--was the sort of thing I might have considered browsing if we weren't trying so desperately to get rid of all the knick knacks and other junk in my grandparents' house.
The wind started to blow again. Amy and I took up our positions, rising from our chairs to hover over the table in case we needed to grab Kindle kozies before they blew away (the loose cross stitch pieces in plastic sleeves had already been taped to the table). Across from us, one of the flower arrangements fell. The vase shattered as soon as it hit the asphalt. Sympathetic sounds came from all the surrounding vendors.
I looked at my cell phone--12:48. I looked at the beads of moisture starting to form inside more of my bags. I saw the couple across from me starting to box up their surviving items, and I saw a lack of shoppers.
"Let's pack it up," I said.
I took the untouched cash box and my bag of supplies back to the car. I drove it to the nearest possible space while Amy packed up the chairs. We carried the unsold merchandise and the bundled chairs to the trunk before going back for the table.
Among the bazaar's failings were a parking lot that was too narrow. I slowly, carefully backed out my father's Honda Accord with greater difficulty than I expected. I was used to accommodating for his larger car when I drove it, but I think I still would have struggled if I'd been driving my Civic (assuming I could have actually fit both Amy and the table in my car).
Once I'd managed to get the car out and turned around, we faced the typical Richmond driver. One person was waiting to pull in, possibly oblivious to the pick up truck struggling to back out. The truck inched back, stopped, inched forward again, inched back.
"You can't drive!" Amy told them.
"Jump the curb," I said as if they could actually hear me. "You're in a truck!"
We eventually escaped. We complained about Richmond drivers and the typical yard sale crowd. "That was like my own private 'Araby,'" I said as we drove down Gaskins. I recognized Amy's silence. "'Araby'? From The Dubliners?"
"Uh..."
"There's this boy. Like, 10, 11 years old. And he's in love with this older girl. So he wants to go to this bazaar called Araby so he can buy her a present because he thinks that'll make her fall in love with him. And he thinks it's going to be amazing and exotic--because of the name--but then he gets there, and it's just cheap, tacky shit."
"Yeah."
I couldn't tell if Amy considered this to be an apt literary metaphor or if she was questioning the life choices that had led her to associate with someone who unironically used the phrase "apt literary metaphor."
I dropped her off. She invited me in. I carried one of the chairs to her garage and realized I was too hot and tired and smelled too bad to interact with anyone. I was going to go home and do nothing for the rest of the day. She was going to go to a party in Fredericksburg. I was invited. I'd probably have fun.
Standing in the dim garage, I saw myself as a creature spending the rest of the day in my bathrobe.
When packing up, I remembered the advice on Craftster that having too much stock of too much variety could confuse and confound potential customers. As I looked through my already made items, I decided that I had no idea what people might actually be interested in, so I might as well bring some lightweight items and put price tags on them.
I bought acrylic frames for my brand sign and a sign for the Lucky Cats. I had wire shelves so the Lucky Cats sign and my framed cross stitch could sit a bit higher. I didn't bring my camera since I didn't want to have to worry about that, but my set up looked great. Lucky Cats in little protective sleeves (with a Jupiter Star Power label on the back) lined up on one side of the table, crochet and cross stitch items on the other, and a sign up sheet for custom items in the middle with my Jupiter Star Power sign.
Unfortunately, I was placed in the middle of resellers. "Bazaar means glorified yard sale," I texted my sister.
"Yard sale?" Kristen texted back. "Damn, there's all kinds of crap you could have sold." I don't think she realized that even if it was junk from our grandparents' house, I couldn't just leave it in my parking spaces at the end of the day.
My two spaces were also in the middle of the sun. Sitting down, the sun was directly in my eyes. It wasn't much better standing. Along with the true meaning of the word bazaar, I also learned that canopies weren't optional.
Yes, I knew I was going to a parking lot in Virginia in early September. Yes, I knew smart people used canopies. I also knew I could not afford to invest in a canopy for my first craft show. I could always put my leftover minicards in sold Etsy orders and my acrylic sign frames were 60% off at A.C. Moore (since I was smart enough to recognize that Staples' pricey professional sign frames were really cheap craft store frames). The rest of my set up was borrowed from my parents, and I might not have signed up at all if we hadn't had a folding table in the attic. The chairs were on loan from Amy, my accountant and legal intern. I don't actually know how much a canopy would cost, but I assume it's too much for someone dipping their toes in the land of craft fairs. Also, once the wind started to really kick up, it probably would've blown away.
I didn't account for the wind. I taped my sign up sheet down and gradually started taping down the little cross stitch pieces, but I don't know how we could have secured the increasingly cracked and chipped acrylic Lucky Cats sign. By the fifth or sixth time it blew over, I was ready to throw it as hard as I could and swear loudly.
There were never very many people. Several people walking by slowed down to look at the cats and say, "How cute!" or pick them up and look at the backs, but my explanation of the prices seemed to scare them away. Two different Baptist churches came to scout for their craft fairs. After giving me a flier, a large woman picked up one of the hats and fondled it while repeating how cute it was. She ran her hands around the inside and tugged on it and put it back down before walking on to the next booth. A well dressed woman from a different church took one of my cards and handed me a flier.
Julia came to visit. She picked up one of the hats and immediately wanted one, "in my size. Dark red. Not bright red." She tapped the frame of the Super Mushroom cross stitch. "Not this." I asked her to write it down on the custom order sign up sheet (earlier in the day I'd considered adding Marcela's rainbow scarf like putting a few coins in a donation jar to get people started). We talked yarn choices. We mostly talked about her new job and my now less new job.
A woman came through with two elderly women--Miss Maxine and an unnamed woman with a cane. The younger of the three--though older than me--was either a nurse or a devoted family member. Nurse or Devoted Relative looked at the cats and told one of her charges that she would like those. Then they kept going to their real destination: the reseller next to me.
"These are the shoes I like," said Miss Maxine.
"What's your shoe size?" Nurse or Devoted Relative asked in the tone used for the mentally incompetent or the presumed mentally incompetent. Miss Maxine was already taking off one of her own shoes and sliding her foot into one of the pink shoes. She had enough balance to pull this off, but not enough to use her hands to help her try it on.
"You're an 8 and a half," said Nurse or Devoted Relative. Miss Maxine had already moved her foot back and forth. The shoe fit. "How much?" asked Nurse or Devoted Relative.
"$3," said one of the people running the table.
"How about two?" asked Nurse or Devoted Relative.
The vendor paused. I could practically hear her weighing her options. Not many people had come through. It was already after 10, and no one in our corner of the lot had been selling well. Her hesitation and her expression screamed that she wanted $3, but she was afraid that would mean the shoes wouldn't sell at all. "Okay," she said.
Miss Maxine got her shoes in a plastic grocery bag. She walked slowly off, holding the bag behind her back.
A woman with younger children had come up to look with the shoes while Nurse or Devoted Relative was bargaining on Miss Maxine's behalf. Young Mom picked up a pink high heel while her children ran around the parking lot shrieking and grabbing toys from a currently unguarded table. "How much?"
"$2." I wondered if this was because the woman had clearly heard Nurse or Devoted Relative's haggling.
"Would you take one?"
I stopped listening to turn to Amy and start judging. We'd both been fervently eavesdropping since it was yet another slow time at Jupiter Star Power's temporary West End location. We agreed that there was something petty and mean about haggling over a pair of $2 used shoes. You either want it or you don't was my philosophy. I find used shoes in my size so rarely that analyzing how I would behave in this situation was akin to deciding that I would never unethically use the ability to turn invisible.
"Yard sale people," Amy said. "Even my dad wouldn't do that."
My signs and my price tags and my smiling face as I explained prices probably told people I was not willing to dicker. Or maybe it was my scowl from squinting into the sun or my willingness to reapply sunscreen while sitting behind my table.
It never came up, but I don't think I would have been willing to accept an offer of a lower price. As always, I'd calculated the cost of supplies and the time I'd put it. I named prices to myself and decided if they sounded right. I'd priced some things that morning, holding up an item and telling Amy a number. She'd either say yes or tell me to go higher, and I that's what I wrote on the tag or sticker. Even as the hours passed by and Kristen texted, "Sold anything?" I never felt that desperation to sell something at any price. By 8:30 that morning I'd accepted that I might be out my table cost. I didn't consider the loss of my supplies or marketing stuff to be a loss; I had it for next time, and I'd just take it with me when I left.
Around noon I noticed condensation inside some of my Lucky Cat packages. The ones with black backgrounds were getting hot enough to sweat. I quickly packed them up and hoped their coats of clear sealant would protect them. I wondered if it was time to consider packing up and leaving.
Across from my table was a couple selling fake flowers arranged in vases and other containers. It--like the beaded holiday decorations further down--was the sort of thing I might have considered browsing if we weren't trying so desperately to get rid of all the knick knacks and other junk in my grandparents' house.
The wind started to blow again. Amy and I took up our positions, rising from our chairs to hover over the table in case we needed to grab Kindle kozies before they blew away (the loose cross stitch pieces in plastic sleeves had already been taped to the table). Across from us, one of the flower arrangements fell. The vase shattered as soon as it hit the asphalt. Sympathetic sounds came from all the surrounding vendors.
I looked at my cell phone--12:48. I looked at the beads of moisture starting to form inside more of my bags. I saw the couple across from me starting to box up their surviving items, and I saw a lack of shoppers.
"Let's pack it up," I said.
I took the untouched cash box and my bag of supplies back to the car. I drove it to the nearest possible space while Amy packed up the chairs. We carried the unsold merchandise and the bundled chairs to the trunk before going back for the table.
Among the bazaar's failings were a parking lot that was too narrow. I slowly, carefully backed out my father's Honda Accord with greater difficulty than I expected. I was used to accommodating for his larger car when I drove it, but I think I still would have struggled if I'd been driving my Civic (assuming I could have actually fit both Amy and the table in my car).
Once I'd managed to get the car out and turned around, we faced the typical Richmond driver. One person was waiting to pull in, possibly oblivious to the pick up truck struggling to back out. The truck inched back, stopped, inched forward again, inched back.
"You can't drive!" Amy told them.
"Jump the curb," I said as if they could actually hear me. "You're in a truck!"
We eventually escaped. We complained about Richmond drivers and the typical yard sale crowd. "That was like my own private 'Araby,'" I said as we drove down Gaskins. I recognized Amy's silence. "'Araby'? From The Dubliners?"
"Uh..."
"There's this boy. Like, 10, 11 years old. And he's in love with this older girl. So he wants to go to this bazaar called Araby so he can buy her a present because he thinks that'll make her fall in love with him. And he thinks it's going to be amazing and exotic--because of the name--but then he gets there, and it's just cheap, tacky shit."
"Yeah."
I couldn't tell if Amy considered this to be an apt literary metaphor or if she was questioning the life choices that had led her to associate with someone who unironically used the phrase "apt literary metaphor."
I dropped her off. She invited me in. I carried one of the chairs to her garage and realized I was too hot and tired and smelled too bad to interact with anyone. I was going to go home and do nothing for the rest of the day. She was going to go to a party in Fredericksburg. I was invited. I'd probably have fun.
Standing in the dim garage, I saw myself as a creature spending the rest of the day in my bathrobe.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Have a Heart Bazaar
This weekend you can live your dream of experiencing Jupiter Star Power LIVE by visiting me at the Have a Heart Bazaar from 8-1 this Saturday (9/8). Assuming it doesn't rain, I'll be in the parking lot of Costen Floors with high quality handmade items!
The table will be a charming reproduction of the Jupiter Star Power experience as it does not involve a couch, my cat sleeping on craft supplies, or the shameful reality television that powers my muse.
There will be a small selection of official Kate Kindle Kozies and Kate Kindle Kozy Jr (sometimes I want to use up yarn but don't have enough for a full Kindle Kozy) and a whole litter of Lucky Cats. They bring you good luck without having to maim a rabbit!
The table will be a charming reproduction of the Jupiter Star Power experience as it does not involve a couch, my cat sleeping on craft supplies, or the shameful reality television that powers my muse.
I still need to put the finishing touches on some kozies, make the rest of the Lucky Cats, and finish tagging and bagging. Oh, and go to work like an adult with a real job.
I considered getting nice(ish) bags, decorating them, and charging a little bit extra for a bag, but I couldn't think of an amount that would cover costs and time without just pissing people off. So, I found brown paper lunch bags. You have no idea how tempted I am to decorate them and pretend they're collectibles. I should probably be stopped before I start writing "#/50" on them. They are reusable lunch bags though--after you take your fine merchandise home, you can put food in the bag! Or children's party favors! SKY'S THE LIMIT!
Yeah, the Kindle Kozy Kollection is looking a bit sparse, but I didn't allow myself enough time for any serious mass crocheting. I'll probably bring some of the cross stitch pieces that haven't sold on Etsy. Maybe it'll give my table that rummage sale look that terrifies and befuddles potential customers, but who knows what somebody might want to buy?
Monday, August 20, 2012
Canvassing
According to the internet, you can use sharpies on canvases, and you can decoupage things to them. As these are both skills vaguely within my reach, I was ready to do some art.
I think this tissue paper came from Michael's since the purplish shade was used for one of my Xmas reindeer. Every other color is god damned terrible. If paper could feel feelings, I would bully the hell out of this tissue paper. That other color on the vase/luminary used to be green. Now it mocks me.
I think this tissue paper came from Michael's since the purplish shade was used for one of my Xmas reindeer. Every other color is god damned terrible. If paper could feel feelings, I would bully the hell out of this tissue paper. That other color on the vase/luminary used to be green. Now it mocks me.
While I vaguely understand that "gluing to things, then painting with more glue" is not tissue paper's primary raison d'etre, I am an artist now. You can tell because I have canvases and paintbrushes in a variety of sizes. As an artist, everything I do is a statement. For example, buying a pack of cheap paintbrushes marketed to children is a statement of the childlike wonder I bring to painting things.
With the canvases, my original vision was decoupage tissue paper, draw Pikachu. Part of my cunning plan was that the yellow tissue paper would free me from such burdensome concerns as "backgrounds" and "coloring things in."
My vision was updated to "add more tissue paper so it actually looks like a respectable shade of yellow."
One thing I've learned from becoming an artist through buying supplies I don't really understand is that great art takes time. Most of it is waiting for things to dry. While waiting for things to dry, I decided to use my favorite medium to make Kristen an art.
I have no idea why Sharpie is my favorite drawing medium since I kind of suck at drawing and you can't erase Sharpie. I suppose it appeals to my edgy outsiderness and hatred of revision.
For the background, I used what is possibly a sponge brush to apply stamp ink.
This was included with the other housewarming items. There's only one for Kristen because I don't know what animal Steven hates least.
Another part of being an artist is going to work to earn money for craft supplies. While driving back from work stuff, I thought about my sad, impossible dream of submitting to Art-O-Mat (This is similar to my dream of having a Kickstarter fund and making a ludicrous amount of money for something I'd be willing to do anyway). As I considered my artistic range and the possibility of maybe coming up with something that wasn't from Nintendo or comics, I realized that I could use my skill at cutting up paper.
The maneki neko appealed to me as an artist because it's in the public domain and I'm really awesome at drawing stylized cat faces.
How to draw a happy kitty:
Step 1: Draw a cat's head
Step 2: Draw two curved lines
Step 3: Draw a mouth
Step 4: Add whiskers (not pictured)
How to draw a happy kitty:
Step 1: Draw a cat's head
Step 2: Draw two curved lines
Step 3: Draw a mouth
Step 4: Add whiskers (not pictured)
I got some even smaller canvases at Michael's and started working on my lucky cat template. This is the first try on the Maneki Kitten body. It is glorious. I am so terrified of never being able to recreate this that I traced extra heads and bodies on an index card and put them in an envelope.
I'm really happy with how these turned out. Cutting out the pieces is kind of tricky at this size, but the templates are working well. Tracing the template on the back of the origami paper is easier than trying to hold the little piece of index card and cut at the same time.
I've drawn some more bells for the cat on the right (and for future cats). I still need to draw the paws and then cover the rest of the canvas in Mod Podge. It's probably not necessary, but I think it'll look better if the whole thing is glossy (instead of just the paper parts).
As for Pikachu, I think if I try anymore they should be on a painted background. Because then I can just add more paint if I draw a crappy one.
I actually like how this crappy one turned out. It looks like Pikachu as drawn by Jim Davis in 1978.
The other one went to a nice farm where it has lots of room to run around and look like shit.
I need to figure out what to do with the raggedy edges. It probably involves finding someone who can be trusted with sharp crafting knives.
I've drawn some more bells for the cat on the right (and for future cats). I still need to draw the paws and then cover the rest of the canvas in Mod Podge. It's probably not necessary, but I think it'll look better if the whole thing is glossy (instead of just the paper parts).
As for Pikachu, I think if I try anymore they should be on a painted background. Because then I can just add more paint if I draw a crappy one.
The other one went to a nice farm where it has lots of room to run around and look like shit.
I need to figure out what to do with the raggedy edges. It probably involves finding someone who can be trusted with sharp crafting knives.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Negative Self-Talk
Meanwhile, the local craft stores have been a goldmine of items that look interesting enough to make me forget my skill level.
I have discovered mini-canvases! Step 1: Make the internet tell me what kinds of art things you can actually use on a canvas. Paint? Do you need, like, special paint? Can you use Sharpie Brand Permanent Markers because you're a bad ass who doesn't follow establishment rules (and also because they're cheaper than paint and you can use them to label stuff)?
Step 2: Crushing disappointment. My best bet is to find the next big thing that's going to appeal to hipsters but doesn't require a great deal of "artistic ability" or "talent." Possibly some sort of cartoon animal with a mustache...
I also discovered that Mod Podge is now making all kinds of Mod Podge and Mod Podge accessories. I may need to pick up the little flattening roller at some point, and apparently there is some kind of magic spray that will let me print things off the internet and decoupage them (otherwise the ink smears). This would be especially helpful since I hate "upcycling" that involves destroying perfectly good things to make a stupid box, clock, or decorative bird.
For example, these pages were published in the mid 90's. And since everybody in the 90's was convinced that their comics would some day be worth millions, these pages probably came from a book that was in perfectly fine condition. I've got a few issues from the 60's that are fragile, but are still valiantly maintaining book form. Also, tearing pages out of old books that were complete when you got them? Also not upcycling. Yeah, it's not the WORST THING EVER, especially since most of this stuff is slowly and steadily going digital, but it's not upcycling unless it's trash.
I usually avoid jewelry since, like sewing, I am not willing to suffer through the learning period. Just like how I'd love to burn some of my earliest crochet projects which torment me with their ugliness. But I am okay at gluing things onto other things! I think I might flip through a Free Comic Book Day issue, find something that might look good on one of these charms, and not pretend that it's helping the environment. I would use the terrible 90's comics I was giddily destroying to make gift bows, but I assume those are too ugly for anything other than blatantly not upcycling them to make gift bows. (While I may have referred to that project as upcycling in an earlier post, the issue in question probably counts as garbage. Which would make it upcycling.)
Monday, June 11, 2012
One Man's Trash is Another Man's Art Supplies
The purpose of reality television is to make us feel better about ourselves. And by "us", I mean "me" because I know that one of life's great pleasures is drinking while watching Intervention or eating snacks while watching some TLC show about the morbidly obese. Hoarders/Hoarding: Buried Alive is slightly less fun since it reminds me that I have tons of useless crap mixed in with my awesome things, and I cannot watch most of the episodes with animals because those people are monsters.
As a disgusting slattern and filth wizard (7th House, Order of Merlin), I've been keeping two bags of travel memorabilia in a dresser drawer for years. It's all ticket stubs, brochures, and other stuff that either didn't make it into a scrapbook or I never made the scrapbook. But of course I can't throw it away because it's a treasure trove of memories! The bus or metro tickets I don't remember and can't figure out the actual city for! A candy wrapper that I probably didn't eat the candy for! Bags I was given for purchasing other souvenirs!
Since it's not two bags of kittens, this problem can be solved by decoupage. I know I normally recommend solving everything with a hot glue gun, but I also enjoy avoiding burns on my fingertips. The big plan was to take the ugly table I'm getting if I ever trick anyone into giving me a full time job and gluing a bunch of crap from the Continent on it. Since I had no idea how mod podge interacts with 8 year old airplane tickets, I decided to start with one of those woodcrafting blocks.
Success! Also, now I can just get more woodblocks and procrastinate either hauling down my ugly table or attempting to decoupage in the sweltering heat of the attic.
Something else I've learned from this experiment is that I don't think I ever scrapbooked my trip through Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic, and Denmark. I should probably add that to the scrapbook queue and rationalize hoarding more paper scraps until I someday get around to putting together an album for a trip I took ten years ago. Right after I accept that, holy shit, that was ten years ago and stop weeping over my lost youth.
Since I've already made enough scrapbooks for London, that seemed a good subject for the next woodblock.
A quick personality test: you discover a paper crown you've been saving for an amount of time that can't possibly be right because you're not that old. Do you A)wallow in your youth because you have nothing that old, B)throw it away like a sane person, or C)see an opportunity?
Yeah, I'm one of the best arguments you'll see for stifling children's creativity. If I hadn't been encouraged in my mad whims and desire to glue stuff onto other stuff, I would not be saving all kinds of stupid crap "just in case." Except by "just in case" I mean, "I shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it for awhile." The point is that creativity is about unique problem solving. Like not throwing things away because someday you might need to glue them to something.
The Student and Adult travelcards worked out pretty nicely. Good job, Past Me! Well, except for whatever the hell that haircut was supposed to be.
There's a mixing of years, but it was either that or keep hoarding ticket stubs, bags, and out-dated public transport cards for a city I no longer live in. Next step: maybe considering throwing out that Brighton Rock before it acquires sentience.
As a disgusting slattern and filth wizard (7th House, Order of Merlin), I've been keeping two bags of travel memorabilia in a dresser drawer for years. It's all ticket stubs, brochures, and other stuff that either didn't make it into a scrapbook or I never made the scrapbook. But of course I can't throw it away because it's a treasure trove of memories! The bus or metro tickets I don't remember and can't figure out the actual city for! A candy wrapper that I probably didn't eat the candy for! Bags I was given for purchasing other souvenirs!
Since it's not two bags of kittens, this problem can be solved by decoupage. I know I normally recommend solving everything with a hot glue gun, but I also enjoy avoiding burns on my fingertips. The big plan was to take the ugly table I'm getting if I ever trick anyone into giving me a full time job and gluing a bunch of crap from the Continent on it. Since I had no idea how mod podge interacts with 8 year old airplane tickets, I decided to start with one of those woodcrafting blocks.
Something else I've learned from this experiment is that I don't think I ever scrapbooked my trip through Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic, and Denmark. I should probably add that to the scrapbook queue and rationalize hoarding more paper scraps until I someday get around to putting together an album for a trip I took ten years ago. Right after I accept that, holy shit, that was ten years ago and stop weeping over my lost youth.
Since I've already made enough scrapbooks for London, that seemed a good subject for the next woodblock.
A quick personality test: you discover a paper crown you've been saving for an amount of time that can't possibly be right because you're not that old. Do you A)wallow in your youth because you have nothing that old, B)throw it away like a sane person, or C)see an opportunity?
Yeah, I'm one of the best arguments you'll see for stifling children's creativity. If I hadn't been encouraged in my mad whims and desire to glue stuff onto other stuff, I would not be saving all kinds of stupid crap "just in case." Except by "just in case" I mean, "I shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it for awhile." The point is that creativity is about unique problem solving. Like not throwing things away because someday you might need to glue them to something.
There's a mixing of years, but it was either that or keep hoarding ticket stubs, bags, and out-dated public transport cards for a city I no longer live in. Next step: maybe considering throwing out that Brighton Rock before it acquires sentience.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Making Christmas
I started thinking the Grinch had a point the first time I saw a Charlie Brown Christmas tree for sale. You know, the crappy little tree that's probably supposed to remind us that there's more to Christmas than buying a bunch of crap? (I was going to link you to some of these examples, but I figured that might undercut my point.)
So, here's a decoration you can make that will cost about ten bucks and will not send the message, "I fail to grasp the frequently repeated message of a cartoon that has been an important part of my culture for almost half a century."
You will need to have bought some stuff at some point, but mixed messages are an important part of the holiday season. You can make it eco-friendly by using old magazines, comic books, and/or leftover wrapping paper instead of tissue paper.
What You Need:
- Paper mache reindeer
- tissue paper
- stamp and ink pad
- Mod Podge
- Optional: Paint, ribbon, bell
I haven't seen any reindeer at Ben Franklin this year, so mine's from Michaels. Either wait for a sale or use a coupon because there's no way a fake reindeer is worth $9-$20 (I'm not even sure a real one is worth that much). You'll get a better price with a coupon, but they'll probably be on sale for 30% off for awhile.
Other important information: the reindeer at Michaels are covered in gold foil. It sheds all over everything and conflicts with my vision, so I also bought a thing of metallic finish white paint to try to get a better base shade.
DecoArt's Metallic Finish White Pearl is bad, and it should feel bad. Fortunately, some random white paint I found in my house has my back. Now my reindeer has a nice base coat, and I've gotten to inhale twice the paint fumes.
For the decoupage, snowflake stamp on purple tissue paper. I was originally thinking pale blue, but I couldn't find my last set of tissue paper, and I decided to do purple with a blue ribbon (and maybe a bell).
If I've learned anything from stamping tissue paper and gluing it onto a fake reindeer, it's that subtlety gets you nowhere. What seems like an elegant and discreet pattern on a whole piece of tissue paper loses something once you start tearing it into pieces and gluing it on fake livestock. If you're using stamps, aim for something between "well thought out pattern" and "smears of ink."
So, same stamp, same paper, black ink.
If I've learned anything from stamping tissue paper and gluing it onto a fake reindeer, it's that subtlety gets you nowhere. What seems like an elegant and discreet pattern on a whole piece of tissue paper loses something once you start tearing it into pieces and gluing it on fake livestock. If you're using stamps, aim for something between "well thought out pattern" and "smears of ink."So, same stamp, same paper, black ink.
I've posed the semi-finished reindeer for display mostly because I thought you'd enjoy looking at something other than the newspapers strewn across my table. For the face and ears, be prepared to do a lot of tearing and on the spot folding. Once you're past the broad, mostly flat parts, you're going to get glue on your hands.
Sunday I picked up another reindeer and stamp since Michaels was having a sale, and I had a grant from the My Mom Foundation. This one I decided to keep gold, which is changing the texture a bit. I'm also trying to apply the glue and press the paper to it. According to a Michaels project sheet, this is apparently called "the right way." Unlike "painting" the paper on with glue, the right way involves getting your hands covered in glue, scraps of tissue paper, and ink. But at least I didn't buy an overpriced ironic Christmas tree!
Other tips: don't have a cat. Cats are instinctively drawn to sit on any piece of paper you're interested in, so they are not conducive to decoupage. On a more positive note, Stampabilities Cheapest Piece of Crap Ink Pad ink dries quickly so it won't smear when your cat goes to sleep on recently stamped tissue paper!
Work is delayed until the glue dries and the cat sits somewhere else.
Sunday I picked up another reindeer and stamp since Michaels was having a sale, and I had a grant from the My Mom Foundation. This one I decided to keep gold, which is changing the texture a bit. I'm also trying to apply the glue and press the paper to it. According to a Michaels project sheet, this is apparently called "the right way." Unlike "painting" the paper on with glue, the right way involves getting your hands covered in glue, scraps of tissue paper, and ink. But at least I didn't buy an overpriced ironic Christmas tree!
Other tips: don't have a cat. Cats are instinctively drawn to sit on any piece of paper you're interested in, so they are not conducive to decoupage. On a more positive note, Stampabilities Cheapest Piece of Crap Ink Pad ink dries quickly so it won't smear when your cat goes to sleep on recently stamped tissue paper!
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