The New and Improved Queen of the Goblins' Ball

I felt a little uneasy, and none of the beading seemed to be going very well, was I rushing things?  I think so.  Sometimes you have to rework a piece to get it where you want it to be.

The motto on the old button, which I have learned is a blazer button, says in Latin, "Spes Nostra es Deus."

Queen of the Goblins Ball

Just listed on Etsy for the ghastly grand dame who wants plenty of advance time to prepare her wardrobe -- things are getting a bit autumnal, you know.  This one was lots of fun to put together, with a vintage insignia button, possibly military with a Latin motto around the edges, service pin enamel badges, ethnic beads, and old jewelry parts reclaimed.  The little skull is polymer clay.  And of course, the ever luscious sari silk ribbon that is so wonderfully tatty; this time it's blood red.  Whether you're Rubenesque or wraithlike, the bow at your neck will tailor fit you and may draw attention from your favorite vampire.  Tasty.

Romaine, Lady Monson

Romaine, Lady Monson, nee Stone , was an American heiress, the daughter of General Roy Stone, veteran of the Spanish American War, and one of the grand promenade of American women who married into European titled aristocracy.  On the grand promenade was also the beautiful young woman who became the mother of Winston Churchill.  In a wonderful old book, The American Almanac Year-Book Cyclopaedia and Atlas, there are pages devoted to the portraits and lineages of these young ladies who swept from wealth to nobility and became icons of the romantic yearnings of generations of girls. 

In tribute to Romaine, who was a woman of intelligence as well as beauty, I was inspired to create a high collar necklace with her portrait.  Her face, from the Cyclopaedia, is collaged on a scroll-patterned oval pendant, suspended from a fine antique cut steel and brass button, and a cockaded band of lustrous recycled sari silk of a royal hue, layered with natural brass chain and antique cut glass beads.

I hope it captures something of the sumptuous languor and heedless elegance of the age known as the Belle Epoque.   And heedless it was, a time of unrestricted wealth and spending, soon to end in the shock and travail of World War I.

To learn more of the grand style and fascination of the Edwardian Age, visit The Edwardian Promenade, Evangeline's lovely website that explores it more deeply and is indeed a treat for the eyes and mind

Olympic Mt. Wildflowers

Campanula rotundifolia (Pipers Harebell, Bluebells of Scotland), on a misty ridge between Hurricane Hill and the Elwah Trail, at about 6,000 ft. elevation, nodding on slender stalks weighted with rain.  They do seem as though they could be ringing, but so finely we couldn't hear.

The Nootka Rose, rosa nootkana, nestled amongst fir needles.  If you meet her, do stop to enjoy her fragrance, which is rose squared, just as the wild strawberry is sweeter and more intense, so is the Nootka Rose.

Orthocarpus imbricatus, or "owl's clover" is closely related to the paintbrush family, having a similar 5-fold symmetry, but woody stems.  In the Olympics, it can be found on well drained slopes, growing in loose volcanic soil, in colonies no higher than 6 inches. 

And now the charismatic lilies of the high alpine meadows, erythonium montanum, the Avalanche Lily, which springs up at the edge of the retreating snowfield, and

Erythonium grandiflorum, the glacier lily.  If you confuse them, because they are neighbors and both lilies, remember "avalanche, blanche, glacier, gold."  That should help. 

Dollface

My fave little Moleskine sketchbook (the cahier journal) fits in my purse or backpack, and I like keep one handy for long lines, car rides, sudden genius (quick before the lights go out).  I have started keeping one just for doll faces, to work on facial expressions, the kind that make a character come alive.

Curiosity killed the cat and knowledge brought her back.  Here's the child detective with a bit too much time on her hands.  Summer, you know, preoccupied adults, musty attics.  Finding things you don't really want to find ...

The Fat Faerie (with slight apologies to all you faes out there), who is the enforcer of the The Rules About Sweet Indulgence.  She never sleeps.  She knows where you live. 

The Machiavellian Courtesan.  A Simpering Siren whose whole career is getting exactly what she wants, and lots of it, with as little effort as possible, except for the mentally taxing effort of all that plotting and the relentless search for high born fools.  Ah, her tiny, shell like ears, her twinkling feet, her poisonous embrace ...

Remember Mrs. Danvers, from the film based on Daphne du Maurier's novel, Rebecca?  The veiled insolence, the servant superior to the mistress, the chilly sense of menace?  Yeah, that one.  Imagine a scene where this character almost talks the innocent young thing into dashing herself onto the sea-tossed rocks far below, yes, just a step out the elegant casement, and all your worries will be ended, you know you want to, and a performance that makes this character believable.  Ah, the skittery frisson of shock and helplessness as you find yourself actually considering defenestration ...


The little doll faces sketchbook I hope will help me reach a goal creating grand, maybe histrionic, possibly menacing, believable characters. Those little fantasies you buy into, that willing suspension of disbelief.  What fun!  Simple, harmless little dollies, wouldn't cause a moment's concern, would they?

The Woodland Floor in July -- On the Pacific Crest Trail

My friend Al and I took a break from the sweltering suburbs of Seattle for a hike headed north from Stevens Pass into the forest toward Yodelin Pass on a perfect, blue bird day.  Not a cloud between here and Tokyo.  This is the sort of weather that makes you feel guilty unless you maximize your enjoyment of it -- out here we grab it while we can.  At an elevation of approximately 4,000 feet the late spring snows have only in the past weeks begun to retreat, so along the trail are many small vernal drainages from snow patches that create temporary marshes where the wildflowers spring up, following the moisture.  The elevation is higher here, so that it is earlier in the season than it is below.  Our springtime harbinger, trillium, national flower of Canada, is just now fading, and the higher we go, the fresher the blossoms, as if we are traveling back in seasonal time.  It's a fine thing on a bright summer day to greet the flowers we saw last summer.  Like old friends, dropping by for a summer vacation visit.  So, I took their pictures, as you do to remember your friends and share their bright faces with other friends.

A fading trillium, in sun speckled shadows, very fragrant when fresh and still beautiful in lily symmetry of three by three by three.  She's one of the first blooming flowers of springtime, and at higher elevations, she's still quite showy in early summer.

Marsh marigold, caltha leptosepala.  When you meet this one, you will notice your boots are getting wet; the marsh marigolds pop up in the wettest places, in standing water, right in puddles of melting snow and in places where thaw-gorged streams have overrun their banks.  So you will find yourself picking your way carefully, keeping your boots dry, but also to avoid crushing the beautiful display.

The tight volute of a fern tip unfurls as the growth  expands.  An exciting structure, filled with potential.  Of course, they are also called fiddle heads.  Friends tell me they are delicious if you like to forage for greens. 

The appearance of the columbine, aquilegia formosa, always says "no doubt about summer now."  It used to be our national flower, and the President's aircraft was called "The Columbine," but now an usurper rose has the honors.  This one is oblivious to our small ways and un-self-consciously magnificent; a good way to be.

The one who seems most wondrous, popping up in colonies along the snow's melting edges, Jeffrey's Shooting Star, dodecatheon jeffreyi, with petals so like the plumes of light shed by a falling star.  It's so tempting to have a favorite, and if I did, this one would be right up there with my most beloved.

Just because you're common and bear mediocre fruit, doesn't mean you aren't extraordinary -- here's the salmon berry, rubus spectabilus, that forms great patches of the understorey and produces a fruit most but bears ignore, because it's quite bland.  But do appreciate the magenta blossoms; there's nothing bland about that brilliant color that sparkles everywhere amongst the broad leaves, vines and short thorns.  The bees and bears don't ignore her, so why should you?

It was such a perfect day, I never got around to taking any landscape shots, being too entranced with the closeup world of flowering plants.

Next to come, the native orchids will begin blooming, right now, they're a bit subtle for my camera, when they're hiding in the grasses, disguised as something undistinguished.  That's another day trip, later on this summer.  So, don't you like my friends and don't you wish you knew them, too?

Wall Doll II, Otto in Drag

Second of the series, here.  I took my photo of dear Otto, my antique, loved-to-shabby boy doll, and made a transfer onto cheesecloth, which was then retouched with my handy Prismacolor pencils.

It then became a mask for the "gingerbread man" shaped pillow doll pattern I used for Kolobuk, with a tuft of cobbler's linen for the suggestion of hair.

I then gave him a sun suit of antique feed sack fabric quilting pieces, gentled a bit with more cheese cloth, and a good ol' bone BVD button for his belly.

His arms are desert driftwood, and on his right a page from an 1800s school book, colored in by a long ago child.

In  his left hand a vintage celluloid button dangles, as the suggestion of a summer daisy.

On his feet a pair of recycled baby socks, died and stained with calendula petals

I think he's hanging around for a dish of ice cream, which we must agree is necessary for a truly good summer day.

So, quick before it melts!  Sunshine Boy is on his way to my Etsy store today.

Here's the original portrait of dear Otto, for comparison's sake.

and then --

Here's how the Sunshine Boy brightens up my cluttered studio and complements a sweet nicho by Port Townsend artist, Diane Porter-Brown.