Thy Fearful Symmetry

I have been interested for some time in substituting printed cookie tin metal and other metal scrap for the silver sheet metal I once used -- the imagery can be wonderful and can stand as enameling might, rather heraldic.  So here's my first piece using a cookie tin, old leather bookbinding, antique school book pages, cobbler's linen, iron binding wire, rebar tie wire, an ormolu escutcheon, old Chinese coin, and a glass inlaid shirt button, which all came together under the tutelage of the artist I call Maestro, Keith ("No Glue") LoBue, and what-ho, no glue (or soldering) in this piece.  That day of lessons from Maestro was a real turning point for me, or more like the cairn you place when your trail makes a big turn headed to another mountain entirely.  The cookie tin was illustrated with knockoff imagery from Le Douanier, Henri Rousseau, who was thought to be a primitive in his day, but as so many "primitives" prove to be, was actually a visionary, and its title, of course, refers to the famous Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright, although in this case El Tigre is actually a jaguar, but you can see how Le Douannier understood the thing we project upon this magnificant wild animal.  This piece takes a bit of the form of a hand mirror, as though you saw El Tigre when you held a mirror to your face.  Wild Thing, you make my heart sing!  Can you dig it?

You make everything 

Grrrrrrrrr

oooooooo

vvvvvy

Wild Thing

I think I  love you ...

On Bourbon Street

I visited New Orleans long before Katrina, and the views of shabby facades in the Quarter with hints of secret elegance stay with me even now.  Here's a pendant that evokes those memories, of very humble parts that add up to a lovely, louche, mysterious whole, a tribute to N'Orlins, the Big Easy where an artist can practice and share, live and love.  Long may we have her as our sweet refuge.  Let's keep those Saints marching in.

Whiskey (Bourbon, of course)
bottle cap with lens, cigar box
label, wire, cracked crystal bead

On the back, a fragment of a poem

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?