It has not been a quiet week in the Baggaraggs. There has been a bout of bronchitis that seems happy to have made its home in the airways of the inhabitants, The rain has persisted daily, Providing the perfect environment for mosquitoes, pool algae, and polywogs. And then Trudy retired from her vocation, her "life long calling," as she liked to say, as a Psychic. I don't know about Trudy's early predictions, but this later period of her career was infused with dire predictions of horrific deaths, global disasters, and an unhealthy preoccupation with poison. Her clients grew depressed and anxious, many hospitalized with PTSD, at her graphic predictions of their last moments on Earth. After a bit, there were no more clients, and Trudy's life long calling shrank to predictions of her own demise. "Well, I guess tomorrow I will go and make arrangements for my funeral," she said somewhat angrily. "What?" I coughed. I have suggested it might be better to have lunch with friends, but Trudy's suggestion of a casket picnic has put even her closest friends ...off. I'm hoping you can help her. I have my hands full here. Sure, she looks a little angry. I admit that. But who isn't a little moody from time to time.
Its been a couple of years since I have blogged. I have been on Facebook and have ignored this space where I once spent so much time. I find that it is calling me back though, so here I am.
This is Prunella. I began using these reverse nose figures last year at Halloween while making inventory for the Spirits in Sanford show. I like them. It gives some dimension to her face and is a little outrageous.
You can find her here: Prunella
Are you interested in learning to do a NOSE like this? Let me know.
Peace out, Robin
The Snowflake Fey has a story to tell you. Once upon a time she met another Fey who...well, he just plain adored her. He wrote her love poems, gathered posies to scatter at her feet, and made her a mean meatloaf. She told him that she loved him too, but she didn't really. She did love the idea that someone adored her though and encouraged his adoration. After a time, She felt perhaps that with her good looks, and lively spirit that she could maybe do better...after all...he was not a rich and handsome Fey, and Love comes easily doesn't it? So she spurned his advances, turned away his kisses and love, and fed the meatloaf to the ravens. As Fate would have it, The North Wind Fey chanced to observe her behavior, and chanced to observe the tears of his son, The Summer Breeze Fey, whose heart she had broken. With a frosty breath he turned his son's tears into snowflakes and then tasked the Snowflake Fey with guiding those snowflake tears into the eyes of lovers as they are about to be kissed. The Snowflake Fey has a chance to be released from her sentence with your help. On a winters day, when perchance a snowflake lands in your eye, take the hand of your beloved and kiss them sweetly. She is nearly free of this curse, and has only a 100 more snowflakes to go before she can love again. Although I think her chances with the Summer Breeze Fey are Zip. She is 8.5 inches tall
This Lovely elf reminds me so much of my cousin Claude that I named him Claude. My cousin does not have a beard or a pink tree, nor is he an elf. There is something about his eyes though that make me think of him. Something kind in them, and forgiving. Why would I need forgiveness from my cousin, you may be thinking? Well, I will make this story brief, but long ago when I was young, my cousin Claude and my brother and I were playing Cowboys and Indians. They were Cowboys and I was the Indian. ( not politically correct anymore I know, but nevertheless true) I had a bow and arrow that I had made from scratch....being crafty even as an 8 year old. The day was going pretty well until the "Cowboys" decided that they would run off to the "Secret Fort," some where I was not actually invited to, destination "BOYS ONLY." Off they ran, leaving me yelling "Wait up!" As I watched the boney shoulders of my cousin running up the hill away from me, I was seized by a terrible rage, and impulsively drew out my bow and arrow, and shot him. As it was a homemade arrow, and somewhat rickety, it only stuck in a little bit, but felled him nicely. I did have some mixed feelings about this...horror at my own accuracy, remorse and fear that I had killed my cousin, as my Brother was announcing loudly with a dirty finger pointed at me. I do recall that I got quite a whipping over this, and also overheard my Dad say proudly to my Mom, "Our Robbie Les is quite a shot." So that is my Christmas story. Well, its a story and I told it at Christmas. Claude is made of muslin and calico. He has a needle sculpted face and a wool beard. he has been coffee dyed , baked and painted. There is a right side leaning pink brush tree next to him. They have been handily glued to a piece of horse chestnut that I understand you can't get anymore, that measures about 6.5 inches long. Merry Christmas. P.S. I am not in jail, and my cousin was fine. I saw him some years back and he somehow didn't even remember this story. (PTSD I guess)
Some long time ago,
and she cannot say exactly when,
she accepted the end of the summer garden.
She does not believe that she will have the scent of lobelia again,
or tangle with the invasive mint, or feel the furry leaves of the lambs ears.
Or feel the bees buzz her cheek, or wait upon the opening rose bud.
She dwells now in Petal Dreams,
a place in her thoughts she does not share as longing with others.
Imagine the surprise
and the stretching of her heart,
the swelling with joy,
when spring comes
and another chapter is written.
Petal dreams is made of muslin and calico, and has been coffee dyed baked and painted.
Her sheep hair is sewn to her head.
Her trims are vintage lace and hand dyed rayon seam binding. She is dressed with vintage rose leaves and Mulberry flowers. Her wings are wedding net and moss ribbon.
She is 9.5 inches tall.
I recently traveled to Blairsville, Georgia to participate in the Sorghum festival. I have been wanting to do some shows outside and thought I would combine my longing to see my daughter Friedel, who lives in Seattle, with a love of the autumn leaves...it seemed like a win-win situation. Friedel flew into Tampa, Florida and I picked her up in the Queen Victoria, my mini van, nicknamed Vicki. If this all seems a bit flat, hang in there I am trying to get to the good part... We did a bit of Cracker Barrel Pub Crawl, stopping for lunch and again for dinner on the way there. It was nice but kinda predictable, hovering around the gift shop looking at sweaters I wanted but wished were 50% off. I didn't buy any and I didn't let Friedel buy any either. We got to Atlanta, and decided since we were having a grand adventure to take the Bypass around it. I usually go straight through, and just grit my teeth. Then I take 575 up to 515 and head to Blue Ridge. By the time we get to the cabin we have rented it is usually late and I am tired. this time was a little different. Friedel has an I-phone and I have a smart phone as well, so I wasn't too concerned when we got off on I-85 somehow. Went right to Gainesville, Georgia. I am so glad that I didn't have a map because looking at it now kinda freaks me out...because we were far from where we needed to be...I think at some point we took 11 and traveled its dark and lonely country path into the night to Turners Corner...where we couldn't get reception any more on our smart ass phones. It was about 9 o'clock...I got gas although I didn't need it...just comforted me to have a bulging tank of gasoline as a defense against this endless road I guess. I went into the Valero store and asked for directions and some hope that we weren't hopelessly lost. A word I don't use too much. The lovely woman at the counter said I was about an hour from Blairsville. She smiled when I said "THAT LONG?" She was sweet when she said that the trip would be shorter if we didn't have to cross Blood Mountain and that there were a lot of switch backs that slowed you down. Blood Mountain? So, Off we went. I grew up in the country and I know that the nights are dark. We traveled 129 I think, going north and slightly east. We crossed Blood Mountain. It was about 10 o'clock at night. Friedel said I had lost my neck because my shoulders had risen in tension up to my earlobes. I began a singular dialogue with my car Vicki, and Friedel seemed to punctuate the road and my dialogue with a variety of appropriate songs on the radio. Or those songs were sent to her from a guardian angel with a fabulous sense of humor. At one point we were climbing a very steep grade with switch backs on Blood Mountain with Highway to the danger Zone from Top Gun blaring. I haven't laughed so hysterically in long time. Not predictable. This was not the Cracker Barrel Pub Crawl. We rounded a corner and passed a vehicle facing us on the opposite side of the shoulder with a smashed windscreen. Decided to go back and see if there was someone who needed help. Creepy now... middle of the mountain, difficult to turn around. managed it. relieved to see a pink ticket on the car, marking it as illegally parked instead of severed heads and limbs hanging zombie style from the rear view mirror. Turned around again. Crested the top and shot over the top after reading the run away truck sign. Great! Down we went. Hysterical laughter. More crazy song narration. Our cabin was in Owl town. It was on the south east side of Blairsville and Thank you God on the path we wee traveling. Followed the directions to Wilson Mountain...narrow leafy mountain tracks... Arrived. Hysterical laughter.
So its been a long time since my last post. We have had many things happen in the Land of the Baggaraggs. My son and his girl moved home and we have had a new grandchild, a sweet little baby girl; Claire. I am sharing studio space with my grandson Rowen. Its cramped and at times my studio bursts out and takes over other spaces in the house. My husband was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease this summer. We are trying to get that sorted, but for the time being he is not taking any medication. This is hard. I have recently returned from a trip to Blairsville Georgia where I participated in the Sorghum Festival. I spent 6 glorious days with my daughter Friedel. She flew into Tampa from Seattle and I picked her up. We had a fabulous time, and although my sales were nothing to brag about, we met lovely people and had so much fun...until she missed her plane home. Bit of a miscalculation on my part driving to the Atlanta airport. So how is everyone? tell me all. I have been writing so much in my mind all year...that's the way my thoughts work, so I am happy to be back writing things down again. I hope you are all well. Love, Robin
It is the Evergreen season and many creatures and trees are sleeping. Not the Fey. They are industriously making their somethings out of nothings, a Fey Principle if their ever was one. This Fairie File is made from Scrapbook paper serged together and has a brown bag scrap of paper that has had the edges serged as well that would be Lovely for writing a special message to someone loved. It can also be used as a place of storing something magical. It is closed with a serged strip of paper bag secured with a feather clip. It is 6 inches wide by 5 inches tall.
The Spirit of Christmas is a slippery thing. I sometimes look for it in the shopping and baking and wrapping but it is not there. I listen for it in the tolling of the Church bells, announcing the Birth of the Savior, in the voices raised in Caroling. Please let me find it. Please let me feel it. I have had recent conversation with this Fey, who has a watch vial of red glitter in a pouch on her personage. "Is that Magic Glitter?" I asked her. She shrugged her shoulders. I wanted to shake her into confirmation, to make her speak, to tell me that "YES!" This will bring that sensation of feathers around your heart. The sweet Magic of Christmas." But she wouldn't talk. Later that Night I had a dream. I was dressed as a Fey, and I could Fly. My Body was filled with Light and Energy. My Spirit was buoyant, and I had a wand. I could see my own Heart, broken from the loss of our Beloved Dog, Albert. The Magic Fey Flitted about me, mosquito like, darting about. "Simple," she kept saying the word "Simple." So this year I will find Magic in what is Simple. Not in spending Tons of money, baking until I drop, or decorating like a department store. Pushing until I have no vision for magic or spirit or anything short of a Lightening bolt to electrify my tired and Broken heart. That is what the Magic fey is about. Simple really. Just Magic in the Simple. The Magic fey is made of muslin and has been coffee dyed baked and painted. She has cloth covered wire arms and legs that have been painted and glittered. She does have a watch vial of glitter in a pouch hanging at her side, but let it be a reminder to just keep it Simple. Take care of yourself. Peace out.
The Last Leaf falls,
and the Makers begin their weaving of the Moss Thread.
The looms of the Oak branches, bent with the weight, woven with Moss, spider webs, and Moonlight, yield a fabric of Magic.
You should see them there,
A Night Heron eyes their work, feet ankle deep in the mossy creek,
a curious spectator.
If you are lucky, you will see the remains in the woods where they have worked,
lichen covering the rocky places.
Moss sponging the rotted wood.
Here is the MossThread Night Fey.
A weaver of the Moss Thread Magic.
She is made of Muslin and has a collaged dress of bits and bobs. Her wings are printed velveteen and MossThread. She is 15.5 inches tall.
You know when folks say "No news is GOOD News?" Well that has never been particularly true for me. I have been away from my blog this summer...quite a lot. There are times when life has more troubles then other times when things are going pretty good. You understand that I am sure. And then for me, There are times when I am so overwhelmed by problems that are Chronic, that I just get worn down and loose my perspective. I get anxious and don't sleep good. I know I should I don't sleep well, but I didn't. I am not alone in all of these things, struggles and troubles, but that doesn't mean that every post has to be about it...so sometimes I just don't post. But today I have GOOD NEWS. GOOD NEWS!!!! I have been Published in Stampington's Holidays and Celebrations! They asked me to submit my Haunted House, and I did... They accepted it. Its here on page 80. I wrote a story and everything.
I will say that it means a lot to be amongst such a talented group of artists, and to be published...well, that's a life goal of mine. I will also be in Prims, another of Stampington's publications.
I am not sure what page I am on as I do not have the mag yet but I am IN THERE SOME WHERE!!!!
So I wanted to share with you this bit of GOOD NEWS!!!
In a world where good news is harder to find then good fishing worms, its a Celebration!
"When did this all get to be so very, terribly serious?" asks Trudy, wielding a rusted Bottle cap flower wand. She eyes me with concern, her mouth dancing sideways. "You have misplaced your SILLY," she gasps, recognizing my apparent deficit. I do not have an opportunity to respond, cognitive slowing, evidently. I do not have a chance to get a word in. Trudy has already waved her wand at me, casting her best silly spell, and in response I... I emit a bubble of a giggle. A burp of a chuckle. A lightness, like feathers around my heart. "Thanks Trudy," I say with some relief, my cognition coming up to speed. "I needed that." Trudy is a Fey from the Land of the Baggaraggs. She is made of coffee dyed muslin, and pink gingham. Her trims are vintage, except her wings which are cut from a child's pinafore. She has painted, cloth covered wire arms and legs. She is 14 inches tall and has a loop for hanging. She also sports a rusted and painted bottle cap wand. Perfect for banishing heavy thoughts and cognitive slowing. (DEPRESSION, in other words.) Be silly!
Dear Friends of the Baggaraggs. The summer rains have come, and the cycle of thunderstorms have arrived. I'd like to say that's about it, dust my hands together in a gesture of "DONE!" but really that would not be true. I am not sure how to write about what is happening here in the Land of the Baggaraggs. Maybe I will just borrow a line from one of my Favorite movies "Star Wars" and say "There is a disturbance in the Force." I will spare you the gory details, but in truth I am worried about my family. I have made mistakes in parenting, I'd like to add the caveat that most parents do, but somehow I think that makes mine look insignificant. They are NOT. I am reaching for greater honesty. Reaching for the courage and strength to try to free myself of old patterns in my family of origins. I would like to suffer less, and I would like my children to be free of any suffering I have created for them. I am working hard to try to pave a way, an emotionally safe avenue for my children to work out past STUFF with me. I am holding out my hand and my heart...trusting that I will have the strength to endure the pain of what needs to be said, and face my own shortcomings as a Mother. Gulp. So the summer thunderstorms have come, Bringing some potentially healing thunder and emotive lightening with it. And so on the Fourth of July, I would like to invite you to your Own Independence day. A day Independent of Fear. One Independent of Old Grief, and sadness. A Celebration of greater Honesty with your family, courage and tenacity to untie old knots, and patience to listen to each other. Hear each other. And greater Love. May all beings be free from suffering. In love, Robin PS How is your summer going?
It is a time of summer storms. Rain and greening. The grass grow faster then I can mow it. The lichen and mosses and tiny bits of verdant green cover everything, mossy fingers that reach out in tropical chaos. The plants do not grow so much as they hurtle upward toward the sun. She is almost a part of the landscape. Our Enid. I see her for a moment, a glimpse of her face there among the gingers, by the creek. She smiles and shows me her bouquet of rag flowers. and then with a flit of wings and a flutter, she is gone. I hope you find magic this summer. Something to stir you to wonder after it rains. Enid is a fey. Made of muslin, and scraps of fabric, some vintage. her wings are made from a vintage quilt. Her arms and legs are painted cloth covered wire. Enid is about 9.5 inches tall.