Toy books and glass dogs

Are these not adorable? Beautifully ugly glass bauble dogs; they are a wonderful gift from my extraordinarily talented friend and cartoonist Chichi Parish, one of the wittiest, most delightful people I know. They are from this year's Paperchase range and I think Chichi knew that although I love them, I would never venture into a large town to actually buy my very own. Thank you so much, Chichi - they have been keeping me company this long, wet Friday while I have been treating myself to a browse of my toy making book collection.

I've been picking these up for a couple of years now, but sadly my pattern making has not improved. It's so much easier to pick up a felting needle and stab a wodge of merino into shape. However they are full of useful tips and one in particular is my favourite, as I used to own a copy when I was about seven years old. I was just starting to sew doll's clothes and make things when I found a copy of 'Toys for Your Delight' at a jumble sale and it soon became on of my best loved books. Seen here open with the photo of the extravagantly embroidered felt dragon.


The projects then (and now) were way beyond my meagre talents, but true to form, I always aspired to make the most difficult thing - the dragon. Sadly my first copy was *disposed* of, along with most of my other books and treasures, by people who were supposed to be looking after them when my parents died.

I have longed to find it again and found it last year on ebay - as soon as I saw this plate I knew I'd struck gold - it is so good to have it again, even though my sewing skills are still not up to making this chap.

I am not one for reading a reference book from cover to cover - I prefer to dip and dive into my favourite ones.

They range from 1920's/30s editions up to the early 1980's and show that there is nothing new under the sun. Things come around and come around - I know that there is often much fretting about whether making such and such, one will be seen as copying - but there are only so many ways of making, for instance, giraffes...

...or dear little birds with wire legs...

...in fact looking through them is a rather like looking at an Etsy front page treasury of softies. Which is not to say that everyone is copying, but doing what artists and crafters have been doing for centuries - adopting and adapting. Owls, mushrooms, birds in cages, matryoshka dolls, little houses, fish - they have their trends in the ebb and flow of crafting and design.


But it's hard not to get hung up about making things - a couple of years ago I held off making a shoal of stuffed fish, fearing that as there are so many variations on this, I'd be accused of stealing ideas. But here we are circa 1957, a Christmas decoration idea of - a shoal of felt fish.


So I think I will make some little textile birds with wire legs, as they seem to be part of a time honoured toy making tradition. Maybe I'll even be able to do my own take on them. By the way, there are many toy makers that I admire hugely who stamp their own personality all over their work; here are just a few;

Tamar Morgendoff

Abby Glassenberg

Abigail Brown

Kit Lane

Mimi Kirchner

Cary Walker

Anne Wood

Vriad Lee

Ashley Anna Brown

Astulabee

Just a few, mind!

I was terribly pleased to be featured along with other great UK needle felters on the UK Handmade blog - needle felting is still a fledgling craft over here, so we need to spread the good word of stabbing little bits of wool.

Violets and Camellias

Back to some kind of normality at last and a final deadline to clear; this year's order for Teddy Bears of Witney. Sadly, due to the silly amount of work I had on, I was unable to do as many editions as I did last year and only just managed to get these two sets ready in time for the 2011 catalogue.

Rather stupidly I didn't order in a large batch of pink wool when I made the first Camellia and when I re-ordered from the same stockist the dye batch had changed. Only slightly, but enough to make me grind my perfectionist teeth with frustration. See how the righthand merino is slightly bluer than the lefthand one?

Thankfully I spotted what looked to be a better match on the Tigerlily Makes blog and after a few emails, a sample was winging it's way to me in the post. It was, happily, almost identical to the original pink and I was able to order enough to finish the two remaining models - thank you Lisa for such super service and good luck with your new online felt making boutique.

And a finished trio of 'Sweet Violets'. Despite the simplicity of the design, these actually take far longer to perfect than my other creatures.

Naturally, this being me, I was somewhat late in making the remaining models and spent seven days needle felting like fury. But in the end, we were all ready for delivery.

Boxed up and raring to go.

It is always such a pleasure to visit the shop and see what new bearish treasures are in stock. My little girls are going to be in distinguished company.

And they have their own slot in the beautiful catalogue. As far as I know, they have not sold out yet - but this is the only shop I am able to supply and at present I am so busy catching up with back orders that they are all that is available at present, so if you do want one of my creations now, then they are the people to contact.

I quite forgot to tell them - and you, lovely readers - my other snippet of news, that a couple of months ago I was accepted into the British Toymakers Guild after submitting an application which was judged acceptable by the committee. Which is nice.

Bearing cakes

Yesterday an old (and recently rediscovered) college friend came to visit- we know her as Natasha, but on the internet she is a cake baker of Excellent Repute - and gaining fast in popularity. With such a guest I was not even going to attempt my own very homely home baking, especially as she had already asked me what cakes I prefer. We hadn't seen each other for 17 years since graduating, but frankly it made no difference. And she brought with her a magnificent box containing lemon drizzle cake and six wonderful blackberry and apple cupcakes. Alas, the cupcakes are now a faint but fragrant memory. We chatted for England and after tea (and cakes) we went over to the woods where I happily took photos of dear little mushrooms. This sweet Tawny Grisette -

- and a comfy-cushiony baby Blusher.

When the Blusher grows up it will flatten it's cap and the stipe will tinge a dull pink (which you can just see in the fallen specimen in this picture). It is edible, so the books say, but it is also in the same family (and to the untrained eye looks very similar to) the poisonous Panther Cap. Although I know these are what they are and what they aren't, I would not risk it.

Later we headed home for soup and rolls, a simple meal made extra special by one of my favourite local Cerney Pyramids - a prince of cheeses into which we made good headway and a fitting end to a lovely day.

Natasha comes from a family of professional artists and her mother has recently taken up blogging - rather wonderfully as well - at The Potter's House Penketh.

Little old wagon

I made this jolly little painted cardboard wagon twenty years ago. It was a summer 'homework' project before starting my graphic design degree - you wouldn't think to look at it, that I was in the throes of the loneliest, most miserable part of my life and waking up with tears on my cheeks.

With two decades since of hindsight, I might have been unconsciously wishing an escape vehicle to a happier place. But I did enjoy making it and it took my mind off Other Things. Under the bonnet...

...there is a rather unique full working engine.

It has become more battered over the years and I almost binned it in a studio tidy-up.

But I couldn't bear to. I'm glad I didn't, beaten up and wonky as it is.

The best surprise ever

A few weeks ago I noticed that Hercules, my faithful rust bucket bike, was missing from his home outside the rubbish bin. He really was on his last wheels; nonetheless, he was my freedom ticket out of the village, not being a car driver or owner. And now someone had pinched him. I don't know what goes through a thief's head at the best of times, but surely it's obvious that a bike like this is owned by someone who can't afford a better one? Apparently not. A week later I found him dumped by the bike rack outside the village Post Office, wrecked. I gave a strangled shout of 'Hercules' and rushed home to cry in Andy's arms. To some people it may seem silly to get worked up over *just a bike*. But he was more than that - he was 12 years of happy memories. A kind of diary on wheels.

Happier days

Andy collected the poor old boy and after taking him apart announced that it would be too expensive to repair him, considering his age and condition. Apart from still feeling rubbish from my prolonged cold and exhaustion, this was the last straw - but I didn't realise just how miserable I was without a bike. Life went on and last Thursday we took a little picnic out to nearby Farmington, on a glorious sunny day.

On the way home, we picked up a carton of local/freerange/Fairtrade/allroundgoodstuff ice cream from the Cotswold Ice cream Company. I felt a lot better and we tootled home, me clutching the tub of rapidly melting ice cream. When we arrived, there was a large, flattish box waiting in the outhouse. I wondered what it was. "It's your surprise bike" answered Andy, grinning. He had noticed how miserable I was without one.

To say I was lost for words would not even touch the tip of the iceberg of my surprise. I cried again - for different reasons. I've never had a new bike before and this was not just any old bike, this was a Dawes. In a slight stage of shock I remembered the liquifying nicebutveryexpensive ice cream and dolloped it out into suitably posh bowls.




The cappuccino ice cream was gorgeous and my swanky new bike - in British Racing Green - was assembled in our untidy back garden. (Excuse the washing).

And there she was, a shiny green Goddess of a bicycle; I could barely believe that she was mine. The observant will notice that she's a man's bike - I always ride a man's bike, just another one of my many unfeminine traits, along with the tattoos and army boots. (Sorry if that has destroyed my dainty image for anyone).

Being a Dawes bike, she had to be called Marjorie, after the nursery rhyme. She is the first bike that fits my 6ft properly and she is a tall girl: I can just about scramble up on her. We sailed off - wobbling slightly - on our maiden voyage round the lanes, my heart bursting with joy at having pedals again. And freedom.

Unlike dear old Hercules, she lives in the backyard under a cover, where nasty bike thieves will have to trample through the cottage over my cold, dead body before they get their grubby paws on her. As for Hercules - we have stored his frame and he is having a well earned rest. One day - we will rebuild him.

A bit rubbish but fun

So last Sunday was a beautifully hot day and I strode forth laden with art equipment. Trip-trap, trip-trap across the troll bridge, plonking myself down near a favourite line of horse chestnuts.

I soon realised that having done naff all observational work for twenty odd years, I was, to put it mildly, out of practise.

But it was fun - and that was the point. I learned about what I was bad at and what I didn't know, which I will use next time.

After my first fumbling effort I bravely sought another sketching spot, walking a mile or so across the fields and up to the oak trees which straddle the top of this hill.

I had a messy little picnic of three boiled eggs, a somewhat melted chocolate bar and orange squash, then did some more scribbling. The sun had gone in and the colours flattened. I was even less impressed with my second attempt.

But, you know, I was out in the sun and air on my own for nearly five hours, walked over five miles round and round about, exercised artistic muscles which haven't been flexed for a long time and had a jolly good time doing it. I've also been incredibly touched and soothed by so many lovely, kind comments on my last post; thank you for making me feel a lot better than I did.

Up, up and up!

Well, hello! What a strange few weeks it's been. My final deadline has been vanquished and handed in. I promptly collapsed with a cold and complete exhaustion and am only just feeling like myself again. For a few weeks I pottered about the cottage like a rather substantial ghost; feeling empty and devoid of any creativity. I've never been that burned out and grey-feeling before, and I hope I never am again.

I'm very, very excited about what's going to be happening next year, when *things* go live, but glad I don't have the horrid clashing timelines anymore. I've just washed up eleven months worth of paint pallettes and restored the cottage with a housework blitz. Now that my time is almost my own for a while, I hope to get out and use these; I've been meaning to try my hand at landscapes for ages and it would be nice to do some art just for the sheer pleasure of it.

As a little reward for getting my jobs finished, I treated us to these gorgeous slipware mugs by Matt Grimmit, a Cotswold potter working from Evesham. I bought mine from Cheltenham Museum, but he also has an Etsy shop. (I wanted to have the humbuggy striped one, but Andy fell in love with it, so I've got the Mediaeval green one instead).



Andy was a bit nervous about using them every day; we've killed quite a lot of china on the cottage's stone floor. But the nice thing about buying modern ceramics from a living artist is that even if the worst happens, you can still replace them. That's the theory anyway.

If only life were as easy. I had a rather nasty encounter with a relation today, a sharp reminder of why I don't *do* family (in my case they are either ineffectual or downright bad news). It's one reason why I keep myself hidden away in this quiet life, as it brought back latent feelings of anxiety and stress which I've worked for years to dispel. It quite shook me up, but it also galvanized me into getting on with things and resurfacing - just in case anyone had missed me.