Poppalina

The Odd One Out

Those who say Sydney is a beautiful city aren't necessarily wrong. They just haven't seen most of it.

Sure there's gorgeous harbour and plenty of serious beauty, I grant you.

But then there's the suburbs.

They stretch on for ever, and they're really ordinary. The western suburbs of Sydney, where I live, contain row upon row, street upon street of variations on this house, the California Bungalow.

Not that it is so awful or anything. It's just that there's so many of them, all built over the first half of the 20th Century, and although they take on the style of each decade, they're all basically the same house.

There are four rooms, with a central hall, and what comes after that basically depends on when the back part was added on.

This one at least gets points for the seahorse balustrade.

Houses of this type are punctuated every so often by one of these monstrosities.

They're apparently what everyone aspires to, God knows why.

You can tell it's what everyone aspires to, because sometimes you see one of the older houses renovated to look like one of the new ones.

 

But walking the dog one day, I came across this.

I'm not entirely sure how to describe it. I just know that it made me laugh, but I also kind of admired it too.

It's so Italian Riviera, with a touch of Versace.

I just had to share it with you.

Poultry Wars

 
 

 

Of course, the ducks did eventually discover the joys of deep water bathing. One of them fell in by accident, decided it was kind of cool, and there was no getting them out after that. They'd sleep in the bath if I let them, because they are Riders at the Gates of Dawn....etc, but sadly, they lack the ninja skills to fight off nasty night predators, so it's into the shed at dusk and no arguing, or I get the broom out.

 

 
 
 
 

When I empty and clean the bath, (which I do, ALL THE TIME, and it's bloody hard work), they'll be back in before I've even filled it, merrily splashing along the bottom and messing it all up again until the water's high enough to exit.

And it makes me wonder why I bother, sometimes.

 

 

 
 

 

Meanwhile, the chooks, whom I love to distraction but suspect have been brought into being for the express purpose of driving me insane, know that the one place that I do not want them is on my CUTTING TABLE, where I am trying to SEW, dammit.

The moment nobody is there to whoosh them off (my long ruler is doing a roaring trade in chook eviction), up they boink, berking victorious war cries and dancing their poo dance. I know for a fact that they're hatching plans for World Domination, starting with the kitchen. They hold secret meetings while pretending to sleep in the shed and I can hear them plotting when I go to lock them in. Along the lines of...blah blah blah, ladder.....blah blah blah bomb.....blah blah blah hostages.

Didn't know I could speak chicken, did you?

Today's manoeuvre involved pitching themselves, kamikaze style, at the kitchen window. This is Wanda's speciality, because she fears neither man nor beast (polar bears included), with Red and Cabiria along for moral support (and possible rape and pillage). She would've succeeded, too, had I not been onto her game and already closed the window. I spotted her later, scratching blueprints for a glass-cutter in the dust with her fingernail...

 

 
 

 

So, the coup failed, but I await their next move with apprehension.

If you don't hear from me for awhile, or if I suddenly start blogging neo-fascist slogans in chickenspeak, take it as read that the lunatics did, finally, take over the asylum.

Then call in the CAT team.

Because, some days?

I can feel even the illusion of control just.... slipping away.

Mosaic Friday

 

Long time since I've done one of these.

Rediscovering Flickr.

Inspiring.

 

 

 

1. fio do norte, 2. cow and calf, 3. decorated seashells, 4. UPcycled Tshirt yarn, 5. paper rose, 6. More poppies, 7. Willow, 7 months 2 days, 8. The beautiful Sevak Sangha idol, 9. craftapalooza button rings, 10. Embroidered clock, 11. 馬上睡過頭, 12. the last of the pretty girly, 13. Sturt Desert Pea, 14. DQS9 hand quilting, 15. Liberty Napkins..., 16. All cleaned up and looking much better!!, 17. Pretty white duck, 18. flower detail, 19. A Mesmerizing Contraption, 20. Merkopuss, 21. scarf and blanket, 22. Untitled, 23. more pincushions, 24. pincushions, 25. The Festival of Quilts 2009

My Mate, Bobby La

 

 

My mate, Bobby La,

Just sold her quilt

for $70,000.

 

 

 

Ofcourse, the buyer totally got a bargain. This is a hand-stitched Quilt to End All Quilts, that took some serious life-blood to make, and I don't doubt for a moment that it will hang in a major museum one day.

Still....

It's an extraordinary, (and, I suspect, unprecedented) price to receive for a craft item in Australia.

Must be some kind of record.

 

 

 

So why aren't the media onto it?

Anyone who has ever been refused exhibition space on the grounds that their work is 'too crafty' (read: not art), should take this sale as a personal triumph of Good over the Forces of Evil.

 

 

 

That said, please, tell everyone you know.

Shout it from the rooftops.

Use your media connections.

Twitter it, Facebook it.

Get your people to ring our people.

Get on the phone and tell your Mum.

If there's one thing crafters know how to do, surely...

It's communicate.

 

 

 

Because this is a victory for all of us.

And if Bobby's quilt isn't in a the Arts Section of a major newspaper by the end of the week....

 

 

 

I'm defriending the lot of you.

 

 

 

Share |

Studio pack up

As I stand in my studio wondering where to start, I curse, for the nth time in the last month, the zero tenure enjoyed by tenants in Australia.

Thanks to a landlord who wants to knock down this house and redevelop, we have to move. I'm self-employed, so the cost to me of no earnings for the next week is added to the truck hire, the disconnection/reconnection fees, the boxes, the mail redirection fees and all the other costs associated with moving house.

But possibly the most overwhelming part of all this is the task facing me: I have to dismantle, pack, move, unpack and re-mantle (?!) my entire studio. For the third time in four years.

I hate to get all complainy on you, but those industrial sewing machines are HEAVY!

Sprung

Real Spring in Melbourne, involving lots of green and blossom and plants on the move, not to mention outrageously beautiful weather, doesn't truly begin until October.

 

 

   

October is when it all happens, and those in Melbourne not wasting their time with football (sorry, but it really does bore me shitless) have been getting hardcore on their vegie gardens.

And duck-wrangling. I should have called these birds Thing 1 and Thing 2, they are so utterly miscreant.

 

Sid and Nancy would have been excellent choices, too.

 

Because, stylistically, ducks lean punkward,

and that's a fact.