Love in a Gocco Shaped Box

I've been trying to up the creative stakes of late... Though the list of sewing is getting longer and longer (for a little project I'll talk about soon), I have a million ideas of new things to make and just wish there were more hours in the day.

I've been doing some research and I found out about a Japanese screen-printing machine called a Gocco. Imagine my excitement when I realised what can be done with this little machine!


Image (c) Chris Keegan, found via Flickr. For more of Chris' work see here.

This little video * gives you an idea of the process involved, it's old-fashioned and quirky, but that's part of the appeal.

At the same time as I was thinking about a Gocco, I read on a friend's blog that she had just bought one. She printed some gorgeous cards and I quickly emailed to share my excitement. To cut a long story short she then helped me buy a second hand Gocco on Etsy (the US crafters site) and I actually did a victory lap of the sitting room with excitement! I just can't wait to get my little mitts on it :-) I promise to post my first attempt, failure or success for you to see.

*The video link should now be working - thanks to Suzanne for pointing out that the link didn't work.

Cycling at what price?

I would never define myself as a protester or as being 'anti' anything. I'd much rather be 'pro' something and make an opinion in a positive and gracious way. That's part of the reason why I love Critical Mass, a monthly group cycle ride through London that meets on the South Bank. There's no agenda, just a group out to raise the profile of cycling in the city by doing it together one Friday evening.

In my experience (and I know things haven't always been like this in the past) the atmosphere is always fun, friendly and relaxed. Before the ride cyclists of all ages and types gather to chat, ring their bells and admire other riders' bikes and accessories. You're just as likely to see a fifty-year-old lady with a basket full of flowers on her Pashley, as a trendy group of couriers on their fixies. It's great fun and from what I have seen, the cyclists are not there to make trouble.

I was really sad to read of what happen in New York recently. The equivalent of Critical Mass is called Times Up! At their ride last week, a policeman deliberately ran into a cyclist, pushed him to the ground and then arrested him for assault. A tourist captured the event on video from the curbside, and the police officer has now been stripped of his badge. (For more info see here and here). See the video here.

Clasp Purse

I made my first ever clasp purse this week, and I'm pretty pleased with the result. The polka dots are gorgeous and it's lined in an Indian gold and cream polka dot fabric (bought when I was in Calcutta a few years back).



I'm going to experiment with different sizes and fabrics, and I'm not sure the gold clasp works too well (the shop was out of silver).

The Isle of Wight

A little trip this past weekend was very much appreciated. I'd never been before and was amazed how gorgeous it is. The weather was lush, 30C on the last day with bright sunshine!

Vintage Notions

I love the term 'notions'. I don't think it's used very much nowadays, probably something my grandma would refer to. Us modern folk talk of 'haberdashery' instead, but it's more clinical and less like Alice's rabbit-hole than a real notions shop.

A little trip to the Isle of Wight uncovered an old-fashioned notions shop in Ryde. There was no sign outside, and every nook and cranny, including the floor, was full to bursting with ribbons, buttons, elastic, thread of every colour, lace, wool, beads, feathers, braiding, ric rac, velcro, cotton... in other words, my dream come true.

Fortunately I was with two other ribbon fanciers, who didn't have to get bored waiting outside whilst I repeatedly told myself to calm down and buy less.

Here are some of the glorious notions I left with:

Check out the pom poms!

These are my favourites - embroidered ribbons from the 1960s (the shopkeeper told me he's had these since he first opened the shop!)

I love the farmer chasing the chicken with his fork. I hope to make something lovely using each of the designs and will post the results for you to see.

Mamma Mia

Mamma Mia the movie is out this week, and I have to say it's the worst film I've ever seen. I watched it in a cinema chock-full of oestrogen and from the slightly confused faces all around me I can deduce that most of the other women didn't enjoy it either. I really wished I'd brought a manuscript to read so that I could have got two hours work done instead of listening to Pierce Brosnan's attempt at singing. He tried. But he still can't sing. Maybe that wasn't the point though...

Anyway, the redeeming factor was that it was a fabric lover's delight. The film is set in a run-down rustic hotel on a Greek island, and everywhere you looked there was gorgeous fabric. At one point the fabric hanging on the washing line was Josef Frank*! I excitedly whispered this to the friend on my right, but sadly she didn't share my excitement.

Here's one of his designs 'Green Birds':

I'd like to say it was worth it for this alone. But I'd be lying.

* Swedish fabric designer of a similar era to Marimekko. His fabrics sell at £99 a metre in Liberty of London, but I can dream.

Preserving on its way...

Coming soon:

- Plum jam (including pix and a 'how-t0' guide)
- Raspberry conserve (which will be softer than regular jam with a more intense flavour).

Since H has moved in, we've upped the preserving stakes somewhat. I invested in a jam thermometer to check the setting temperature. While I love making jam and am often described as a calm person, I find myself overcome with anxiety at the setting stage... is it? isn't it? have I just ruined 3kg of fruit?! Hopefully the thermometer will add some science to the art and make for a calmer Jules.

We're just waiting for a spare afternoon to do the raspberry, and for the plums to ripen (could be a few weeks yet). Watch this space!

- Love is for the birds -

"Love is for the birds my friend."
Was your harried response in blue type
Across seven time zones.
Did you mean you don't believe in love?
That each show of affection
Merely falls like Hansel's crumbs for
The sparrows to eat?
I don't know.
And I'm not sure you do,
Either.
"Love is for the birds my friend."

- The Genius Bar -

4.20pm, a buzz of white noise -
Chatter, high-heels, music and the
Whir of the elevator - engulfs the
Space between us on two tall stools
Whilst a gangly man in a
Leather flat-cap (no irony)
Tries to fix my laptop.
You pick up Sharon Olds, defiantly,
And start reading.
A gesture I don't appreciate in
My hour of need. You see, the Genius is
Not a genius, and you are not here
For that.

- The Girl -

On Regent Street on Tuesday
We stop to wait.
For the lights to turn red.
To cross the road. And in front of
You there's a girl in a red and
Blue dress, an apparition of
Gypsy glamour and understated
Pretense. I see you looking at her...
Eyes grazing her skin, her auburn
Hair and at that moment she
Walks forward and becomes
Part of the bus. Red more than
Blue now, and her hair a mass of
Matted damp. And the screaming,
And I'm crying and as I turn to look at
Your face, you take my hand in
Yours and squeeze, and I'm ok, and
For a moment I'm glad it was her
And not me.

- Just in case -

There are better things to worry about
Than if I am destined to spend this life
Alone with my thoughts, or if someone
Else will help make me who I perhaps
One day shall be. (Always, yet never
Again myself?) Is this it?
Or shall I be moulded like a jelly for
A children's party...
Or, more like, a lump of hard clay that
Won't yield to a gentle touch and needs
Soaking for days in tepid water 'til it's
Slippery and malleable?
There are better things to worry about
But I watch out for the cracks,
And soak the edges once in a while,
Just in case.

- In Between -

In between the birth cry and death gasp,
There's that otherworldly time
When you are new and protected -
Caul from your tiny head tucked in a
Pocket for luck against drowning -
Yet grown up, part of you is dying, cells degenerate
Eyes lose sparkle and teeth grind down...
So busy you don't look up, least of all notice
That the edges are being rubbed off your self
'Til you're all smooth and sandpapery,
Dust of your dreams blown forth by the
East Wind. If you stopped to look
You might glimpse that otherwordly time
When you are dying, in between.