Today I had planned to show off the ridiculously ostentatious codpiece I made for a friend recently. Alas, my laptop is away having some much needed TLC (thanks to a very kind friend) and my little netbook just isn’t up to sorting out the photos. It’s fine for writing and general browsing, but photo editing and file organisation is far too awkward to do much of on it.
So, instead, I give you….
Yes. That is a plaster cast of a lightbulb. I had an urge. Something about the fragility of glass, the ‘femmer’ nature of this everyday item we make so much use of, and the contrast of the gritty, rough wall plaster. I have no idea what I’ll do with the result, but I do like it. I could take it places, replace normal lightbulbs with this strange imitation. Really confuse the staff in the lighting section at B&Q.
I’m not sure I could do that though. I do love ephemeral art, the beauty of the moment and all that, but it’s not something I think I could do myself. I like to see the things I’ve made being used, appreciated, admired. Parting with them is hard enough when I know they are going to good homes to be well loved, I don’t know how graffiti artists can bear to leave their work out in the street, at the mercy of strangers.
I’m glad they do it though. There is something very magical about discovering a little bit of beauty when you’re not expecting to.
This tree is in Heaton Park, one of the giants behind the old library. You have to follow a twisty little path to find it, one I can’t remember ever walking on before last week despite the hundreds of hours I’ve spent in that park. It’s a nice retreat from the busy main paths on a hot day, shaded by those towering giants planted when this place was the sprawling garden of Heaton Hall. The strange knotty bulge on the side grabs your attention as you wander past, then you notice that strange, ghostly face peering out. Magic.
I have been doing productive things, as well as musing over grafitti and making useless lightbulbs. I cleared out one of our garden sheds, the smallest one, but no small task. The reward was finding a hoard of lovely old gardening tools buried at the back, in a wardrobe. Who keeps a wardrobe in a shed?? Anyway. These beauties were unfortunately covered in the rust of years of neglect after being put away wet and dirty. Some of them will have to pass on to the scrapheap in the sky, but a fair few of them are too good to throw away.
Cue my perfect Sunday. Sunshine in the garden with a bottle of spiced Crabbies and a pile of tools to bring back to life. I didn’t quite manage to get all of them cleaned up, but a good chunk are ready for my sister to play with. One, though, is coming home with me. In amongst the shovels and spades, this gorgeous, hand forged, carbon steel axe.
She’s dreamy. Curves in all the right places, and a deep grey sheen hiding under all that rust. She is in a bad state though. That rust is thick, and stubborn. She’s got a couple of cracks in her handle too, poor thing. They look fillable, but I’m not sure what to use as a filler on handles. I am looking forward to having more private time with this lady, she deserves it.