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1  JEWELRY AND TRINKETS / Trinkets and Jewelry: Discussion and Questions / Shadowbox Ring How-to on: June 02, 2007 05:17:34 PM
Hello Smiley,
I am trying to make sort of shadowbox ring, but I am having trouble finding an appropriate base upon which to build it (I'd be flattering myself to call myself a beginner.)  I was wondering if any of you talented Craftsters would know where I could get one (or have one made, for not much money Lips sealed.) The type I am looking for (and these could really be two separate items that I'll attach together when I'm making the ring) is, well, a simple ring base, and a sort of convex, clear lensy-thing. I am also a little stumped as how to attach the thing I am putting inside.(I can't tell what it is, that would ruin the suprise!)  I think it probably needs to be pinned on, but that is a bit of a problem, in a ring. The object to be inside the ring is about 3/4" long, but I'd like to have some space around it and the edge of the ring. It is very brittle and fragile. I would prefer to make the frame of the ring myself, perhaps out of polymer clay. It would be ornate and Victorian-esque. I am so sorry to be so vague. I know you are most likely busy, and will understand completely if you don't reply to this thread, but I would be oh-so-happy if you did. Thank you so much for your time and patience. I appreciate it very much!
2  BATH AND BEAUTY / Bath and Beauty: Discussion and Questions / Making broken hair barettes wearable again on: April 30, 2007 02:02:39 PM
I have a problem...
I have just recieved an amazing hair barrette and I love it so much! However, unfortunately, the barette broke  Cry The little piece hanging off that makes it click shut fell off. I am heart broken. Is there any way to fix the barette, or better yet transfer the ornament part to a sturdier barette base? The decorations on the barette are wrapped and glued onto the base (not including the piece that fell off) and it would be impossible to remove them and rearrange them on a different barette base. I'm thinking about just glueing the barrette base to another base, but I am not sure if it would make it too heavy (it is quite elaborate). If this could work, would anyone reccomend a certain glue that would stick, or a type of barrette that is sturdy and durable and can hold up some weight? Any other ideas will be greatly appreciated as well. Thank you so much for your help!
-Magpie Queen
3  MISCELLANEOUS TOPICS / Discussion and Questions / Where to obtain antique human hair?....this may cross the line for me... on: March 05, 2007 07:38:28 PM
Okay, at the risk of sounding completely insane, I was wondering if anyone knew of a cheap way to obtain human hair dating from the 1800's. (Yes, I know that this is very creepy, and I apologize for those with weaker stomachs.) Anyway, I love antique dolls, and have been intrigued by the ones with human hair. It's nice to think that some doll somewhere has a part of a person from so long ago, a person whose thoughts have all but faded to oblivion. Anyway, I'm making myself a little Victorian doll, and I have thought it would be very interesting to use actual Victorian hair, and thus bring a part of history and a life long gone to my doll. Anyway, I'm trying to think of a cheap way to get my hands on some 100+ year old locks. The best thing I could think of so far was to find an antique human hair doll wig, but that can still get expensive. Does anyone have any suggestions?
4  JEWELRY AND TRINKETS / Trinkets and Jewelry: Completed Projects: General / Mutant caterpillar? Sea Anemone on steriods? on: February 14, 2007 10:21:47 AM
                           Curioser and curioser
I have just finished this bracelet, and have become quite fond of it, in all of its bizarrity. I've been on a vacation from ninth grade through an internship, so I've had time to do what I liked. This is the horrifying result Wink

Pictures (They don't really do it justice, and are a little blurry. Sorry about that.)

5  MORE ART, LESS CRAFT / More Art, Less Craft: Completed Works / Poem I wrote for school (about Odysseus) on: November 12, 2006 07:16:40 PM
This is a poem that I wrote for school. The assignment was to write an alternate ending/new chapter for The Odyssey. Its not perfect, and it takes a while to read, but if you read it and enjoy it I would be very happy.

Odysseus Poem
by Alissa R. age 15

Odysseus sat
Upon his throne
The purple of royal robes
Upon the rushes that carpet the palace floors
A single fly enters
Its lazy drone stinking of endings.
Buzzing through the curtains
Of memory
drawn so finely across the heros mind
Odysseus stirs
He swats the fly
But when he lifts his fingers to the light
Upon his palm is a black stain
Dark as ink, as wells and
And things that squirm in the night,
That slime
Through the skulls of the dead
When they lie placid in their graves
Odysseus the mighty groans
Gut beset with pains of age
Mind bent from being alone
And crushed to dust with company
The walls of the palace are gold and drip
With rubies dark
Like the blood of slaughtered men
And now he sees
At last the truth
Gluttony for vengeance has its cost
Golden-stung honey stolen from bees
Is only repaid with empty stings
The sea calls tauntingly
Its waters wave gently
As do the locks of a goddess
Or his wife, Penelope
Of course he loves her, he really does
Her gentle eyes
Her voice soft as a newborn doe
That wobbles as it stumbles
Innocent, through life
And dream
And memory
And things Not-as-they-used-to-be
That haunt and hurt and tease
Peeking from beneath the present
glowing coals in a long-dead fire
what was before is laid to rest

I am a hero
How empty those words
Which fall like snow, on the crags of rocks
Melting when spring flees
Her watery domain
I am a hero
Of metal and steel
And twigs bound together with leather cord
Of bows and arrows, of words and deeds
Of time long gone under autumn leaves
And strangeness of a waking dream
Yet, the great mans mind is plagued
His shadow gorging itself on the words of others
Stuffing legends greedily
Between the bronze mountains of its teeth
Living for a shadow
A penny for a tale
Takes its toll in the end
Living for a shadow
is not a golden fate
It is iron and steel
And littered with fragments
All past, that yet refuse to leave
A shadow is flat.

Odysseus stirs
the sky is raw with the sheen of blood
And clouds
stretched in agony
skim its surface
the hero sighs
his heart is lead
his body is formed of bread dough starting to rise
like that which the baker kneads and pounds
at the market over yonder hill
Is a hero the bread of the gods
the bread of the people?
Or perhaps
only the bread of his own person
crusted and old
gnawed away
imaginary mice
from dandelions
and cobwebs
and consciousness
just beyond forever
Odysseus wonders
if his skin would be sliced
peeling pastry-like
would his entrails
pour forth
as strips of parchment?
Each scrawled with words too fine to read
A paper liver
answering to shadows?
Odysseus is weary
the backs of his eyelids
to purge impurity
with darkness
filling in the
with blankness
falling asleep
in a stolen grave
to be buried
and buried
and stuffed with silence
as flesh melts to nothingness
in the stomach of the earth.
The hero rises
but is he a hero?
Selfishness is his only mistress
all feats done
to warm his hands
and flee the winter
thats bound to come at last
Despite his wish
to disappear
the thought strikes
his heart
like the beating of a gong

Odysseus flees
from himself
and his shadow
his feet fly from the gilded cage
as if blessed by the shoes of Mercury
To the moor
and the wild
and the tangles which lie
at the edge of the world
of a world
of his world
and his mind
to the rocks
which snag
tearing flesh
like naughty children
over a pretty toy
black jagged rocks
angels of mercy
too dark for shadows
there haggard faces
by the froth of the sea
More beautiful than a goddess
is nothingness
with hair not gold
but a perfect blank
He stands there
the man
with his back to the past
and his hair snarled
by the wind
who taunts him
No more selfishness
No more ice that kills
not to melt
He is about to jump
his toes itch
to skim the surface
his hunger
for the sharpness
is unheard of
No more selfishness
no more tricks
no more lies
and no more heroes
who live for shadows
whose lives are pressed flat
like flowers
between the pages of time
He lifts his feet
the water crashes
his mouth curls snake-like
into memories of smiles
His heart races
his mind
opening the gates
that flood eternity

And then Odysseus stops
his fingers hover
over death
like honeybees
And his eyes roll back
in despair
For now he knows
that this sweet act
is the most
of all half-forgotten memories
He turns
rounding the bend of acceptance
back to his wife
and child
and the life he must live
a songbird
in a gilded cage

And perhaps
he shall again
hear a childs laughter
and grasp the day
as sand runs through closed palms
But the fates cant tell
the mouth of the sphinx
has frozen
to stone
And Odysseus turns
toward the East
the rising sun
as his hopes sink
to the rocks below
6  MORE ART, LESS CRAFT / More Art, Less Craft: Completed Works / Breathing Butterflies on: August 13, 2006 07:34:15 AM
This is a drawing I did when I was bored. It's not perfect, but I do hope you enjoy it  Smiley

7  CLOTHING / Clothing: Discussion and Questions / Poke bonnet help on: August 09, 2006 06:08:55 PM
-Hello. I was wondering if anyone knew where I could get a not-so-expensive poke bonnet or poke bonnet pattern. I'm looking for the really outrageous, extreme sillhoutte ones common in the Regency period. All the poke bonnets I have seen have been rather demure, and not quite extreme enough.
Here are some images of the type of bonnet I would like
8  MISCELLANEOUS TOPICS / Discussion and Questions / Copyright Venting: Is US copyright fair? on: June 16, 2006 12:51:14 PM
Does anyone else find it unfair that while architecture may be under copyright protection individual artisitic costume design, and all other areas of design, can not? I am not talking about inventing the skirt, and having no one else make skirts. I am talking about one artist's individual design and interpretation. Is it fair that while houses (useful) are protected, and no one can steal a house design, clothing and even fantastical costumes can be stolen and taken credit for by others? Is this because architecture is more "serious and important" than domestic crafts? Is a building more "original" than a original costume design? I apologize if I am just misunderstanding things. However, I thought it would be interesting to see what other Craftsters thought about this.
9  MISCELLANEOUS TOPICS / Vintage Craft Projects / Bizarre piece of Victorian Kitsch *New* With picture of matching earrings! on: April 05, 2006 05:11:21 PM
 A sunny afternoon in the jewelry wing of the Victoria and Albert Museum, everything seems perfectly normal. Silver filligreed bracelets and emerald rings adorn the walls. Little know the motley crew what horrors lay beneath the pleasant surface. Suddenly, hidden in a corner a monster is spotted. My mother faints. "Fetch the smelling salts!" I cry, the slow impending doom submerging us in a sea of horror. But no one was there, we were alone and at the mercy of the monstrosity(que scary music)

It was (do not cry out, dear reader)...

A gold necklace upon which SIX STUFFED HUMMINGBIRD HEADS were mounted

I kid you not.

*New* I went on the V & A website, and while, unable to find a picture of the necklace, did find 2 matching earrings.

" The mounting of small birds or their heads in jewellery was fashionable in the 1860s and 1870s. A visitor to Harry Emanuel's shop in 1865 described his stock as including humming birds' heads mounted in necklaces and earrings.

Harry Emanuel took over his father's jewellery business in 1855. He retired in 1873, and later became, at his own expense, the Minister Plenipotentiary (ambassador) of the Domican Republic in France. He died in Nice in 1898."
10  MORE ART, LESS CRAFT / More Art, Less Craft: Completed Works / An Unfinished Story *New* With a new story, Vacation on: February 22, 2006 01:15:58 PM
This is a story. I'm not great at writing, but I love to do it. I hope you enjoy reading it  Smiley Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.

* New * Scroll past this story for a new story, called Vacation

Copyright A. Rosenbaum 2006

           The carpet in the basement was old and worn. Patches were threadbare, turned thin and

 greying with age. It was a fine carpet. It smelled of Saturdays and endless paperwork, and felt

 like new-grown grass between the crevices of my toes. It had to go, my parents said, because the

 threads were falling out, it was afflicted with some strange shedding illness, and it was

 ancient and ugly and tasted like shame. They came at night and dragged it off the cold wooden

 floor, I awoke when its screaming floated through my thoughts, invading my mind, my dreams. The

 cry was music, and in my imagination, I danced. I twirled like a flame and bent in grief, I

 snagged, liquid-like on sharp needles and was baked in a cake of dust spiders, my childhood

 friends, and fed to a mass of endless whiteness that carried the scent of nothing-like perfection

 and shrinking walls. It was a dream, it was a nightmare, it squeezed tears from my eyes, wringing

 me like the rags of the bean sidhe. It also was beautiful, even if I denied it, and it was a

 treacherous, harsh jarring sort of beauty.  I heard it scream as it was dragged off the ground, its

 fibers falling in a waterfall of warm decay, and it seemed to grasp its last breath of life until it was

 gone. The night was quiet. They buried the carpet out in our backyard. There was no moon that

 night a shovel and a mop, the usual method. There was no blood, because it had none. It was

 an end, but every end is a beginning in disguise, and every beginning an end in masquerade. It left

 scars, a gaping emptiness where it had once resided, and sharp little daggers, hungry shards of

 the not-forgotten famished for the paper layer of skin, skin membranes thin and delicate with all

 the strength of waking dreams in a garden of moon-flowers big as dinner plates and soft thick

 mud the unmistakable tinge of after-ness.

Alissa R.
English 8

   A beam of light slithers, like grains of sand running through ones fingers.  Under the

 paper-thin sliver of who-knows-what that lies snoring under severe chiseled panels of my

 bedroom door it goes, giggling, the wretched creature, eager to wake me.  I am still in

 dreamland, sort of, no, not anymore, that wicked creature has pried its massive girth, condensed

 into one slivering speck of brightness, beneath my eyelids. The fragile skin curtain of the lid does

 little to defend my dreamland, it splinters into shards of smoke, drifting away in the morning

 hurriedness like fog dissolved by that sun. The sun. How can it reach so far? Its arms embrace

 me, but the arms are too harsh, too glorified, and they eat the last traces of unconsciousness away

 like you might devour a rich chocolate truffle, relishing the trickle of caramel that streams from

 its core. Outside, it has begun to rain. The sky has deceived me once again. I clean my teeth and

 slip on a pair of denim trousers and a shirt spun of blue cotton. I am dissatisfied, so I turn them

 into a gown the color of inside of my soul, tendrils of smoke curling round my hair form a veil as

 thin as spiders silk, and I burn away my shoes leaving my feet bare and soft, little pink dumplings

 eager for the tender kiss of  velvet-coated moss and damp sweet earth that smells of spices and

 childhood and misty-eyed forgettings.. This is much better, even if the transformation is only

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