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Silence Is Golden

At the risk of sounding like Scrooge, it’s that time of year when we are all placed on hold and force-fed the torture that is known as Christmas Carols. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like many of the songs that we are all familiar with, I just don’t want to be fed some hideous version of Jingle Bells blasting in my ear as I wait on hold for what seems like an eternity. I know the purpose of the hold music is to give the illusion that someone will be right with us. (Ha! They are never right with us!) Silence might give the impression that we are being ignored. I like silence, particularly instead of those dogs barking out supposed Christmas cheer. It’s like musical baby-sitting. “Must play awful music so baby doesn’t get restless.” I’m a grown up, if I want music while I wait I will play some. Years ago I worked in a grocery store. (The recently deceased Dominick’s of Chicago…R.I.P….Good Luck to all those who will be looking for a new job, you know I feel your pain.) I worked in customer service. We were instructed to say, “Happy Holidays, Dominick’s, ______speaking.” No Merry Christmas, we might offend those who were not of the Christian faith, or who didn’t celebrate. I’m fine with that as well, let’s include everyone, but what about the non believers, or people of other faith waiting on hold? No Happy Hanukkah song? Kwanza? Anything? At the end of my wait time I was left with a holiday gift, an ear worm, you know those lovely songs that get stuck in your head all day? Merry Christmas to me, Ho Ho Ho.

It is now later in the day, several hours later in fact. Dan took Brian and I out to dinner at a Greek restaurant. A Greek restaurant that played Christmas carols. Help me please.

There is also this late-breaking bit of news. The show that I had been working towards, the one I’ve been killing myself to prepare for, is not going to happen. It must be my day for music. This time it’s the old song “It Never Rains In Southern California”. Guess what? It does, and particularly when I have a scheduled outdoor show. That’s right, tomorrow’s predicted forecast is 50 degrees with a ninety percent chance of rain. Somebody somewhere isn’t liking me. The show wasn’t technically cancelled, they are waiting until morning to decide, but it has been less than six months since I had pneumonia. I just can’t risk it. The extended forecast for Temecula is for sun and 67 degrees on the fourteenth. That is when my second show is scheduled. That is the one I’ll be at…if Someone, Somewhere will take pity on me.

Tonight, something for the object of my current obsession, John’s apartment. To begin with I picked up a really cool table and chair a neighbor doesn’t want. That is a redo for next week. For tonight my most popular project on this blog, burnt glue on cardboard. As I mentioned the other day, John is a chef. I took a piece of 11×14 cardboard from the back of a pad of drawing paper, printed out some stencil font, spent a good 45 minutes cutting out the letters, applied, then burnt the glue, and in the end buffed it out with a little pewter acrylic paint. I’m going to frame it out tomorrow when it has had enough time to dry completely. It is the first of several art projects I have in mind.IMG_2758

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Has Anyone Seen My…?

Maybe it has to do with all the balls I’m juggling in the air these days, but I seem to be losing my mind just a wee bit. For example, twice in the last week I have gone in search of my glasses only to find them attached to my body. I hang them on the front of my shirt, I’ve done so for years, yet somehow these days that little fact seems to be slipping my mind. I do have a very long history of losing my car, and I mean losing it everywhere. Church, the grocery store, the mall, so much in fact that I now have particular spots that I use just so I know where to look. A while back I wandered aimlessly through a store lot searching for my pickup. I was just about convinced it had been stolen. I had been looking for a good ten minutes. I finally called Dan, who after he stopped laughing, reminded me that I had driven his car. Which by the way I had walked past at least three times in the search for my own vehicle. I’m obviously not a stupid woman. Look what I can do. I also solve the New York Times crossword puzzle every morning. I’d say I have about a seventy-five percent average on finishing it alone, seventy-six to one hundred if I bug the crap out of Dan. So obviously I remember some things. He was making fun of my latest glasses mishap today, referring to me as the absent-minded professor. I am of course getting older, and I have a lot on my mind, but I’m beginning to wonder if some glitter hasn’t made its way into my brain. Or maybe it has to do that as an older woman I have learned to prioritize what matters to me, pushing little details to the side. (That sounds good doesn’t it?) I can still tell the men in my life, Dan and Brian, where every single thing they can’t find in this house is at. It seems that my bad memory only has to do with myself. That would make sense since I usually put myself last. So to sum it all up, I’m forgetting things because:

A.  I am trying to do too much

B.  I am absentminded

C. I have glitter on my brain

D. I’m older

E. I put myself last

F. All of the above?

Actually I have decided that it because for the first time in my life I am devoting every waking moment to creativity. My house is falling down around me, and right now I don’t really care. I am motivated and determined, and have had in recent weeks some new-found confidence in my work. The things that are important to me are always on my mind. My family, my kids, and most of all Dan, but for the first time in my life I’m beginning to see the glimmer of a dream for myself, and if that means I lose a few things along the way…well, except I really do need those glasses.

For tonight a little “upcycling”. A vintage box that I found in OK shape. I’m giving it a touch of nostalgia. One of my photos from Paris changed to black and white and then computer colorized, decoupaged to the top. Inside copies of some of my collection of vintage French postcards, and a small mirror. I have a few finishing touches to complete, but the glue on the mirror needs to dry so those will wait until tomorrow.  I’m pretty happy with the finished product.IMG_2729

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Shining A Little Light On The Future

I read somewhere yesterday that an optimist is someone who starts a diet on Thanksgiving. I think we all know by now that I’m not exactly an optimist, although I’m not really a pessimist either, more of a realist. My reality is that the black cloud that has been hanging over my head needs to take a hike. (And I need to lose ten pounds) We actually had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I thought about what I wrote last night. I think I need to just put this year behind me and focus on next year. (Because it has to be better than this one!) Good things ahead.

I did prep work today for some projects I need to get done for my upcoming shows. Cutting papers for decoupage, sanding, and priming. Nothing is ready to post for tonight that would give any idea of what the finished product will be, so instead I decided to post a photo of an older project. I have a lot of odds and ends. Sometimes inspiration strikes. I had an old standing lamp base, and an old ceiling fixture that needed repair. I soldered the two together to make a single piece. I didn’t want to use it as a lamp, but rather as a plant stand. I removed all the electrical wires, added candles and succulents. I have to admit even I was impressed with my results.lamp 026lamp 027lamp 043

The Reality Of Making A Plan

A few definitions courtesy of Google.

Plan

1. A detailed proposal for doing or achieving something.

2. An intention or decision about what one is going to do.

Reality

The world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them.

This is my life. There are plans, and then there is reality. Today is Wednesday. It is the day that I set as a deadline to work on my portrait of Jessica. It was a plan. The reality is that I have too many projects occurring at the same time. This does not matter to Jessica (the portrait, the real Jessica is lovely and patient), I feel the portrait of Jessica giving me the evil eye. I made a silent promise to it today that I will visit soon, and before Halloween when this whole thing would be just too creepy.

My Grandfather clock/bookcase. Another plan. The reality is that I need Dan to help me with it. Dan has hurt his back. (Just a little for those of you who care) The reality is that I should not be allowed anywhere near power tools that may remove appendages from my body. I actually like my fingers. I am a smart capable woman, I am also a complete klutz. Any project that requires a saw shall remain undone until my partner is feeling better.

Plan B

A watercolor of some Hollyhocks.

Reality

Boring. Been done, no need to repeat.

No plan. I begin to wander the house looking at the messy piles of art supplies that are now in every room. No plan. I make my way into the garden, sneaking by portrait of Jessica and hope she doesn’t see me. (I believe I’m developing a phobia) There are supplies in the garden too. They are neatly arranged, because Dan neatly arranges them. I see a piece of wood. It is a cast off. Too small for a shelf or much else. I have an idea, something that has been on my mind for several days. I think I know what I want to do, but then I begin to use watercolor on the wood. I wasn’t even sure it would work, but it does, beautifully. My intention was to paint the wood to look bruised, it doesn’t look bruised, it is soft, it flows gently into the grain. The wood has plans of its own. There is a knot in the wood. The plot thickens, my project changes. I have made it known that I am just a little intense about trash and recycling. It occurs to me as I watch this scrap of wood begin to change, that it might have ended up in our trash. It was too small for anything, well anything except art. I use a lot of paper. I recycle all of it. Would I throw away this much paper? No, that would be a crime in my house. The knot in the wood appears to me as an eye. A living thing. This piece of wood was a living thing. The evolution of a piece of art. No plan, just the reality of all that we, that I, waste. This simple piece of wood that began its life as part of a beautiful tree. Reborn. Making a statement. Sometimes I don’t have the words, and then I look to those who are wiser than I. Thank you Mahatma Gandhi.IMG_1848

 

Just Say “Hello”

I have decided that there are two kinds of people in the world. There are those that say hello, and those who put their heads down, or avert their eyes, all in an attempt to not acknowledge their fellow human beings. We live in Temecula, which essentially means we are living in a tourist destination. I don’t mean that in a bad way, there are some pretty beautiful places in the world that have been turned into living nightmares of junk and fast food, Temecula is not one of them. We have I believe over 60 vineyards here, and our Old Town, a place that still has wooden sidewalks and historical plaque on nearly every building. Beautiful weather nearly year round, and settled in between San Diego (less than sixty miles), and LA (roughly 85 miles), an hour from Disneyland, less than that to Legoland, and about thirty miles to the Pacific Ocean, although there is that pesky mountain range in the way. In other words, we have it really good here. We should all be walking around feeling pretty lucky. Now I realize that stuff happens, it is still happening in my own life, but basically we Temeculan’s (new word, just made it up, clever right?) are very fortunate people. Dan and I walk every morning. We walk through our subdivision and one across the street from us. We walk anywhere from thirty-five minutes to an hour. In the course of those walks we run into a handful of people. There are some people who greet us with a smile and say, “Good morning.” There are those that suddenly become very interested in their phone, their dog, a speck of dirt on the walkway…anything to avoid looking at us and having to say hello. It’s strange. We are not bad people, nor do we in any way resemble the extras on The Walking Dead, we are just regular humans. What really puzzles me are the ones that do say hello, but say it in the most begrudging fashion, as if we have forced them to do something against their will. We saw a woman this morning on our walk. She couldn’t really avoid us. She didn’t appear to have a phone handy, or a dog to use as an avoidance prop, she did have a few small children walking ahead of her, but too far ahead for her to use as a shield, so she had no choice but to say hello. The look on her face said it all. We bothered her. Somehow we offended her.  All we did was smile (the horror!), and say “Good morning.” I have no way of knowing what is happening in that woman’s life, but she was walking down the beautiful streets of Temecula with some pretty cute kids, on an absolutely gorgeous morning. Like I said, I think there are two kinds of people, the kind that ignore you and the kind that don’t, but if you can’t return a smile, I guess I’d rather you find a sudden interest in studying cement texture in the sidewalk than looking at me as if I have a problem. OK, now that I got that off my chest….art.

Two years ago for Christmas I received a beautiful little cabinet from Dan for Christmas. It was a great gift, it was the kind of gift where I saw it in a store and…bought it, called Dan, and  said, “You can give it to me for Christmas.” Like I said, it was a great gift. From the minute I saw this little cabinet I thought, “Grandfather Clock”. Now that we are embarking on our business I am taking all the ideas that have been laying in wait in the recesses of my brain and putting them into action. The crib/ bench was one of them. The next idea is my Grandfather clock/bookcase. The cabinet appears to have had glass in the door at some point in its life, but when I bought it the frame on the front was empty. My partner in life and in creativity, aka Dan, helps me bring my ideas to life. We went to the store and purchased wood to create a bookcase to put under the cabinet. Today we made that bookcase, and then laughed our behinds off. The bookcase is fine, but when you put the cabinet on top it becomes a clock for the Jolly Green Giant. It has to be eight feet tall. What can I say, sometimes I just don’t think. We need the bookcase, so it won’t go to waste. (Without the cabinet on top it is six feet tall.) Tomorrow we will be returning to the store to create the four-foot bookcase we need. Dan also cut a panel from MDF for the frame opening. It is my project for tonight. The clock face for my cabinet. I can’t wait to make the smaller bookcase in the morning and add it to my cabinet. I have some really great ideas to finish it off.10 22

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Distressed

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I’m not really distressed, but my project will be by tomorrow night. The marriage of my two pieces finally took place today, but we aren’t quite at the honeymoon stage yet. The crib panel is too large in proportion to the height if the seat. I have a number of solutions in mind, one of which I may attempt tomorrow. For now the piece is painted, but even that isn’t where it will end up. You may have noticed in the before photo that the color is similar to the color I started with, that is purely coincidental. I am trying to work with what I have on hand. That color was in the garage. The finish will look different tomorrow when I have my way with it. I don’t like new and shiny, never have. I love vintage and time-worn. There is very little in my house that is new, most of what I own is vintage. In my armchair psychologist best I believe it has to do with my longing for family connection. Growing up many of the kids I knew had grandparents, I didn’t. My grandfathers had both passed away when I was very young, and both were living in Ireland, as were my grandmothers. I met my Mother’s mom several times, and we stayed at her house in Ireland for a few weeks when I was thirteen, but we were never with her enough to really get to know her. I knew my other grandmother slightly better. She had tried to live here in the States but only lasted a few months. I was only five or so at the time, the thing I remember most was that she sat in my rocking chair all the time and I wasn’t happy about that. When I grew older I wrote to her, and on my last visit to Ireland in 1983, I spent some time with her at the home she was living at. She died a year later. I think I’ve spent my life searching for that connection to the past. I know there are people who hate antiques. For me I appreciate that the piece has a history, a story, that it was loved enough by someone to still be around. When I finished painting my bench it just looked too new. So, after all my hard work of stripping and sanding, and adding a fresh coat of paint, I grabbed the sandpaper once again and went to work distressing. Tomorrow I will be taking it a step further by adding an antiquing glaze. I love that aged distressed look, kind of like me.10 19

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A little extra project tonight. I was having fun doodling with my fine line markers. Tomorrow another marriage of sorts.10 21

I’ve Got No Time For This

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I’m one of those people who almost always follows the rules. I often joke that I was born responsible. Throughout my life I have always tried to do things the right way. It doesn’t mean that I haven’t had some major league failures, but I try hard, always give my best effort, and crucify myself with guilt if I fail. (Catholic, remember) I never had a teenage rebellion, always did what my Mother asked, at the moment she asked, and could probably be labeled a “goody two shoes”. (An odd expression, who comes up with this stuff?) I think my only rebellious streak applies to the a fore mentioned failure to read the rules.  I’m a very smart woman, really smart, apparently so smart that I think I can do everything without reading the instructions. I mean, who are “they” to tell me how to do something? I bring the “not following the rules” issue up because I had a moment today when I thought about my biggest faults as an artist.

1. Failure to read instructions, or to take classes. In my defense, I have been doing things my own way for so long that quite frankly other people annoy me when they tell me what or how I should do something.

2. That dirty word, Perspective. Hate it, wish I didn’t have to care about it, and generally it gives me nightmares. It is equal to the horror that is geometry.

3. Impatience. I’ve touched a little on this in the past in regards to oil painting, but it really applies today. As I write this I am waiting for paint stripper to take effect. Herein lies the problem. I don’t want to wait. I want the paint to fall off right now. I’ve mentioned before that I have artistic vision. In particular when it comes to painting, recycling, upcycling, reupholstering, and re-imagining furniture pieces. In my head the piece is done. It is painted, stained, distressed….and so on, in my head. Therefore I want it done now. Not in thirty minutes, or even fifteen. I want what is in my head standing in front of me.

4.  Procrastination. Once again, putting myself and this daily project on the back burner. Poor Dan has spent more than one night falling asleep on the couch waiting for me as I type my blog late at night. Starting paintings after dinner is not the way to go, it’s just that I am ingrained with the notion that everyone else comes first. It’s only four in the afternoon here in Temecula, a fact I proudly brought to Dan’s attention. The truth is I’m only writing because I have to wait for more stripper to work! Sixteen more minutes until I can scrape again, its killing me. Maybe I need to work on consecutive projects, that way I’ll fill every minute.

Much, much later…

I took my own advice, and thrilled that I did. Stripping my wood piece is taking much longer than I planned for. As I was looking for pieces to add to my project I came across a small piece of vintage decorative wood I bought years ago. I have been meaning to do something with this piece for the longest time. From the moment I saw this piece of wood it reminded me of church windows. I have several gravestone photos from Richmond, Virginia, one of which I used in a previous altered art project. I changed all the photos to black and white,  then I cropped and printed my photos on vellum. Attached inside the frame and lit from behind using battery operated candles, it’s beautiful! I have some finishes to add in the morning, as well as continuing with my furniture piece. It is now ten at night. I know, I started this blog hours ago, but in the interim I had a very romantic evening with Dan in the garden. First a wonderful dinner, and then a movie. A few years back we built our own outdoor screen. Tonight we watched Midnight In Paris under a full moon. Sometimes the blog can wait.

Photos of the beginnings of a project. Roughly fifteen years ago I purchased an antique headboard from a crib with the intention of doing something fabulous. It never happened. It was the height of my ignoring myself. Today I decided to do something with it. The second piece happens to be the top off of a small dresser from my Mom. The dresser fell apart, but since my Mother gave it to me I needed to keep some part of it, and it happens to be a perfectly good piece of wood. The two shall marry tomorrow, all are invited to the reception. The crib still needs a little work. (So I guess that makes it the groom…just kidding) Also the photo from the second project from today. My candle lit gravestone piece. Much to do tomorrow….stay tuned.10 19

Before stripping10 19 1Dresser top

10 19 2The almost fully stripped piece

IMG_1812Gravestone piece in progress, back-lit with candles.

 

Turning The Old Into New

So often we hear comedians joking about how we turn into our parents. In my case I think I’ve reversed the process. When our son Brian was a little boy, he would often be someplace else in his head, fingers flickering, a look of concentration on his face, his mind obviously out in the universe somewhere. His first grade teacher commented on it once. She said she would see that far away look on his face and call out, “Earth to Brian.” Dan coached him for a season or two in soccer, and he would often see Brian standing in the middle of the field tapping his foot, and tapping his wrist, much like his favorite character, Sonic the Hedgehog. This while his and the other team played around him. We were out shopping with him, maybe around the age of three or four, and as always he was somewhere else. We watched in amusement as he began following another man, although it wasn’t the man he was following, it was the man’s jeans. Brian had barely picked his head up, only long enough to see jeans and began to follow, because Dan was wearing jeans. I’m reminded of the incident because lately Dan and I have begun to walk every day. We began with a usual walk through the paths of our subdivision, but after a week or so decided to add a little mileage to our trek. We chose a subdivision across the street, the path is longer, and actually quite a bit nicer. We’ve been walking this path for about a week. I have mentioned before that as talented as I am with my hands, I am sorely lacking in other areas, one of which is that I have no internal G.P.S., not one ounce of a sense of direction resides in my brain. (It’s the monkeys that live in there. I know it is.) Every morning as we walk the same path I find myself unable to remember where to turn next. The sun is still strong here in Southern California, so most of the time despite a hat and sunglasses, my head is down. So what do I do? I follow Dan’s pants. Like my son, my brain is always somewhere else, and usually not on what direction I’m traveling. That makes me have to ask, do I get it from Brian? Or does he get it from me?

We had a wedding to attend today, and as well-intentioned as I am, I just didn’t have the time to finish a project. I did begin a sketch for a watercolor, but it isn’t far enough along to use. I decided to post a few photos of some furniture projects. An old jewelry chest repainted for a teenager, and a chair that I decided to reupholster for my own bedroom. I’ve never upholstered before, but like so many things I do, it was one more by the seat of my pants. I simply looked at the chair and figured it out. I find it funny that as I said above, I really truly have no internal map, I have a designated parking space at the mall and grocery store because of the amount of times I lose my car. I can get lost in my own neighborhood, and math? Forget it. I can however, look at a chair, take it apart and redo it. It’s a strange, strange brain that I own.bergere chair 002Before

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Finding Meaning In The Words Of Others

I started a new piece of upcycling the cabinet doors tonight. I decided to turn one into a table. There are recessed panels in the doors, which call to be filled. So far there has been the child’s chalkboard, the cheese tray, the menu board, and the piece of art I made for Dan with the business card from our anniversary dinner in Paris. It occurred to me today as I looked at one that the surface could easily be used as a table if I cut a piece of glass to set into the recess. I began to tinker with the idea of creating a piece of art to put under the glass and turned to my new-found love of pen and ink. I decided to draw an open book, but then decided the book needed to be written in. I have mentioned my love of quotes. I went in search of one pertaining to books and found this one by Cicero, “If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.” I feel that way. I consider myself very lucky to have what I have in my life. Things are not perfect, Dan is still looking for a job, my Dad is getting older, and more frail, my knees like to remind me daily that they are not happy, but I am.  We are readers, we love books, there are people who think we own too many books, though I strongly disagree, one can never have too many books. From our living room/library windows there is a view of our beautiful garden. One of the pleasures of Southern California is that there is always something in bloom. I can sit in that room with the person I love, surrounded by the books I love, and gaze out at the beauty in the garden, my own little heaven on earth.

In my search for a quote I also came across another that really spoke to me:

“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” Issac Asimov

I mentioned my knees, I have often said that I will take all the pain that my knees have to offer, but I can never lose my hands. Mr. Asimov’s quote is the perfect explanation of my blog, and a perfect explanation of my creativity. I spoke last night of the disconnect between what is in my head and what I hope to put on canvas. I may not get exactly what I want, but all that I am comes through these hands.  I struggle daily to think of what it is I want to do artistically, but every night I sit here in front of this computer and think, and then I type. I never plan on what to write, I simply sit here and it flows out of me. I have always loved to write. I have many short stories in notebooks, and pages of poetry. I don’t share most of it with anyone. Dan of course has been the recipient of more than a few poems. Now I’m wondering if its time for those other pieces to see the light of day as well. Something to think about.

More work to be done on this piece. A last-minute addition of a trompe l’oeil pencil. I also think the addition of some color around the edges is called for, but that will have to wait until morning.10 6

A Startling Awakening

Dear Wrong Number, I myself have made calls to the incorrect number, but I usually don’t make them at 4:30 in the morning. I also, once realizing my mistake, will stay on the line long enough to say, “I’m sorry.” It’s the only polite thing to do….especially at 4:30 in the morning. The thing is Wrong Number, I happen to be one of those unfortunate people who don’t sleep well, and once jarred from a sound sleep by the shrill ring of the phone, I am unable to return to sleep. There is also the minor stress on my heart thanks to you scaring me awake, and thinking that it might be about my elderly father. You have no idea what effect your little error has had on my life. To begin with I spend my day looking like an extra from The Walking Dead. My face has this incredible ability to absorb makeup when I’m tired, as though I am SpongeBob’s mother, it’s really quite amazing. Then there is the voice in my head that tells me, “Hey, it’s OK, eat whatever you want, you’re tired.”  Managing to break through the Great Wall of Dieting that took years to construct. And finally Wrong Number, I pride myself on being a productive person. The only productivity that goes on when I’m this tired is the relationship between me and my refrigerator. I realize that you know none of this when you call…at 4:30 in the morning, but I thought maybe since you have had such an intimate relationship with my day, and if that perhaps my number is close to the one you meant to call, and by chance it happens again, you might wait and say, “I’m sorry”, or “hello”, before you bang the phone down on my ear. I hope you had a nice day.

On to more pleasant subjects, like art, recycling, and my little friend Emily.  Years ago the manger for our very old Nativity set began to fall apart. My Dad decided to build a new one, which was fine had Mary and Joseph booked a room at a Swiss chalet. The frame of the old one was still usable, so I, being the artist in the family, was given the job of recreating new sides and a back for it. I did a fine job, and it’s still around these many years later. As for the Bethlehem Swiss Inn? We turned it into a doll house for my daughter. Now it will become a doll house for Emily. It needs a little work, which I am thrilled to do. As anyone who reads my blog knows by now, I am just a little crazy when it comes to recycling. Two years ago I began my own private mission to prove how much paper was thrown away at my local Starbucks in the form of coffee sleeves. I decided that I would save our sleeves for a year and shame them into recycling. We are avid coffee drinkers, but not in my wildest imagination did I think I’d end up with the amount of sleeves that I collected. My plan was to collect them , make something artistic out of them, and then write Starbucks corporate office with my complaint and fabulous art project. By the time my year was up, I heard rumors of recycling bins being placed in the stores, and that has since happened. Meanwhile, I have more than one hundred sleeves. Not one to waste the paper, I held on to it, knowing a project would present itself. Last week I went looking for doll house roof tiles for Emily’s house. They were way too expensive, and then…a brainstorm! Corrugated cardboard roof tiles courtesy of Starbucks. I started tonight by deciding on a size, and proceeded to begin the painstaking effort of cutting out these tiles. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the process. When I was a little girl my Mother once said there was something wrong with me because I was always cutting paper. I think I was just connecting with an inner Martha before there was Martha. When I had cut a few out I decided to go a step further and use the technique I wrote about last week. I applied glue to a few and burnt them over a candle. I love them! Much sturdier than plain cardboard, and I believe much more paint-able, however having only finished thirty tiles I decided that I was insane. I am obviously still under the spell of Wrong Number. Emily would be attending college by the time I finished. I decided instead to try painting them with a coat of Modge Podge to seal them instead. Much easier. I am also painting the roof in the same color as the dresser that it will sit upon. You can thank “Wrong Number” because I’ve barely started and need to quit, but this is going to be really special when it’s finished. I can’t wait to finish the doll house, and to get some sleep, and I’m turning the phone off.IMG_1624  IMG_1626  IMG_1627IMG_1628  IMG_1631