I'm crafty, I think, but not in the positive sense. I am clever at achieving one's aims by indirect or deceitful methods and probably fall more on the "indirect" rather than "deceitful," but I'm not crafty in the sense that I have an ability or even desire to make things -- you know -- Do It Yourself kind of stuff. But the other day, I made this from an old picture frame to hang up the nearly obscene number of earrings (none of which I'd made or beaded or strung in a crafty way) that no longer fit in my jewelry box.
What do you think?
Making that gave me only a small bit of satisfaction, but it did pique my interest in my history of non-crafting, and I remembered that I actually did enjoy the occasional craft as a child. In fact, I was a bit obsessed with craft kits and went through a period in the mid to late seventies where I actually ordered quite a few craft kits from the backs of magazines. Do you remember doing that? I think I even joined a Frito Lay Fan Club at one point, cut out the order form from the back of a cardboard pack of snack size Fritos, filled it out with name and address, enclosed $1.50 in cash, put it in an envelope and sent it. I ordered Sea Monkeys that way, too, and then later joined those Columbia Record Clubs and Paperback Literary Guild. I think I was more in to the neatness of ordering something and then waiting for it to come in the mail, rather than the actual craft and work it took to put together, but I digress.
Here's a craft kit for a general store that I did when I was a kid, that now sits on top of Oliver's dresser. He shares my love of the miniature and often remarks that he wishes he could find a similar craft. This one is a bit shabby, but I'm fond of it. It reminds me, too, of a remark I made to my friend Johanna the other day -- that since I don't have the money to fix my house up an renovate it, I should perhaps find an old dollhouse and outfit it.
Here's a bizarre little picture that I made with some kind of beads and the ugliest cardboard that you can imagine. I have it on the hallway book-shelf and find it oddly prescient that it's of a surfer. Reader, many of you know that I am a tad obsessed with surfers and have stated that if there were multiple lives, I would like to come back as a surfer, wear a bikini, work in a surf shack, smoke a lot of pot and have no cares to speak of.