A pony without a mane is not really a pony.
One thing I learned last month, was that horsey-things are hard. My multi-talented blog friend Meliors, of Bibliophilia asked me, very nicely, to recreate a little pony she had dancing about in her dreams. I thought it would be a challenge, but I had no idea...in the end, this poor little chap had more surgery than an aging Hollywood actress - bits sliced off, and added and removed and so on and so forth, until I finally got the proportions right. But the mane was to be my Nemesis. I looked at as many methods online and in books as possible, but they all involved sewing. I knew there had to be another way.
So I started off with an extravaganza of pins and needles...
Finding my latest tool, a wooden hand gripper very useful.
It started to get complicated...
...and developed a distinctly tribal feel. Kind of Zulu princess.
I decided that weaving was the answer and after about 6 hours of fiddling about, unfiddling, and fiddling some more, I had woven a little rug down the nape of his neck. I forgot to photo the finished result - suffice to say that I wasn't sure about it, and even less sure when Andy looked askance at my efforts. I went to bed on it.
I woke the next morning knowing that I had gone about it in completely the wrong way and a clear idea of how it should have been done. I dismantled the previous day's muddlings and cut an ugly, but useful gash into the little fellow.
I did try looping the cords round a piece of card, just to keep them regular, but that didn't work, so I returned to my method of pinning and hooking. This time I poked the threads down into the neck and laid big stitching over to hold them down firmly. It worked - to my relief. Bald horses look bizarre. After that it was just a matter of felting it all back together and giving 'Winnie' a good tidy up. Meliors was pleased with the results and he is now on his way to sunnier climes.
January - a month I normally love - was really odd and not very settling, clearing out deadwood and old ghosts, getting on with things which needed doing and generally decluttering my head.
A couple of irons I placed in the fire last year are looking very promising. My little animals are taking off in a way I always dreamed my illustration would, when I graduated in 1993, naively thinking that having put in six years of art and design study, I would miraculously start getting work. It happens for some people, but not for me. It has taken fifteen years of tilting at the Children's Publishing windmill to realise that, for whatever reason, it isn't for me. Or rather, I am not for it; I am tired of being told my work is too 'melancholy', too 'sad', 'not right' - or even worse - 'it's beautiful, but not suitable for children...'
The unexpected miracle of seeing my creations enchant people worldwide has encouraged me to show them to people who can take them even further, with exciting results - and all this, in less than a year since I picked up a felting needle. When fate pushes you so strongly, it's best to go with it. And I'm having more pleasure making little things than painting ever gave me. I'm not giving up illustrating - I've just given up breaking my heart over it.
Looking forward to an approaching time when all the loose threads will be swept away.
One thing I learned last month, was that horsey-things are hard. My multi-talented blog friend Meliors, of Bibliophilia asked me, very nicely, to recreate a little pony she had dancing about in her dreams. I thought it would be a challenge, but I had no idea...in the end, this poor little chap had more surgery than an aging Hollywood actress - bits sliced off, and added and removed and so on and so forth, until I finally got the proportions right. But the mane was to be my Nemesis. I looked at as many methods online and in books as possible, but they all involved sewing. I knew there had to be another way. 
So I started off with an extravaganza of pins and needles...
Finding my latest tool, a wooden hand gripper very useful.
It started to get complicated...
...and developed a distinctly tribal feel. Kind of Zulu princess.
I decided that weaving was the answer and after about 6 hours of fiddling about, unfiddling, and fiddling some more, I had woven a little rug down the nape of his neck. I forgot to photo the finished result - suffice to say that I wasn't sure about it, and even less sure when Andy looked askance at my efforts. I went to bed on it.
I woke the next morning knowing that I had gone about it in completely the wrong way and a clear idea of how it should have been done. I dismantled the previous day's muddlings and cut an ugly, but useful gash into the little fellow.
I did try looping the cords round a piece of card, just to keep them regular, but that didn't work, so I returned to my method of pinning and hooking. This time I poked the threads down into the neck and laid big stitching over to hold them down firmly. It worked - to my relief. Bald horses look bizarre. After that it was just a matter of felting it all back together and giving 'Winnie' a good tidy up. Meliors was pleased with the results and he is now on his way to sunnier climes.
January - a month I normally love - was really odd and not very settling, clearing out deadwood and old ghosts, getting on with things which needed doing and generally decluttering my head.
A couple of irons I placed in the fire last year are looking very promising. My little animals are taking off in a way I always dreamed my illustration would, when I graduated in 1993, naively thinking that having put in six years of art and design study, I would miraculously start getting work. It happens for some people, but not for me. It has taken fifteen years of tilting at the Children's Publishing windmill to realise that, for whatever reason, it isn't for me. Or rather, I am not for it; I am tired of being told my work is too 'melancholy', too 'sad', 'not right' - or even worse - 'it's beautiful, but not suitable for children...'
The unexpected miracle of seeing my creations enchant people worldwide has encouraged me to show them to people who can take them even further, with exciting results - and all this, in less than a year since I picked up a felting needle. When fate pushes you so strongly, it's best to go with it. And I'm having more pleasure making little things than painting ever gave me. I'm not giving up illustrating - I've just given up breaking my heart over it.
Looking forward to an approaching time when all the loose threads will be swept away.
