collecting dust

Chris and I were talking the other day about ideas for different types of blog posts here on DF. One idea we had was to post a few more little things about us, because we like to think of ourselves as interesting, well-read, aesthetically adept individuals who have some neat things to share with the internet world at large. So we thought it would be fun to post about our personal collections of certain objects, which we, being treasure-hoarding artist-types, seem to acquire a large wealth of. So here are three of mine:

#1
Very old, well-loved stuffed animal toys. Clean museum-quality specimens need not apply. I like them dirty, with the mohair pulled off in spots, filled stiffly with straw or sawdust, and roughly charming. The bunny pictured is so old and faded you can't even tell he used to be blue, and his one glass eye being lower than the other is the result of a home repair. The lamb and his rusted little bell are so endearing, and that bear kinda, sorta does something when you turn the crank. I just realized I forgot to put my straw-stuffed rocking horse in the picture. Sorry horse!

They're sitting on a rusted and tattered old doll stroller...because I also have amassed a nice little collection of toy accoutrements for them.


#2 Antique medical, pharmaceutical, and science bottles. My collection spans the early 1900s to the 1950s, and includes some lovely gilded "under glass" labeled bottles (one is for Spirit of Ether), as well as some lovely hand-written science chemical labels, and a series of crazy old dental medications, such as Arsenic Discs and Silver Nitrate. There are still Arsenic disks in the bottle...supposedly they also contained Asbestos, Opium, and Cocaine, according to the label.




#3 Human Teeth. The molars in the foreground as well as the baby teeth in the vials are real. The antique Nuform tray and mason jar hold a bevy of porcelain teeth for denture-making. The ones in the jar are frequently put into my artwork, but the others will not be removed, save for the molars which have been cast into silicone molds to become an army of resin teeth.

Donations are welcome.

colonizing

Lead by designer Derrick R. Cruz, a group of artists in New York has collaborated on a project called "A New Hive" to raise awareness and funds for the plight of the very important, yet often forgotten, honeybee.  The global impact of Colony Collapse Disorder is affecting bee populations at an alarming rate, raising much concern over not only the future of these populations, but the plants they pollinate, and the ecosystems that are affected by their decline.

A show was set up at Earnest Sewn, and featured a dark, anachronistic display loaded with natural objects, symbolism, and about 200 pounds of honey. 

Below, you can see one of Cruz's solid gold honeycomb necklaces, made with the lost-wax casting method, from an actual piece of honeycomb.  It is displayed within a sugar pyramid filled with honey.

The proceeds from the art sold, as well as donations to the project go to support honeybee research, education, and development of sustainable beekeeping practices.  For more information about Colony Collapse Disorder, click here or here.

tattered fairy tales

The folks at Gibbous Fashions create their couture out of scraps of discarded clothing, textiles, and other fabrics. Some from today, many from yesterday. The pieces are carefully matched, mis-matched, frayed, hemmed, stitched, and twisted onto each other, creating beautiful layers of color and texture.


Their artists' statement (of sorts), tells us that they believe that clothing should be lovingly kept, worn out, repaired, worn out again, and cared for like a cherished object. With the beautiful layers and stories woven into their pieces, it would be no challenge to treat them with such tenderness.

so softly

Lyndie Dourthe is a french artist who makes beautiful objects - and LOTS of them.


The appeal of her art is not only in the beauty of the objects themselves - small studies in color, texture, form - but the repetition of the forms, and how they are arranged; in identical boxes of the same color, in rows, or in giant masses.






Her sense of color is wonderful; the palettes soft and lush and feminine and downright gorgeous. Light and texture seem almost tangible in these internet photos - i can only imagine how these lovely pieces look in real life.

haunted

Check out the photography of Lauren Simonutti. On her Flickr page, she asserts that her photographs are all done without the aid of digital effects - all manipulation is done in camera, or in the darkroom. Certainly refreshing these days.

seven deadly sips

Hamilton Design has created a conceptual set of seven red wine glasses based on the Seven Cardinal Sins. All nestled in plush burgundy velvet and polished wood, they look like an antique glass medical device.


Each handmade glass, representing a different sin, is almost painfully clever in concept - the Envy glass is full of holes, rendering what is most desired (the wine) all but unattainable, and the Lust glass is suspended from above, the only way to release the liquid inside being to manipulate a frosted glass globe with the tongue.

I don't even want to guess the price, but these absolutely exquisite sets are available for purchase at their website.

I believe in fairy stories

I'm going to post something unabashedly girly because Chris can't stop me.

Whichgoose handcrafts absolutely beautiful fantasy crowns from natural materials, ribbons, beads, and tiny birds. The subdued palette and organic nature of them just fits my "fairy tale ideal" to an absolute tee. Her colors, photos, and textures are like a hand-colored photograph from the turn of the century. I might have kind of a girl-crush on her....okay, I do.


If you are going to a medieval fair this summer, or need something for a niece or daughter for dress-up, or if you're like me and feel your own need to play dress-up, be sure to check out her Etsy shop!

the beauty of ugly

I was thinking this morning on the way to work about why exactly I am drawn to things that aren't just less than perfect, but have obvious defects, wear and tear, or just "wrongness" about them. I came up with three conclusions, all of which play a part in my attraction to, and need to acquire and surround myself with peeling paint, rusting hinges, wobbly joints, and frayed edges.

The simple answer would be simply because I like the aesthetic; old worn objects tend to have a beautiful, unified color statement when placed together, and the patina of age and time has a tendency to soften edges, mute colors, and smooth out the stark corners of newness. Being made of more natural materials as well, the textures and colors just resonate with me; there is such visual poetry in a beat-up wooden bowl, a sun-bleached piece of moss green silk velvet, or the slightly dusty, peeling face of an ancient taxidermied creature. But I think there is more to it than that.

My first conclusion is the feeling of maternal protection many of these things give me. I always thought that if/when I choose a pet from a shelter, I would find the most ragged, three-legged, one-eyed cat they could throw at me, because he would probably be considered unadoptable, but I would love him in his ugliness. Many inanimate objects give me the same feeling, the feeling that they are vulnerable, and need to be loved and protected. Old plush toys with their vacant glass eyes and ripping, handsewn seams are very much like the Velveteen Rabbit - loved into oblivion. Objects can fall into ruin by being loved too much just as they can by being abandoned. Perhaps it's that exact dichotomy that draws me.

Another, probably obvious, idea is the constant search for fellow misfits. So many people feel like they can't relate to "most" other people, or that they are somehow different in a way that is seen by the general populous as "broken" or "strange" or "ill-fitting". I collect things that are misfits. They are old, they have very few, if any, matches in the world, and the very nature of them being produced one at a time means they are not one of a million, and maybe not even one of a thousand. And completely handmade treasures, like home-made toys, were made in a production run of one. Time has affected them all in a unique way, and even if they began life looking identical to their counterparts, they will look vastly different now.

The allure of ugly is very strong. I remember always being upset at the end of Beauty and the Beast stories, when the beast turns into the Prince - I always liked him better as the Beast. All that was interesting about him, all that was a little bit dangerous, a little bit primal, a little bit frightening, was traded in for a clean-shaven square jaw and doofus-y pageboy haircut. So boring. I love the quirks in other people; freckled skin, crooked teeth, cowlicks, shadows of life still marked on them, and in the case of my husband, a scarred upper lip and one pupil that always dilates twice as much as the other one.

I think I'll always be attracted to what is slightly "off", a bit foreign, a bit uncomfortable, a bit dirty. It's not just an aesthetic appeal, it's something that touches me deeply and resonates within me. Perhaps my modern life is just too sterile and branded, I don't know. But I do know that I will continue to create new things that seem like old things, in my neverending quest to fill my world with the comfort of things loved literally to pieces.