Mid-century sideboard, mine. *Note: no mirror

If you've read other posts, you might know that my friends and I are rather keen on old things (and that I am a master of understatement).  

A friend, who lives quite close by, was out on the trawl for treasures when she came by a mid-century/late deco wooden and mirrored dressing table, alone in the back room of the house which was being cleared. She forked out the requisite dollars (not very many) and hauled it back to her burrow, where she and a friend unloaded it into the garage.

A lick of paint, a bit of sanding, and it was looking very schmick indeed, so my friend and her mate hauled it up into the bedroom, where it faced the bed.



This is Tasmania, it was winter. My friend was complaining that she couldn't warm the house, even with the wood heater and the gas heater and the sun shining through the big windows. Like my house, it has big windows to catch the sun and it isn't a cold house. She started to have aches and pains in her knees.  She started to be woken in the night by a great weight on top of her, or pressing against her, in her bed. She was alone.

My friend's young grandaughter came to change for netball, but wouldn't change in the bedroom any more. 

Chest of drawers, spare room.  No mirror.

Discussion ensued with someone we shall call "Friend 2", who has a certain sensitivity to such things.  Her immediate response to the knee aches was that religion was involved - prayer on the knees and so on.

Further research by Friend 1 showed the dressing table had been owned by a pastor, of the old fashioned brimstone type. 

She decided that the dressing table should leave her possession pretty urgently.  In the meantime, she wanted to move it out of the bedroom. The friend who had helped her carry it in came by to help move it.  Without anything in it, they could barely lift it. They managed to drag it into the hallway, with difficulty.

It was advertised super cheap on Gumtree and Facebook, but no-one who expressed an interest turned up.  After a night, the girls gathered their strength and managed to drag it out onto the front veranda, where it sat, mirror to the wall, sulking.  

Occasional table, no mirror

I went there for dinner on the Friday night, and I can confirm that it was definitely sulking.  I did not want to be standing on that veranda, I felt very uneasy while I was waiting for the door to be opened. My door knocking had a certain frenetic edge, especially since the veranda light wasn't working. There may have been scratching on the door. But inside, it was toasty warm. My friend's knees had returned to full working order.

It eventually sold for a pittance and was removed. It either wanted to go or the people were very strong.  Or it had found out about the plan to drop it into the pit at the tip, where it would go one on one with the big bulldozer.  My money was on the bulldozer.

I still can't look at furniture involving mirrors. 

the lazy, the women and the wardrobe

o Happy four day weekend, how I love you.

Nice weather on the home front....

Good friends, champagne, fresh local oysters, mussels and local salmon.  You could almost taste the serenity.

We were (as usual) tip trawling on Friday afternoon, when we came across a lovely antique wardrobe (which caused my companion to drool) and a mid-century display cabinet, which caused me to lose all reason. I HAVE NO ROOM IN MY HOUSE FOR MORE FURNITURE.

Naturally, we bought them instantaneously. She who hesitates, misses out.  Of course, they won't fit in the vehicle at the same time. I stay with the purchases, friend scoots home to get the trailer.  Extremely large and heavy wardrobe fits into trailer with 5cm clearance.  At this stage we'd just like to thank all the gormless blokes who stood around or sat in their vehicles texting - no doubt complaining how we were slowing them down in their quest to buy grog for Australia Day.  Especially the ex-local Councillor and his young mate, for whom helping your fellow person is apparently only a church guideline. 

We also wrassled the heavy mirrored and glassed cabinet into the vehicle without assistance.  We knew we could do it, but it simply would have been easier and quicker with another pair of hands. 

My friend is very happy with her wardrobe, and my display cabinet is in situ and intact, which is more than you could say of my opinion of the Australian spirit and 21st century manners.

At a tip in a nearby municipality, however, there is no shortage of helping hands and community spirit.  My uncle, in the dark recesses of the dawn of time (last century) was possessed of a rocking chair which even in the 60's was considered antique.  When they moved into a new residence it, with other fabulous stuff, was dumped.  Even as a child I begged my father not to do it, but he said it was old and I couldn't possibly want it.  He was so very wrong.

(Come to think of it, this may have started me on a certain path.)

I saw one at a garage sale about 4 years ago, they wanted an inordinate amount of cash for it and I had to let it go.  Today, I got one.  It's a bit ratty but structurally sound. I can rebuild it, I have the technology - sandpaper, hard work, etc etc.  I also got a wooden tripod thingy which will make an excellent lamp, and assorted other bits and pieces. And yes, someone offered me assistance to load it into the car without being asked, with a smile. 

It's called good manners.

I took my out of town friends to Willyung Antiques for a bit of a prowl on Saturday, and it's well worth the (short) trip.  Lovely spot, fantastic stock, proper cup of tea with a scone, served by a helpful and genial host. I loved that he knew the stories of the items he was selling and so obviously was interested in them.  My friend bought a lovely old bathroom/first aid cabinet and my grip had to be prised from some oregon pine pigeonholes.  

I thought I might reclaim a certain blackwood sideboard currently stashed elsewhere - pigeonholes for the placement of - but when I got home I realised I have a nice oregon chest of drawers here which would be enhanced by said accoutrement.

I told you I have too much furniture. I may need another scone next weekend, who can say.  

'Tis the season (almost)...

I've decided that as window washers go, I'm a really good jewellery maker.  We spent a large part of the afternoon cleaning the windows of the ex-restaurant which is to be the venue for our annual vintage and handmade market. My friend and fellow stall-holder Sam came with me to pick up the keys and let the sunshine in, which we did - eventually. I have new and enormous respect for those people you see effortlessly squeegeeing in curvy shapes and leaving nary a smear or streak.  Scratch 'window cleaner' from my list of alternate professions and George Formby from my playlist.

While we scrubbed the urban cocktail of oil, grease, salt and dust (baked in the afternoon sun for 3 months till crispy) we chatted about the joy of 'curating' an art market. We talked about the dreaded 'stall creep' (where you get crowded by the person next to you, who wants to expand into your space - especially if you are 10 minutes late); market etiquette generally; and the gazillion little things that make a market happen.

Events like this don't randomly spring into being: there are 1000 jobs to be done and decisions to be made before the doors open, expenses to be incurred (and underwritten).  Posters and ads have to be designed and produced; ads written and booked (and paid for); venues found and organised; local councils appeased (even though the zoning is correct); stall holders invited, encouraged, vetted and sometimes rejected; furniture moved; finances and credit card facilities maintained and organised; cleaning (before and after) to be organised or in this case, done; the many different needs of participants juggled (working hours, space, times, allergies and alliances); and so on and so on and so on.

To provide a successful event, none of the above is cheap, yet everyone wants to pay the absolute minimum for their space.  The big places where costs can be reduced are, of course, venue and advertising.  If you want a few hours in all weather in a park, on the off chance someone will come by (and buy), then invest your $5 and take your chances.  If you want a good venue, in a CBD location, then you advertise - as does any business. Run of paper advertising (that's the ads NOT in the classifieds) isn't cheap but good ads will yield serious traffic.  Some radio advertising is really good, provided the right people are listening and I use a small, truly local outfit with a large listener base in the right demographic. Like anything else, you basically get out of it what you put in: invest correctly and reap the rewards.

You can't guarantee that people will buy.  That's up to the sellers and their stock. But provide a quality product at a reasonable price, and people will buy, provided you sell it to them.  It means hours of standing on your feet, engaging the customer, smiling till your face aches....working hard. And don't even talk about display, merchandising, promotion.  Or who will pay for the toilet paper and hand towels (and for that matter, the lightglobe in the loo).

So here's a big thank you to Sam, for giving up her Sunday afternoon and getting her hands dirty (literally). I suspect she's not considering a career in semi-professional squeegee-based services, either.

Einstein said, amongst many other pithy things, that creativity is the residue of time wasted.  If that's so, then I've wasted a lot of time....I spent a long time today photographing things I've been making because it's that market time of year again.  There are a lot of things.

I open a drawer and  discover a little collection of things I've put aside...and completely forgotten about.  Kind of like Christmas, but every day.  Ridiculously, I panic every year that I won't have enough stuff.  I do, I promise you.  I have enough stuff.  Really.  Truckloads.

The house is really full about now, festooned with bright shiny vintage jewellery, stacked with framed drawings and prints, and all the vintage bits and bobs that I can bring myself to let go.  Some things, which I mean to take to a market, are harder to let go of than others.  A while ago, I found some 1930's Australian matchbox labels.  No worries, methinks, this would look nice in a little frame...and so it does.  A bit too nice - I propped it up to photograph it and it looks so good just there...damn.  Luckily, there were others.

Of course the cataloguing of work uncovers unfinished and intended projects - I have a collection of  pics of the girlchild since she was quite small, I mount them on 8"x8" blocks.  Some are more elaborate than others - handcoloured black and white pics, and so on.  They are testament to a child who wholeheartedly embraced the 'selfie' at a very young age. I finished these two today, to add to the wall.

Even worse, is the dreaded new and bright idea...I was working on something new at about one this morning - sleep is for the weak and the uninspired - or those who are not completely obsessed.

There's also the need to display items for sale - I have trunks of that stuff too.   I saw this on Friday and thought it would come in useful.  It was covered with butterfly stickers and needed some TLC but it's come up quite nicely.  I'll just put it with the others.

We also finally unloaded the big workbench I bought a couple of months ago.  It's big.  It's gorgeous.  I totally have no room for it.  The wood on the top is all hand cut and still has the marks of the saw. I love it.

I'll make room, somewhere.

Why are Thursdays so long but Sundays so short?  

It's been raining, perhaps in some sort of attempt to make Sunday seem longer.  We even had thunder and lightning yesterday - one of those weekends with all sorts of weather, but none of it for very long.

I've been making some jewellery this week, some bigger statement pieces, as well as simpler pendants using images from my vintage French postcards.  

I've also been drawing some new fish, which are coming along rather well. If you've just joined us, these are fish drawn on vintage navigation charts.

 










And there are some interesting other projects which must stay hush hush for now...but all shall become clear very soon.

One of the wonders of the recently rearranged back veranda, apart from the marvellously spacious feeling, is that I actually have some space to work, so I spent a very short time on minor repairs to the recently acquired sun lounger, but a very, very, long time extracting a glass dome from an old light fitting.  The lounger took about 15 minutes and a drill, the dome a screwdriver, a can of CRC, a hammer, a wrench, a set of pliers, an hour and a lot of muttered bad language.  (I would have said it out loud but there was only the dog to hear.)  

And then I forgot to take a photo.  I still have to remove a lot of rubbery gunk from around the base of the dome, but they really made those light fittings to hang together (pun intended).  By the time it was done I'd forgotten what I wanted to use it for. Perhaps by the time I've removed the gunk and taken a photo I will have remembered.

I've also cleaned up the second of the veggie beds, and planted some never fail parsnips - or so says the friend who gave me the seeds.  So for nothing much is happening, but I only planted them a couple of days ago.  The strawberries are strawberrying, the spinach is spinaching, and you can guess what the rhubarb is doing. Bit of warmer weather and rain and the grass is knee high before you know it.

Oh- and I pruned the pooch and brushed him to within a inch of his life. He looks as though he's been used in interesting static electricity experiments, but at least I can make eye contact now.

 

 

Caution: low flying pig.....

Another frantic week with the necessity of earning a living cutting into the actually enjoyable stuff.  I was having a chat with my neighbour on the front veranda this morning and we both agreed it's almost time to come out of hibernation and blink in the evening light  of Spring.  Not as much evening light as those lucky ducks with daylight saving, but we mustn't forget that this is the land where cows fade and the curtains don't give milk if the clock is altered.  

But the evenings are getting longer and I'll have to squeeze as much in as possible.  To that end, I cleared everything off the back veranda, added some canvas shade for the anticipation of sunny days, installed new (free, via the verge collection) carpets, spring cleaned and generally made ready for lazing about on warm days. It's still a bit of a work in progress, but it will all come together and hopefully allow for even candlelit evenings.  Note to self: buy mozzie repellent - a lot of it.

Just to be sure, to be sure, yesterday we re-strung the clothesline - long overdue - as well.  Between the cleaning up and the installation of the shade maker and the baby-sitting of the baby girl's little dog it's been all go. I have a bruise on one arm from donating blood, and one on the other arm where I tripped over the blonde puppy and landed on the hammer.

On Thursday a visiting friend mentioned that the last suburb had still not had their verge outgoings cleaned up, so we paid one last visit for the year.  Surprisingly, there were even more treasures to be found and we managed to fill the car that one last time.  I was again very restrained and the only big item for me was a wooden sun lounger with brass fittings - refer lazing about on the back veranda, as mentioned above.  I knew there was a reason I picked up the down cushions last weekend...

I dusted off the Hymn board and brought it inside, where it has had envious looks and gasps of delight from all who see it.  One friend even said she would lose sleep, craving it tonight.  High praise indeed, I know exactly what she means.  The photo is pretty average but it's been a busy weekend.

I've been working on a few other things, here's a preview of my flying pig in a cage - I think the pig will end up another colour yet, so mark it down as a work in progress. There will be a heap of jewellery and some new fish in the next week or so, if I manage to make use of the longer evenings.

I just hope that staying outside later in the evenings doesn't cause me to fade.....

The puppy, the witch and the industrial chic shelving

My baby girl has turned 18, in a veritable festival of dinners, party, beach and more dinners. It seems like only yesterday, etc, etc. I got to puppy-sit. 

While the puppy was here, she helped to put up the tent I found last week.  There were two reasons to put it up, one: to dry out any residual dampness, and two: to see whether all the bits were there.  I always enjoy a challenge and putting up a tent when you don't know what it should look like certainly counts.  OK, so the puppy actually just chewed a tennis ball and generally got underfoot, but the tent is a veritable townhouse.  I'm thinking that I may sleep there over the summer.

It's been the last few days of the verge collection.  It's also known as 'bring out your dead' for a reason and some of the piles of stuff were certainly past it.  In a veritable burst of energy we did the whole three days and found some great stuff; tied some brilliant knots; ate a lot of icecreams; packed a lot of stuff into and out of the car; went to places I didn't know even existed; met a bunch of people who drive too fast, really badly and right on the back bumper; lifted, carried, hauled, dragged and carted; and narrowly missed a snake under a rural pile.  Luckily, the person before us would appear to have dealt with that problem and what confronted us was a very recently ex-snake beside the pile.  There's a reason I make sure I wear heavy boots, socks, and jeans for the rural sites, even on the hottest of days.

The biggest disappointment was missing out on a huge and hugely kitsch flying bird made of steel, fibreglass and some sort of plaster. I left it behind last night due to the lack of room left in the vehicle, and just as we got there this morning a chap threw (and I do mean threw) it into the back of his ute.  I'm thinking that he wasn't going to carefully restore and repurpose it as an artwork, by the way he threw it (and the way it landed).  Probably just as well, the thing was enormous, but o, the possibilities! 

                        
A slightly lesser disappointment was the range of couches, chairs and daybeds which were left behind due to lack of storage space.  One day I'll have the time and space to be able to re-upholster some of those beauties but I take solace in the fact that someone else has taken them to do just that. And if I ever find the moron who graffitti'd the two perfect club armchairs, I'll patiently explain the error of their ways while demonstrating to them an internal storage application for their markers and spraycans. 


It was a pity to leave behind the early portable record player, where the lid came apart with two speakers.  Very 60's. There were radiograms and some big units which would have made excellent industrial chic shelving.





The best and most unexpected score was probably the hymn board from a church, found literally buried in a pile of stuff.

 


  

There was that stop breathing moment of excitement, when you realise it's not just an interestingly carved wooden nob...but there's something fabulous attached to it.   I'm also excited about the long (about 1.7m) wooden ammunition box, which will be repurposed into some tall, thin shelves. There's an oak mirror, and some 50's/60's wire shop mannequins too.

And so many suitcases.  But I can't resist a suitcase.