I am cutting out some bloomers to go with a smock and I spied this batik wood stamp that I bought earlier in the year- months ago- actually- (remember Cheryl?) and thought I'd slap some ink on it and give it a whirl!
and I think its pretty cool but faint.
Someday I'll heat some wax and try batik with it...
This reminds me of a coloring book image- just begging to be filled in!
This guy is amazing!
Check out his Blog at Bent Objects
I finished this last night as I watched Practical Magic for the 30th time. nothing new on...old favorites will comfort.
It certainly feels good to get something completed!
I sketched him out and then painted him and cut around him and made a collage with an old cookbook page...printed on fabric..hot to add fabrics- helter skelter- no plan-no pattern- just log cabins burning in the night.
months and months ago....
now, he ties in perfectly with the Isabella Goes to Paris story...which you will get the final chapter of on Monday...I have aprons to finish and purses and a huge pile of "works in progress" to downsize.
I constantly seem to start new projects while other, almost finished things falter and slip by the wayside...then I find them and remember my love affair with that particular project and it is either rekindled or doomed to the bottom of the pile. 
No love.
Cold hearted and full of self loathing it wonders what to do to make me love it again...
perhaps it was a mistake I fear that can't be remedied.
no amount of stitching can fix its basic design flaws and blunders...
But this one, this Man/Boy offering up his Pie of Love is good and at least OK with me and my inner critic.
she is brutal, let me tell ya!
I cleaned up the paper dolls for a day or two- until I get some more foam cling to mount some new ones on and then I will have some new things to play with.
The stamps have become an obsession and I am spinning all my plates in the air- cloth, paper, scissors, glue, thread, glitter...
Thinking about Zines and how to construct one...lots of work...keeping busy...making hay while that Florida Sun Shines.
Happy Saturday!
Have you played today?
How is everyone enjoying the story so far?
My friend Amanda has suggested that it would make a great Zine so perhaps I will consider putting it all on paper and selling copies of the final story. What do you think? Worth my time? I have never made a Zine before but they seem quite the labor of love!
That's really not anything new, though, when I spend hours hand stitching or creating the things I make.
In honor of the 5th Season of Project Runway (which begins tonight!) I have started a little repurposed slip.
I began with a vintage Vanity Fair slip that I found at Goodwill. It is in excellent shape and doesn't appear to have been worn very often.
Then I layered on chiffon (tiedyed) and a scene from a thrifted batik silk scarf.
I pinned some net down on top and then stitched it with the machine. It did very well and I didn't have any puckering or pulling. I suggest using a brand new needle if you do have problems.
This is going to be part of the Isabella Goes To Paris story and will be in my Etsy soon along with some paper dolls featuring Gypsy Tart Fairies.
Stay tuned for another enchanting chapter soon!
xxxxooo,
Love & Stitches,
Calamity Kim
After a fitful night dreaming of chocolate and being chased by sunflowers that had pulled themselves up from the ground, grown legs and were always a few yards behind her, reaching for her, scaring her half awake in the process, all night long, Isabella didn't feel at her finest.
She would need all her courage to go seek out the baker and return his recipe cards.
What if he was married?
What if he didn't feel the same ?
She tried to think positive and soon was lost in her drawing as she felt herself grow quiet in the blending of color on her palette. This was her true love.
Creating something beautiful that soothed the senses and calmed the restless soul was all she needed to be complete.
For Isabella the act of telling a story with her brushes was as joyful as when she would make up fairy tales for the chickens back home. She felt so alive here in Paris and was amazed again by the way the city made her feel!
Everywhere she turned was a new and wondrous sight!
The dancers at the Moulin Rouge had made her feel courageous and daring and now after tossing and turning all night she wasn't as sure of herself.
Maybe tomorrow she would be brave enough to start her quest. So, Isabella worked at her easel the rest of the day and finally at sunset put her paints away and cleaned her brushes and went to the balcony and sighed as she looked out over the city lights.
It certainly was beautiful here, no matter what time of day it was.
She would always treasure her memories of Paris and her time spent here.
Last week she had gone to several galleries and her mind had swarmed with images like the bee keeps back at the cottage. Each new work of art entertained her with its textures and colors all flying in her field of vision to gain her attention and win her heart. Unable to decide on her favorite she had given up even trying.
She would love them all! Walking back to her hotel she had thought about how to keep from forgetting everything she was experiencing, for she didn't own a camera or tape recorder.
She had decided to make a book of her adventures and would write it all down and illustrate it and stitch it all together. She had already accumulated lots of mementos and couldn't wait to begin her new project.
It was with these thoughts that she went to sleep that night and soon found herself dreaming of the most enchanted garden with flower fairies and pixies dancing about.
Isabella smiled in her sleep as beautiful velvet gowned maids came with trays of tiny fruit tarts and pies with rose petals scattered about releasing the most intoxicating smells and aromas.
She woke feeling as if she had been the most pampered princess in Paris and couldn't help but feel that today was the day to seek out her Prince Charming.
She could just imagine herself having tea and conversation with the handsome baker as the birds serenaded them with love songs.
Isabella quickly went about her morning routine and was soon walking down the street past the galleries and bookstores when she came upon a sign for a Patisserie.
Gypsy Tarts it said in gilded art nouveau lettering on the glass window and above was a wooden sign with a painting of a Gypsy with wings holding a tart! That was certainly clever!
She peeked inside to see if she could see the the baker and was surprised to find two little girls looking right at her!
Taking a step back away from the window she decided to go in instead of run which was what she would normally have done. Paris had given her the courage of Joan of Arc and she would not be afraid to follow her heart!
As she went inside she was almost overwhelmed by the smell of lavender and peaches and couldn't take her eyes from the cases filled with lovely treats! They were all so deliciously beautiful and covered with tiny roses and edible flowers made from fondant. She wanted to taste one of each!
A woman's voice from behind the counter asked if there was something she would like and as she tore her eyes away from the pastry she saw the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen.
She was dressed like a gypsy and reminded her of the image painted on the sign out front. This must be the bakers wife and those adorable young girls dressed in Marie Antoinette costumes must be his daughters and she should just leave the recipes before she embarrassed herself in front of them!
She placed the cards on the counter and said I found these and I think they belong to the baker who owns this shop, please give them to him for me. A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to see the baker coming from the kitchen in the back!
Then she was suddenly out the door and nearly running back to her hotel with her face on fire and a coldness creeping into her heart and almost shutting her throat. She took short hot breaths as she tried to calm herself and not cry right there in front of the people passing her by.
She was foolish.
She had always been foolish.
She made up things in her head and painted pictures of imaginary worlds and she couldn't blame anyone but herself for the pain she was beginning to feel in the pit of her stomach.
She had gotten lucky with the success at the Gallery but it wasn't going to be as easy to find a husband! Well, she knew she didn't need one anyway, or at least her sensible side knew that!
She decided to paint some more and then go home. She longed to see her Father's smile and only a hug from Sadie would help mend this torn place inside her that seemed to grow blackened with frostbite with each passing moment.
Climbing under the covers, safe in her room, she remembered Scarlett's words of tomorrow and squeezed her eyes shut pushing out the tears waiting there and prayed for sleep.
Isabella had always sought sleep to overcome her blue moods and this was the only thing she could do. She knew better than to believe in love at first sight and she would get up tomorrow without any nonsensical ideas stealing her attention and get to work and then see the sights and then plan her return home, where she knew she belonged.
~to be continued~
Isabella was so glad she had taken care with her appearance that morning, putting on her newest frock and dabbing some rose water behind each ear. This was such a pleasant change from her usual work dress and apron and she hoped her face was not as red as she felt it must be as she reached out and graciously took a blueberry tart from the Baker's tray.
She looked up through her lashes and said thank you as he smiled and said " Of course! I wanted to repay you for finding one of my lost recipes! They came with me all the way from California and were hand written by my Mother and would be impossible to replace, even though I know them by heart. He set the tray of tarts down on the counter and with a small bow he said "au revoir et salut. "
Isabella turned with a sigh and took a small bite from the tart.
It melted in her mouth and reminded her of days spent by the creek picking blueberries and laying on a quilt in the shade of the ancient oaks and reading books and watching Sadie run through the field of Queen Anne's lace.
She would have to find out where his Patisserie was located and return the other recipe card she had found; surely it belonged to him.
Him.
She had forgotten to ask his name or even tell him hers.
She was not very skilled in flirting or even simple dialog when she considered how tongue tied he made her feel.
Is that what love is?
It wasn't very comfortable she thought as she sipped her tea and waited for the gallery owner to return with her portfolio.
She knew she would dream of pastry tonight and slowly enjoyed the last bit of tart.
If only she could mix the proper shade of golden brown she could paint his image and have a memento of this day. Telling herself she would return to her hotel room and paint she concluded her meeting with the Gallery owner who had returned from his back office with a huge grin and a promise of some very good news for her soon, she quickly wrapped another tart in her napkin and juggled her portfolio and pocketbook and said her goodbyes.
The days passed quickly and before she knew it she had managed to fill several watercolor pads with finished paintings. She had lost all perspective on whether they were any good, she had just sketched and painted with abandon, allowing her brush to paint what her heart felt.
Isabella had received a note from the Art Gallery that said she should come visit right away and so after getting dressed and wrapping her newest paintings in tissue and placing in her bag she was off to see Mr LaPierre at the shop. She had dreamed that he had a grand opening Exhibition of her work and the Queen of England herself had visited and purchased a painting for her sitting room!
Moving quickly down the street she was almost to the Gallery when she noticed a small piece of paper stuck near a bicycle rack. She stopped to pick it up and was delighted to find that it was another recipe!
Today she would search the neighborhood until she found that blueberry tart chef and maybe he would invite her to tea in his gratitude. Maybe she would finally learn his name.
Maybe he would sweep her off her feet and...
"Please! You need to stop this day dreaming and get serious! You could sell some paintings, make a name for yourself, be self supporting!"
She knew she could take care of herself and where had love ever gotten anyone she thought. Her Father had been sad and lonely for as long as she could remember.
The cook had never married after her one true love had been drafted off to war and never come home.
The housekeeper was so happy with her job and filled her free time by knitting that she never seemed to mind being alone.
She broke from her musings and realized she was at the Gallery. Mr LaPierre was standing just inside the door with a grin too large for his face and welcomed her to set her things on the chair and make herself at home.
Then he told her that he had indeed sold everyone of her watercolors for a substantial amount and she almost fainted when she saw the numbers on the cheque he waved in front of her nose!
Well! This certainly made her pause to consider her dreams. Her plans. Her hopes. Her Dream of finding a Prince, a true Love...She had read many books where the man had only proposed marriage after finding the heroinne had a fortune. So many books that she thought what if I become famous and rich and men only seek my company for those reasons?
She placed the cheque in her bag and gave him the new paintings and went to find a bank to start an account. Then she would buy more paper and watercolors and that easel she had been dying to have with the build in stool. She could place it anywhere and paint in comfort for hours.
She had never imagined that anyone would want top buy her work and she forgot to ask LaPierre who had bought them all.
She continued to write home about her days in Paris and tried to find postcards that captured the beauty and style of the city.
Her Father wrote that all was fine with the farm and the animals were all well and the garden coming in nicely. He did mention that Sadie seemed the worse off as she would spend her days either on Isabella's bed or laying on the front porch watching the lane for any sign of her return.
She was starting to really miss home and that news didn't help any!
Really though, she could stay here a while longer, she had much to see and experience and was eagerly anticipating an evening at Moulin Rouge that very night!
~to be continued~
Isabella walked everywhere in the streets of Paris and would often sit and sketch the amazing buildings and sights that she saw. Her hotel was next door to the Cabarets of Heaven and Hell and she would make up fanciful stories with them as the location. It was easy to do, even someone without so active an imagination could probably do it!
She began writing to her Father to let him know she was well and happy and enjoying all the fine things Paris had to offer. She liked the idea that she was now walking on the same cobblestones her Father and Mother had once strolled and was hopeful that Fate would bring about a true love for her as well.
One day she woke up and put on her happiest stockings and after having a sip of wine (for courage!) decided to take some of her drawings around to different shops and see if any of the owners wanted to sell them for her. There were so many artists in Paris that she felt almost ashamed of her meek efforts. But she needed to make money as her wallet was growing slim and she had not even met one single person, more or less her One True Love.
Isabella knew that if she went back to the cottage without a husband she would end up an old maid. Her heart was so full of love that it was impossible to imagine that she would not be able to share that with someone. There must be a match for her.
If only she knew where to look, she would go there right this very minute.
She picked up her portfolio and locked her hotel room door and said goodbye to the doorman and walked into another lovely day in Paris.
The air seemed sweeter and the flowers more vivid than at home.
Perhaps it was all the bakeries and patisseries all over the city that made it smell like Heaven!
As she strolled down the sidewalk, enjoying the colorful dresses and fashionable hats of the French women she would keep her eyes on the ground for any bit of something she might keep as a souvenir of her time here. She had an album at home for keepsakes and postcards and she hoped to add a few more pages to it once she finally returned.
Hello! What was that bit of paper at her feet?
It was a recipe for Angel Food Cake!
Written out on a stained and crumbled bit of index card. She thoughtfully put in in her small bag and continued on her way, wondering to herself if it was a sign.
Even though no one else at home believed in them, she did!
She would often have strange things happen, like the Bible would fall from the bedside table and then suddenly the door bell would ring and there would be Father Goodman calling for tea.
Or one time she was at the grocery and ran into a whole display of dog food with her cart and later that day a neighbor had brought over Sadie as a tiny pup and asked if she would like to have her.
Maybe the recipe meant something?
Maybe it was just a scrap of paper that had been lost and didn't mean anything her more sensible side argued. Her sensible side had been quite upset over this whole ordeal and longed to be home, safe with her orderly schedule and tatting.
The rhythm and repetition kept her hands busy and her mind occupied and she didn't feel lonely as she tatted for hours in the lovely wicker rocker on the porch of the cottage. She could smell the wisteria and lavender almost as surely as she was there.
She couldn't let her sensible self ruin this for her because this would be her only chance at a Romantic Adventure and she was going to enjoy it! She had worked hard all her life and never expected any thanks because it was her duty but now she finally had done something selfish and yet she believed that her Father understood and wished her success, once he had gotten over his initial grief at being abandoned so suddenly.
Maybe after she had shown her drawings and watercolors around town she would grab a petite morsel and eat it in her room and then do some tatting to while away the time and sooth her inner critic.
Maybe she would earn enough money to visit the infamous Moulin Rouge she thought as she walked by and stopped to peer up at the Moon on top. It must be quite wonderful to see a show in such a fanciful place. The city was magical to her and every morning she was enchanted anew when she looked out her window at the view before her.
She could hardly wait to get dressed and be among the crowds so merrily walking around taking in the air and so unaware of the marvelousness that was Paris. Why, she bet that hardly anyone who was born here was even delighted with the architecture or uniqueness of Paris. There were times she had been walking on the beach by her home and heard tourists remarking on the view as they saw it for the first time. It was the same everywhere she imagined. People get used to something and then take it for granted.
It was just as she finished that thought that she saw a flutter of paper land at her boot and she had to step back not to step right on it!
It was another recipe!
This one for donuts!
It said comfort at the bottom of the page.
What did that mean? Was it a person's name? Or was it a discription of the fried cake?
She was about to put it in her bag with the other found recipe when a man with an apron and chef hat came running towards her almost knocking her into the bed of lavender and topiary at the doorway to an art gallery. He accidently bumped her portfolio and as it fell to the ground the latch opened and her pages of artwork began to fly about like kites on the breeze. Or maybe it was butterflies like the ones she felt in her stomach as she looked up into the kindest brown eyes she had ever seen.
Just at that very same instant the owner of the Art Gallery came out and said: "Here, Here! What's Going ON??? Madame, may I help you? Did this clod hurt you?" Then he began picking up the drawings and paused as he saw what they were. He looked at Isabella and said "Are these yours? Did you do them?"
She could only nod as her voice had momentarily left her and was off running in a field of daisies, happy with the hope of love or at least mesmerized with infatutaion.
The Chef looked down at her hand and took the recipe, saying, "Pardon me, but this is mine. Thank you for finding it. The wind caught my book just as I was about to put it in my pocket and it has scattered my favorite recipes all over Paris, I am afraid!" With that being said he turned and walked quickly back down the street and soon disappeared from her view in the crowds of people.
Her cheeks felt as warm as wrought iron rail she leaned back on to steady her trembling legs.
He was handsome.
He smelled like bluebarry tarts.
His eyes were so golden brown and crinkled around the edges with laughter just waiting to ring in her ears.
The Art Gallery owner took one look at her and suggested she come in for a spot of tea and a cucumber sandwich as his wife had just made him a midmorning snack and this girl looked as if she needed some fortification. It would also give him a chance to look at her work, which he thought he just might have a buyer who would be interested in them.
Isabella gladly let him assist her into his shop and gratefully sat and sipped her tea as she tried to shake the image of the handsome baker from her mind. He had run off so quickly, he probably wasn't interested in her or had even noticed her.
He just wanted his old recipe!
That was all!
What was wrong with her?
The sensible Isabella stifled for weeks decided to give herself a strict talking to and launched into a lecture, her shoulders sagging as she listened to her inner monologue rant and rave about love and romance and silliness and butterflies, indeed!
Isabella sighed and was about to admit to herself that she was right when the gallery bell rang and the baker appeared with a large tray of tarts.
~to be continued~
