I'm not as nervouse as I was the first time. There is a pain in my shoulder and arm that just won't hush, but that is the worst of my troubles these days.
A handmade, handpainted ironwood ornament from tornado-tumbled timber.
Craft fairs open a door to exploring new craft mediums and techniques. This year will be the one in which I explored the world of natural wood. The year of the knife, the whittle, the whetstone, and the woodburner. The year of circular saws and tiny black nails that resemble tacks. The year of living in a city that still has large, treeless bald spots from the tornados of 2011.
The pocketbook I finished at Mary's last night.
What would I do without Mary when it comes to sewing for the handmade holiday event this Saturday? I'm not a craft fair person- not the kind who has enough organization and planning to pull off those brief events in which people mill around your "wares". They pretend to find them "cute" and I pretend to not notice.
The handmade, one-of-a-kind texture and tactile baby book.
Honestly, I would do nothing at all. Not even bother to enter. Mary is the reason for my relationship with my serger and the secret to my audacity at daring to "fair". It's nice to know there is someone with whom I can share secrets as tawdry and tired as wine coolers.
