meditation and the continuation of the spindle’s work series

I’m back in that place I was in when I first moved to Wisconsin where I’m more-than-a-bit angry with recent past events, spend a great deal of my time reading–which isn’t a bad thing, but I always end up re-reading the same fanfics over and over (specifically A Farm in Iowa, Chocolatey Goodness, and Domestic Piranhas), which is also Not A Bad Thing–and spending the rest of my time rearranging/cleaning/organizing my environment to try and sort out my own head-space.

And to fill in the holes that were made by what’s made me angry.

…I suppose it’s better than when I was really angry while I was still employed and was obsessively watching Sherlock fanvids.  And not the happy, fun ones; the ones that involved the end of Series 2. <–This is me trying to be not-spoilery.

It really is quite the THING.

So, anyway, aside from the dramatic whining (’cause I can totally pull of a turbo-sulk when I want to), I’ve been working more on the spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement series.

spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement: the Mirror
2012

the Mirror is, again, a Snow White piece.  For some reason, the Queen was really in my head for this part of the series. *shrugs* I’ve always been interested in the way that the Mirror is personified (and in Snow White and the Huntsman, which I haven’t seen yet, is anthropomorphized).  In my favorite version of Snow White with Diana Rig as the Queen, the Mirror actually has three faces and is kinda a dick, yet I like the idea of the Mirror as something almost Dorian Grey in its manifestation:  it appears as corrupted as its Queen.

Also, there’s some influence going on with infected/corrupted dungeons in .hack and Diablo III.

spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement: the Queen’s spell-strings
2012

the Queen’s spell-strings plays with the portrayals of the Queen from Snow White (any version) as a witch and how, in some types of witchcraft, spellwork can be integrated into knotted strings.  In this instance, the darkness that the Queen wants to bring to Snow White situated amongst the light Snow White believes she is living in.  There are bits and pieces integrated into the “spell-strings” that reference particular parts of the fairytale:  the raven that is one of the sacred birds that watches over Snow White while she is not-dead, raw metals that reference Snow White’s protectors, Snow White’s name to make the spell reference her specifically, and an Asian-themed bit of cinnabar that references when the Queen tries to kill Snow White with a poisoned comb.

spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement: Jorinda
2012

Jorinda was turned into a bird.  She was caged and sung to be released.  Joringle, who is always elsewhere, has forgotten about her again–or, at least, he had forgotten about her in the one I remember from when I was small; forgot about Jorinda until she sang to him–in an Snow Queen-esque moment of mental manipulation.

Jorinda and Joringle always seemed like cardboard hero and heroine; hence, Jorinda’s depiction as a bird made of abaca and embroidery–’cause, can a fairytale get more “subjugation of women” than caging the female character in a bird-cage–without the William Burroughs‘ references.

spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement: cthulloid treasure
2012

cthulloid treasure is a riff on The Little Mermaid but with a distinctly Lovecraftian bent cross-bred with folklore about ningyo (i.e., Japanese mermaids).  Yet, as often happens with me and my inspiration, I am draw to the portrayal of ningyo from popular culture sources:  namely, The Mermaid Saga, a Japanese anime and manga series.  In The Mermaid Saga, eating mermaid flesh can provide longevity, or it can turn the person that consumes it into a monster.

Monster-hood is more common than immortality.

Combine this idea with a kind of Lovecraftian (or, in reality, Syrian) Mistress of the Deep (She Who Swims in Darkness or some such thing), and you have the inspiration for cthulloid treasure:  something mysterious, grotesque, and from another world of understanding with spray paint golden scales that shine like the sun.

spindle’s work, Zellandine’s denouement: sub-text
2012

Really, what does it look like.

Think about it.

Embrace your inner-12-year-old boy.

I’ll wait.

*insert the Jeopardy theme song here*

A vagina dentata but woven on a circle loom.  Really, given what is always sub-textually present in fairytales and what modern fairytale writers have done with that sub-text, it was bound to happen in this series.

I swear I wasn’t really trying to be snotty with that last description, but it really is what it looks like and that’s how it ended up as part of this series and not something else.

What can I say?  I’m a sick, twisted deviant on occasion.

Oh, while I’m thinking about it, there’s an opening at the ARTgarage for Bonnie de Arteaga‘s front gallery exhibit; it’s Friday from 5-8.

Courage.

“Behold! For I am really not kidding!” <-Yes, I know I used it yesterday…

But, I think that it bears repeating, especially since I just finished The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore. Evidently, someone somewhere is making a The Stupidest Angel movie. For realz. o.O

 

I kinda want to know what crack he’s on, because it’s obviously the really good Metals Crack*, but I kinda want my own stash.

 

*spiiiiiiiiiiiiiiins and tra lala las*

 

So, I am feeling better–or, at least, I’m not going to die and have made it out of Hemlock House for my date with the Illustrious Miss Sara–and, therefore, I am owing y’all a post (or seven). <–Okay, this was like 8 hours ago.  WordPress was being stupid, and I lost my post.  Twice.

 

Asshats.

 

Sorry, I have much anger today.

 

 

 

Okay, it may not be much of a post since, between SOPA/PIPA last week and feeling like I was going to die this week, there hasn’t be a whole lotta thinking going on in my little squid head.

 

There was some thinking that Umberto Eco has some pretentious paranoia going on and an ugly, deep-seeded love/hate/lust thing going on with the Templars and all the numerous other secret societies that are scarpering about the planet. <–I just finished reading Foucault’s Pendulum too.

 

 

 

Nota Bene: The focus of my studies in Classics were Religion (specifically Mystery Religions), Mythology, and Art and my Senior Thesis in History was on Early Modern Mysticism, so I actually am really interested in these sorts of phenomenon. I also really like certain aspects of the book like Belbo’s fictionalized historicism of Kelley and the pages and pages and pages of really interesting history. There were just other parts that made me go “Really?” like the 3-4 chapters of false ending.

 

Can we say The Return of the King here?

 

Yes, I really do read multiple books at once; it’s easier when one has the attention span of a gnat.

 

*whistles*

 

So, before I got completely side-tracked by Eco and Moore, I was going to say that I have loads of nifty pictures by way of a pseudo-blog post today.

 

‘Cause, even ill, I’m completely bee-like.

 

But just a few. *feels stingy today*

 

full tunnel book

 

A tunnel book sample that I made to go with the physical advertising of my bookmaking class at the ARTgarage. I’m rather fond of it, although the picture kinda sucks. <–My photo area is still down due to a massive reorganization after ‘Lain moved out.

 

I also made a folded structure book sample to display. This is a picture of it in process; it’s done and on display, but I haven’t taken a picture of it yet.

 

sculpture book

 

I’ve been making some Kindle covers. This is mine and The Husband’s respectively.

 

question bird

 

hello owl

 

The handmade insult series is also continuing apace.

 

stupid head

 

Did I mention that I’ve also learned to perform basic knitting? <–No picture, just a random question.

 

And check out the amazing old china I found at Goodwill.

 

tea

 

It wasn’t a complete set, but it had the tiniest tea cups and a large-ish bowl and a plate. I <3 it like y’all wouldn’t believe.

 

Classes at the ARTgarage:

 

Storybeads:

  • Saturday, January 14th: basic beading structures & open studio
  • Saturday, January 21st: fiber incorporation & open studio
  • Saturday, January 28th: pendant structures & open studio
  • Saturday, February 4th: wire work & open studio

 

When: Saturdays, January 14th-February 4th, 10 am-12 pm

Where: the ARTgarage

Cost: $25 includes use of tools and basic materials (sign-up for 3 classes and take the 4th free!)

 

Bookmaking:

  • Saturday, January 14th: Instabooks
  • Saturday, January 21st: Concertina books
  • Saturday, January 28th: Pamphlets
  • Saturday,February 4th: Japanese Stab Binding
  • Saturday, February 11th: Codex books
  • Saturday, February 18th: Tunnel books
  • Saturday, February 25th: Flag books
  • Saturday, March 3rd: Carousel books
  • Saturday, March 10th: Folded structures
  • Saturday, March 17th: Altered books

 

When: Saturdays, January 14th-March 17th, 1-3 pm

Where: the ARTgarage

Cost: $60 for first session, $40 for each following session

 Papermaking:

  • Saturday, February 11th: History, equipment, initial pulls
  • Saturday, February 18th: Cotton pull
  • Saturday, February 25th: Abaca/flax pull
  • Saturday, March 3rd: Kozo, dyeing, and forming
  • Saturday, March 10th: Inclusion papers
  • Saturday, March 17th: Pulp-painting and collage pages

 

When: Saturdays, February 11th-March 17th, 9-12 am

Where: the ARTgarage

Cost: $150 for all six classes

 

Mixed Media:

 

Possible projects include 10-layer drawings, altered books, and assemblage and techniques such as photo-transfer.

  • Saturday, March 24th
  • Saturday, March 31st
  • Saturday, April 7th
  • Saturday, April 14th
  • Saturday, April 21st
  • Saturday, April 28th

 

When: Saturdays, March 24th-April 28th, 10-12 am

Where: the ARTgarage

Cost: $150 for all six classes

 

Sculpture:

 

Possible projects include mini-installation, guerrilla fiber, fiber art, assemblage, wearable art, and/or environmental art.

  • Saturday, March 24th
  • Saturday, March 31st
  • Saturday, April 7th
  • Saturday, April 14th
  • Saturday, April 21st
  • Saturday, April 28th

 

When: Saturdays, March 24th-April 28th, 1-3 pm

Where: the ARTgarage

Cost: $150 for all six classes

 

*”Metals Crack” was a joke when I was an undergraduate.  I took several Metals classes, and there were some people in them that should just not have been allowed near fire.  We kept telling them that Metals Crack was the really good crack that caused you to grow an extra eye in the top of your head.  Scarily, a few of them seemed to believe us.  *le SIGH*

 

Courage.

Mostly a writerly post instead of a studio post–

Kinda wrapping up my day and making certain that things that people asked me for are where they can be found relatively easily.

 

In theory.

 

Part the first is a couple of things I wrote during our Writing Prompt interludes during the bi-weekly Crit Group.

 

Writing Prompt:  scrump

 

There was a slithery noise.

 

He looked.  He listened.  He waited, but nothing happened.

 

As he turned to pull the box off of the shelf, he heard the noise again—dry, raspy, papery—like snakeskin moving across a wooden floor with an underlying thump that was reminiscent of tapping on flax paper.

 

I don’t wanna know.

 

There was another raspy-skitter, which seemed to originate from beneath a table in the far corner of the old garage where it was always darker, colder, where small voices could sometimes be heard cooing and chortling.

 

Where sometimes the bones of small animals lay scattered in the dust.

 

I’m not going over there.

 

But he found himself moving towards the sound as it intensified, amplified, added to itself an odd chirrupy-coo and what seemed like a more intentional thud.

 

He eased himself down onto his knees, somewhere believing that if he moved slowly enough, quietly enough the inevitable wouldn’t be inevitable, that the bad feeling he had would only be paranoia and baseless fear.

 

He crawled forward and saw far in the back, in the darkest, furthest corner something moving, pulsating, looking as if it were trying to wriggle free of its constraints.  Part of him wanted to touch the shadowy-movement, but the smarter part—the reptilian-brain part, the part that remembered what it was like to be hunted and killed for food—recoiled.

 

***

 

Writing Prompt:  head in a bag

 

She was riffling through the attic boxes, covered in dust and cobwebs and generally sneezing every few minutes, when she finally found the box that she was searching for.  Reaching inside, she pulled out a stack of old, sepia-toned photographs, shuffling through them until she found It: gleaming tubes not diminished by time or photographic reproduction, a dull, lifeless black lens eye, and beauty-white, sewn flesh.

 

She had found It standing amongst a group of overall-covered legs nearly obscured by dust and smoke, a factory looming ominously in the background.  In the picture, It was fully bodied, little arms and legs frozen in marionette-like motion.

 

Akimbo and awkward and about ten other words that began with “A”.

 

It was hideous and glorious:  the culmination of the industrial process, as if industrialization had become creation become abomination.

 

Looking at the photograph, the hideous little form, she could feel the constant, overwhelming heat of the factory baking her skin, stretching it taunt and uncomfortable across her face and hands.

 

Feel the ever-present anxiety of men who knew that they were playing at being God and that they would have to pay for it one day with blood and fire and screams.

 

Could hear—could feel—the sounds of the factory on that last day.

 

She could feel the ka-chunk of glass and plastic and metal being formed and enclosed.

 

The whirwhirwhirwhirwhirwhir of the needles sewing dead flesh to simulated bone.

 

The screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetch of it all going to Hell, and the patterpattepatterthumppatter of thousands of tiny metal-shod feet as they turned upon those that created them, people who screamed and begged for mercy, forgiveness, something other than the sharp snick-slice of tiny fingers or the tumbling crunch and riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip of becoming components for another batch of hell-spawn Ompa Loompas.

 

She knew those sounds, knew them with an initimacy that the photograph didn’t lend, although this picture was before that knowing, before those sounds were commonplace and those little creatures had revolted.

 

It was before her father had brought that first head home, small rips in its scalp with imperfectly sewn seams.

 

Before those sounds and those creatures were part of an ordinary Thursday afternoon.

 

***

 

So those are they.  I really thing there are some potential story ideas in there.  Either that or I really just feeling Lovecraftian. <—-wooooooooorrisome

 

I also purchased some knitting needles ’cause I’m going to teach myself to knit. \o?


Last weekend, I made my first codex book. Out of envelopes, so it has pockets and writable surfaces. *feels very, very clever*  I should take pictures of it.  I’m kinda proud of it. \o/


And, so I don’t forget, Apollo (Crit Group de-facto leader-lady) wanted me to post Aya Kato’s website:  Cheval Noir.

 

And–I’m done!

 

*tra lala la la*