So Monday (April 21) was my birthday. I’m 29. And holding. Anyway, I was working on a different project and mentioned it to my partner in crime, Suzy. Today she sent me the most gorgeous doll she’s made yet, based upon my other project:

I was so delighted I squealed like the fangrrrl that I am.

So in case you’re wondering, yes, I’m going to chart it. No, I’m not going to offer it for sale. This one’s for me, but I will post WIP progress pictures.

Thank you, Suzy!

I’m not a collector. At least, not in the usual sense. I collect three things. One I limit because it was at the “right” size for me (and it’s got a total of 6 big things, which are all being actively used in my household; and 6 very small things, which are put away because I have small children and the small things are tchotchkes anyway). One is infinitesimally small and I can fit into it as much crap as I want. One fits tidily in a space that I have dedicated to it and also, it’s tax deductible.

Otherwise, I like space, freedom to move, less stuff, and decluttering. Decluttering is my life. I don’t think I’ll be truly satisfied until this house is empty and we’re sitting on mats and sleeping on low platforms. The older I get the more I’m attracted to that clean 1960s postmodern look.

Of course, this is a pipe dream. My kids have toys and outgrown clothes. Ick. I can’t wait until they outgrow all this crap and I can get rid of it to the first person who might give a hint of a whiff of a suggestion that they want it all. I have even discovered that my almost-5-year-old daughter’s behavior improves dramatically when her environment is uncluttered. She has a bed in her room. That’s about it.

My goal when I die is that I have very little of STUFF for my children to dispose of.

Why, no, I haven’t added anything new in almost a year. How could you tell?

I knew I’d be bad at this blogging stuff. I always mean to keep a journal, but then I don’t and, well, you know, content is King. This post on craft is something I’ve been working on for a long time, trying to gel my thoughts and sift through how I really feel about it.

My question:

What’s the difference between an artiste and a craftsman, and is one better than another? I ask myself this on a daily basis because I finally came to the conclusion that I am not, and I am never going to be, an artiste. I’m a craftsman and I must be happy with that.

My original premise was as follows:

Artistes come up with original ways to solve the same ol’ problem. Craftsmen implement existing ideas.

Not sure I believe this now. I’ve spent the better part of the last year writing something that’s been cooking in my head for 14 years. It’s a riff off Hamlet, which was, in itself, a riff off someone else’s work, so is what I did art or craft? I took someone else’s framework and decorated it with vines and flowers and thorn bushes and other more savory and unsavory things, but in the end, I didn’t create the framework.

In terms of needlework, I’ve taken a completely unrelated art (pixel dollz) and translated it into fabric and floss and beads. Is that art or craft? Suzy’s skill at creating the dollz gave me the original framework. I just dressed it up with fabric and floss and beads.

I don’t have an answer to this question anymore. Yes, I used to, but now I think there has to be a measure of both art and craft (skill) involved in each, most likely at different percentages along the spectrum.

Not just anyone can do what Suzy does. I can’t. Not just anyone can do what I do. Suzy can’t. Is that a difference between art and craft (skill)? Dunno, but I will say this: Without Suzy, there would be no needlework dollz at all. At least, not from me, and I depend on her art to give mine wings. Perhaps I’m more craftsman than artist after all.

You know where you are thinking about too many things at once, and you share those things and get tons of feedback on each one?

And you know how when all that feedback comes at you at once, your ears start to leak and your brain explodes?

I’m going to go take a nap.

I spent today mending my children’s (and my) toys. The monkey was pooping Fiberfil. The wolf-whistling lovebug (mine) had been laundered and needed to be re-stuffed and wolf-whistling mechanism put back in place. The talking teddy bear was out of batteries, as was the Glowworm. They all needed stuffing and sewing repair in one form or another. In gauging how much Fiberfil to put back in these creatures, it got me to thinking about a person I know who had made bears for some members of my family and how she stuffed them.

I prefer my animals to be a little bit loosey goosey¹. They’re so much more cuddly, comforting, and welcoming that way. I tend to not care so much for the bears that are stuffed solid as a rock, which scream, “Lookie–no touchie!”

This person I know stuffs dolls and bears so tight and solid that there is absolutely no give; thus, they’re not for touching or playing with. They’re for decoration². And that pretty much sums up her personality: No cuddling. No comfort. No give. No warmth.

I wonder what my dolls would say about me?

¹Caveat: I don’t much care for stuffed animals at all, and have just spent the last month paring my children’s stuffed toys down to an acceptable two or three each. It’s just too much, really, and I don’t think any child should have that much.

²Yeah, I don’t like knickknacks, either, especially ones that don’t have a strong personal meaning or emotional attachment.

A&W diet cream soda doesn’t really go with cheddar cheese. Just sayin’, that’s all.

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