Whimsy

I've been thinking that if I just get to and make the things I really enjoy making then (according to plenty of people who seem to know) everything settles into place and whatever happens happens because you were doing what you were always supposed to do. On one hand that is a very refreshing idea and years of frustration should just melt away... but on the other my brain says 'As If' and I suspect you have to compromise to a good degree.
If I had my way (I'm not yet saying I can't) then I would be tinkering away on pieces like my Flavian corset with stuffed rat (see above) and making things up as I went happy in the knowledge that there would always be someone just DYING to buy them.... but... well hey maybe I will just get a job at a cafe and eat leftover cake. Have you seen how much food people leave on their plates????
Where's my dirl? There she is! Farting richly and dreaming on the couch as usual. Goodnight.

Torn Torn Torn

So ANYWAY, the thing that takes up most of my brainspace when I'm in designy mode (I'm a clothing n costume designer incidentally) is whether to make things that are actually creative for me and involve some playing around.... OR to make plain cookie cutter things for boring people who might possibly even buy them. Take this bodice for example. A fine combination of carefully thought out textures and tones, antique-never-to-be-found-again lace, gorgeous peach-latte brocade. A one-off thing. You got it, nobody else got it. Now I would sell one interesting thing like this for every twenty plain, one-of-a-number and pumped out pieces.... say price is not dissimilar because I like making the one-off's better. The world is all about being an individual and projecting your inner self through outer expression la-di-da, but I don't see it. Well suffer, coz you can't get that fabric anymore anyway. Pthth. Dirl is looking horrified that I should be so ungrateful, but bloody hell.

Mummy Carole

One of these ladies is my mummy. My duppy dirl and my mummy love each other very much, and I only have to whisper "Are you going to Mummy Carole's?" and dirl goes crazy with excitement. When dirl goes for a holiday in the bush, mummy looks after her like she is her own. Dirl even gets to sleep on one side of the bed, LaLa dog on the other, Chicken the 3 legged cat down the end and mummy in the middle. Where's my dirl? Snoring on the couch and dreaming of echidnas at Mummy Caroles house. Where's Mummy Carole? On the end right.

What an effort.

Some weeks ago, with my duppy dirl in the backyard while I was testing out my lovely new camera (that does not have a power lead and so chews through batteries like chocolate) I took this shot of a poor abandoned cobweb.
It just made me think 'Bum. All that effort.' Who knows what happened to the spider, it probably just died of old age like it was always supposed to, but no one will ever know if it felt like it had made an effort or if it didn't even realise it was alive.
Then some dirt got blown into it, then a bit of dried leaf, and some backyard dust. Then it turned dull and limp and looked a bit like thin hairy wool in the rain.... and there it was. Still hanging on without its keeper and filling up a corner. What about the insects that get caught in it now? All that effort. Flying around doing garden things and FWAT. Stuck in a derelict cobweb that serves no purpose and no chance of a full-circle nature event. Bum. Makes me feel a bit 'What's the point?' about everything at the same time as feeling really lucky that I'm not a spider or other insect.

Where's My Dirl?

There she is! Is you my dirl? Where's a dirl? Duppy Dirl!
A dirl is there, watching things.
My best dirl is lying on the couch not watching the BBC
documentary on pedigree dogs and their misbreeding.
For a sausage dog that is more like a rissole, she is
lucky to be in good health.
My dirl sees everything around this house and lots of things in the garden and she has her own routine which is mostly mine as well.
She lines up when it's shower time, she naps on jarmies
when I am under the water, she whinges from the hallway when it's our bedtime and won't look at me if she's appalled.

A dirl's ear is inside out and she doesn't even care.




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