Bad Hair Days and Woolly Jumpers.

Winter has arrived here in Melbourne, and with the first cold snap our poor chooks started moulting. It's an annual happening that has me worrying like an old mother hen every year. The weather turns cold, the nights draw in and right when it's coldest, the chooks drop their feathers and become naked and miserable. They look as ugly as it's possible to look, feathers patchy, naked bits on show, crest fallen (literally). Peaky plumage - bad hair days.

Not looking their best - Selma and Chickpea feeling crest-fallen

The first time it happened, 4 years ago, I was taken by surprise. Selma dropped all her feathers one cold night. When I let her out in the morning she was starkers except for her head. I fought back an urge to rush her straight to the vet, and anxiously Googled instead. Thanks goodness, just the annual moult. I worried that she was cold. She certainly looked chilly and despondent. What could I do to help? I decided to knit. I Googled again and came up with a knitting pattern for hen jumpers from the UK. She didn't like the jumper at all. Ungrateful - like all children who score home knitted jumpers from well-meaning mums and aunties. So I made her another little jacket out of some super soft and rather tasteful grey and black striped velour I had left over from an Edenstar dress. She liked that one better, or disliked it less - not as itchy I think. My neighbour and her little girl came over to feed the hens one afternoon. They had their own key and let themselves in. Surprise! Selma was wearing the same as her daughter.Two stylish chicks.
Well, last week both Selma and Chickpea started moulting simultaneously, and now Saffron is showing the first signs too. Bocconcini is looking the most miserable - sympathy I guess as she seems fully feathered.
I went straight to our local wool shop. They were delighted when they heard about my project, and showed me around enthusiastically. I chose 100% wool with a crepe feel that they assured me was not itchy. Only the best for my girls. The ladies in the shop have insisted that I email photos.
I was inspired by a little jumper I knitted for miss S when she was tiny. It was a multi-coloured striped affair that I sort of made up as I went along. I have employed the same technical precision for this project too. I used the pattern from Little Red Hen rescue but there's also a Penguin Foundation pattern I'd like to customise when I get a moment.

I loved knitting these little jumpers. I do like a bit of craft. The misses S and E prefer to call it witchcraft - sounds so much cooler than knitting.
Well, I've finished 2 jumpers and I couldn't wait to try them on the girls. It was fun and games in the back yard this morning trying to catch suspicious chickens for a modelling assignment. Cue the Benny Hill music. I'm afraid I can't report that they like them any more than the previous ones, but I think they looked very stylish.

Selma models her new jumper. Nice colours for the red head don't you think?

 

"I'm ready for my close-up Mr. De Mille." Bocconcini steps in to save the day when Chick-pea won't have a bar of it.

A Certain Age - How I customised my new dress, and why.

Last week I bought a new dress. A simple enough transaction you'd think, but my feelings are so conflicted towards this garment.
I had admired another dress on a lovely friend of mine who possesses a certain style and grace. I was in luck. She'd got it in a mega bargain sale and would take me straight there without delay. I was excited to say the least.
The shop was one I had walked straight past a million times. There had never been anything in the window that caught my eye. It was a nondescript boutique, and I imagined, frequented by ladies of a certain age, from a certain middle-class family suburb. However, it turned out that the racks were packed with garments I would definitely wear every day, and I happily exited the change room with an armful of bargain goodies.
I spotted this dress in the far corner. I loved it from the get go and as soon as I popped it on I could imagine every daily situation. It's a useful dress, to be worn in hot weather to the dog park, the garden, the chicken coop, school pick-up, even to lunch if I was one of those ladies who lunch. It looks great layered over jeans and came in loads of colours, but the yellow was so cheery. It was 75% off - a grand total of $26. A no-brainer.

Cute as a button - the dress that wasn't good enough for a fashion snob.

I started to have misgivings as soon as I'd made the purchase. I had just bought a dress from a middle-aged, middle-class, lady-of-a-certain age, family-suburb type boutique. My ego silently screamed "No! You are a fashion designer from the fashion world. You wear designer dresses from upmarket boutiques that cost a lot of money." On the way home I spotted a lady wearing exactly the same dress in a different colour. She was 'of-a-certain-age' and not very fashionable. I was horrified, and I felt like such a cow because I was horrified. Conflicted most definitely.
I wore the cheerful dress to the dog park the very next day. Cute and comfy. The sunshiny yellow attracted a lot of compliments. I felt a bit better. Then one of my dog park pals, Georgie, admitted to having the same dress, and she's at least a decade younger than me. I spilled out my story, hoping for redemption. At the part where I mentioned middle-aged women from Malvern, I was suddenly struck by a thunderbolt. That is exactly who I am. She was amused at my discomfort. We were joined by another doggy pal, a lovely, friendly lady also of-a-certain-age. "That's a lovely dress!" she exclaimed. Georgie burst out laughing. It was too much for me. I haven't worn the dress since.
My excuse is that it's in the laundry, but deep down I know why it's really there. So after a bit of internal turmoil I have pulled my elitist, snobby, uppity self together and resolved to customise the offending garment.
Today I decided to dip-dye the hem and make it my own. I used a Dylon dye suitable for cotton, and dampened the bottom half of the dress and gave it a bit of a wring to crease it a bit so the dye runs up. I mixed the dye up according to the packet instructions, but halved all the quantities and made only half the amount as I didn't want too much liquid. I used a large stainless steel salad bowl for the actual dyeing. I rigged up the laundry rack in the backyard and used a plastic drop sheet under the bowl. I hung the dress on a plastic hanger on the rack over the bowl with the hem dipped in, and waited the 1 hour specified. I didn't do all the stirring instructed on the pack as I don't mind an uneven effect and I didn't want the dye to splash up onto the rest of the dress.

Waiting for the dye to fix. It looks beautiful already.

When the dyeing time was up I followed the rinsing / washing instructions carefully, but only for the hem part of the dress trying not to get any surplus dye on the un-dyed part. Then I wrung out the wet part really well so that it didn't stick back on itself whilst hanging and transfer unwanted dye. Whilst it was hanging on the line drying I decided to do a bit of hand stitching at the neck area. I was aiming for a Boho chic / Isabel Marant type look. Head in the designery type clouds, I know, but there's no stopping me now. I looked on the internet and found a tutorial for feather stitch. Just the look I was after.

Using a bit of baking parchment I traced a grid and pinned it on to make my stitching even. I'm quite pleased with that.

Once the paper was torn away, I couldn't believe my eyes. I absolutely LOVE my new dress now!

NOW I love it!

The 'C' Word

It seems Craft is a dirty word at our house.
Last year I saw a beautiful cushion in the window of an expensive homewares shop. It was exactly what I had been looking for since we changed our lounge room around. I went inside and saw the price. I walked straight out again. Then I did something I'm not particularly proud of. I took a picture on my phone, and vowed to make it myself. As a designer, I abhor the copying of other peoples designs, but I wanted to make my own version and it was not for commercial gain, just for me. Inspiration if you will.
So I set to with fabric and scissors and I did make my own version, which I am extremely proud of. I've never made a cushion or done patchwork before. I made a very fine job of it if I say so myself. I even put a zip in the back quite competently. Mr. B was impressed.
Now my creative juices were flowing, and I thought up a whole range of designs to go with this one. I wanted to have a go at a more traditional form of hand sewn patchwork, inspired by a little patchwork smoking hat that my dad was given a long time ago, but with a more contemporary aesthetic. This was all new to me so I found an online tutorial. I used some of the fabrics from my original project and found some exquisite scraps of Japanese fabrics from a local emporium. I made a start. I had a vision. I was on a roll.
Then, one evening Mr. B. arrived home from work to find me surrounded by bits of thread and paper, sewing together tiny octagonal fabric pieces. "What's that?" he said. "It looks suspiciously like craft to me. You'd better get a job." He was only teasing, I think, but just like that, I put it all at the back of the cupboard and haven't touched it since.
That's not like me. Maybe I was more unsure of myself than I thought. Maybe I was just too busy. Anyway, near the end of last year a designer friend visiting from the UK took a look at my discarded pieces and thought I should give it another go. She saw my vision and fired me up again, and I have been champing at the bit to pick up where I left off, but Christmas and school holidays have distracted me.
Well, school's back next week and I'm thinking about the episode again. Does craft have a stigma attached? Maybe it does in the world of important architects. I don't care. I'm going to dive right in. It will be a kind of mild adventure. If it works I might share the results with you. I might even impress Mr. B.


My Shattered cushion - I'm quite impressed with my handiwork.

Work in progress . . . soon . . . maybe.

Cut-out Christmas card - how I did it.

After yesterday's attempt at making home made Christmas cards, the cut out one worked out far better than expected and I wanted to make a few more. I saw the idea on Pinterest, but there were no instructions, so I made it up as I went along, and the result was quite gratifying I thought. I was impressed. As I worked out the best way to rationalise the process, I thought that others may like to have a go and join me in the warm glow of smug satisfaction. So here it is. Not really a proper tutorial - more of a short picture by picture account of how I did it.



 

I drew up the main shape and dimensions I wanted, then drew in diagonals to make the 'cut-out' points, then traced it onto the BACK of my chosen paper. Next I cut along the two sides of the triangle shapes with a craft knife, but only gently scored the horizontal base of each triangle to make the folds.



 

 

I added a simple stitched star at the top of the tree, then glued it onto a piece of card I had prepared earlier. Ta-da!



Sibling Rivalry - the hardest part is getting started.

 

A few days ago I got a call from my sister in the UK, who wanted to talk about Christmas. We chatted about who was getting what present for whom - what was the latest thing for 3 - 8 year olds - the difficult task of buying for brother's in-law - the last posting dates. You know how it goes. I complained about the dire choice of Christmas cards at the shops, and she agreed and told me how she always intends to make home made cards, and then panics and buys cards she doesn't like at the last minute and then sends them late anyway. I'm the same - we are sisters after all.

Then sibling rivalry reared it's ugly, but in the circumstances quite timely, head. I have had all my bits of paper and paint brushes, needles and thread, ideas on Pinterest and the like set up ready to go for weeks now. I AM going to make my own home made cards this year, and will not be out done by my sister. Ha, that will show her.

So thanks, George, for getting me off my backside, and making me do what I had intended all along, but somehow just couldn't get started.

I'm sure they will be late anyway, so don't hold your breath.