Decoupaging the Past: WWII

How's your week going? Mine is best embodied by a moment this past Saturday at a craft fair in Tarrytown's Patriot Park. A boy--an Ecuadorian immigrant's kid no more than 10 years old--was about to buy a $2 ($1 for him, cuz he's a kid) resin magnet of Elvis Costello.




This one: GET HAPPY

Just as I was smiling, "Now THAT'S a cool kid," he dropped Costello and insisted on buying the one of John Hinkley Jr. holding a shotgun.

THIS ONE. Yes, Reagan's would-be assassin.

His mother shrugged and handed over a wrinkled dollar, my happy little customer skipped away, and I had what could be classified as a public meltdown.






Irony is alive and well, Friends.






So, I keep making Art. Or Craft. Whatever. Among other things, WWII (the good, the bad, and the very ugly) has been on my mind, so I started by chopping up a damaged LIFE Magazine celebrating the 30th anniversary of the end of WWII and made magnets using clear resin squares and rectangular jeweler's glass.




Ah, WWII: Pinup girls, factory girls, bombers, vengeance, defiance.



The Art of Paranoia



But don't worry about that right now.... SOLD

 

Oh, how we need those cuffs now.
Action Comics #1, reprint. SOLD

Like Churchill, I'm feeling feisty, ready for a drink,
a smoke (and I don't smoke) and am probably heading
towards a massive stroke. NOT FOR SALE.

I'll show you what else I've been making in a minute. Remember, Friends, keep using your body, your mind, your voice, and your hands.















Copyright 2016, Tanya Monier

Halloween Favorite: Do-it-yourself Centaur Costume

This DIY project is the all-time winner of The Happy Badger. My thanks to Mama Beja. Check out what else she can do at The Zen Toolbox. So without much ado, I share it again.

(Remember, if you're going to do this project for Halloween, best to get started early!)

This Greek myth themed costume is for the ambitious and/or Advanced Level Crafter.

Walk this way.

It calls for a lot of time, ingenuity, and effort...and better directions than I'm going to offer here. But if you can pull it off, like Santa Barbara's own Mama Beja did, you and your kid are gonna become the stuff of local legend.

For this project, you will need the following:
A Walker with wheels
A horse-colored blanket (you know what I mean)
Straight-haired wig/ponytail extension... in color complementary to blanket
Pillow stuffing
Heavy duty needle and thread
Thin cardboard, and lots of it
Long-sleeved t-shirt of same color as blanket
Twin sheet in white
Large sheets of paper to make pattern...or wing it, whatever
Straight pins
Laurel wreath, horns, or whatever head accessories you see fit
Matching boots (optional)
Pleather or leather scraps for hooves (optional)
A stronger ability to sew than I have...

Step 1: Chimera orientation
Get that walker. Set up the height to correspond to your child's backside, as the walker will become the backside of the centaur. Wheels go to the back, so that your centaur's back legs will roll behind him or her.

Set some time for this project--like, days.

Step 2: Legs, legs, legs!
Slice about 12 inches off one side of twin sheet. Wrap sheet around other two legs and affix. Once toga is draped on your centaur, these legs will be effectively camouflaged.

The looser the wrap, the more it will blend in with the toga

Measure the walker legs. Cut thin cardboard into long, triangular shapes for lower legs, and wider trapedoidal ones for upper legs. Pad with pillow stuffing, then wrap with blanket pieces. Sew inner vertical seams, stack upper leg on, and sew the horizontal seams connecting the two.

Detail of heavy duty stitching.

HEEL! Glue pleather/leather to thin long oblong-shaped cardboard.
Cut bottom of leg at angle and glue on "hoof."

Step 3: The End

Good luck with this part. I recommend that you play with the paper and/or play with the fabric and pins to see how to connect the rear to the hips before you start stitching.

Leave space to pad the haunches, or you'll end up with a bony old nag instead of a powerful centaur.

Attach the wig/hair extension to an appropriate place for a horse's tail. Sew it or stick it on well because chances are folks will be pulling on that thing all day and night.

Step 5: Come Together
You may well be asking, "How does my kid get in to this thing?" Here's what I know: Attach the leftover blanket piece back to the already-dressed walker, leaving a hole for your young hero to crawl in from underneath. The flap can be attached with safety pins to the brown long-sleeved t-shirt and pants.

Now, your young centaur can walk about freely and not lose his or her behind. 

I have no idea what to say about this photo that won't sound wrong, wrong, wrong.

Step 6: Final Touches
Riordan's characters might get huffy about mixing Roman and Greek elements, but the best way to pull this horse-human look together is a toga, so drape that sheet carefully to achieve maximum leg coverage and movement. Top with a laurel wreath.

If you actually finish this project, YOU will deserve a laurel wreath, not just your suddenly quadrupedal kid.

GLORIOUS.
Apollo cranked up the sun on this kid to indicate his approval.

"Will the Happy Badger or the Badgerettes be centaurs this year?" you ask.

Umm, no. The Badgerettes are more inspired by the natural phenomenon that is my BedHead than by mythology, so they're going as flowers, and I'm going to go as a six-foot tall, white-puff-head Dandelion.

Happy Halloween!

Copyright 2014, Tanya Monier

Waiting for the Barbarians: Philadelphia Punk Rock Flea Market

Yesterday was the day I was prepping for all winter: Philadelphia's Punk Rock Flea Market.

I hoped to sell at least $500 worth of stuff, including all my Playboy coasters and new Playboy Vargas Girl Box Shrine, which I made in one long night instead of the yebra (Syrian style grape leaves) that Badgerette #1 requested for Family Heritage Day at her school.

Let's be clear: I did not bring the shrine to school as an example of family heritage.

I felt insecure about my Punk Rock credentials, though, a feeling that was hilariously reinforced by a childhood friend, Otaku USA editor Pat Macias, who--just two days before the market--posted this 90s commercial "Punk CD" on Facebook.


I was in tears by the time these two listed "Hey Now" by Crowded House. 

I reposted it and burst into giggly tears again when my friend Guy quipped, "Thought it was a joke till I heard 'Huey Lewis'...Legit."

Pat didn't attach my name to the original post, so maybe I was being overly sensitive, like that person who panics when someone in a crowd shouts, "Hey, YOU!" But even in my teen Death Rocker days, Pat called me "the Camp Counsellor," a name I deserved because I was actually a very good girl... and because I wore red plaid flannel shirts to bed, so I looked the part, too.

But, Pat, answer this: Does a Hustler need to BE a punk to sell the goods to punks?

On the off chance my punk creds were questioned, though, I wore the most punk rock shirt I owned: Radiolab "Apocalyptical: Dinos De Los Muertos."

Cuz nothing says Punk Rock like NPR.
Watch the show here!

As with the Trenton Avenue Street Fair, Jonelle and I drove for three hours to arrive just in time to throw our goods out for perusal. By opening time at 10:00 am, we were sweaty, but mostly ready.

Evidence of my OCD Winter of Craft: I needed more space!

Jonelle made seriously brilliant stuff for the sale. Check out her store.

And, just like at Trenton Ave, there were so many people in attendance at the Punk Rock Flea Market that I had to fight some feelings of agoraphobia.

This was the short side of the warehouse.

Wanna find our stall? Look against the far wall, to the left of the big banner. We were between the small yellowish square thing and that black box thing, right under the huge wall fan, which blew delightful air right over us to the secondhand clothing sellers crew wearing the fishnet stockings. But we did get the noise of the fan, so that was something.

Two hours in, I had gotten many enthusiastic and sincere compliments on my work, but I'd only sold $23... of magnets, naturally. My part of the table, gas, and road tolls alone totalled $80+, so I was on the verge of real tears, perhaps realizing too late that punk rockers have budget issues like the rest of us.

Then suddenly, sales started to happen.

Emma here took home my Bowie box

May your spirit fly with Wonder Woman, Amy!

This young lady couldn't resist my box of Liza in Cabaret...

I did a little dance at 1:15pm, when I reached $150 in sales and realized that I would end up in the black after all (never got to $500, but no tears). Although I had to drop prices like a reverse auctioneer to make it happen, the sales kept coming.



Just put the box on a shelf, Dear Girl, and no one will see
that I messed up and put the back page on upside down, the sad result of finally
getting HBO and watching John Oliver while working.

Natalie, another vendor, leaped on this 1969 LIFE Magazine cigar box purse with
Samsonite handle. Bonus: it totally matches her outfit!

Robert, adorably sweat-free in this blazing hot warehouse, took two boxes
(Spider-man and Wonder Woman) plus this WW votive for his dining table.

Gorgeous Anna here took home Wonder Woman "Welcome to My Nightmare,"
my most difficult glass decoupage piece. Treat it with love, Anna; it can do magic.

There were down times throughout the day and too quiet a crowd when the nearest stall stopped blasting the psychobilly (My Favorite is The Cramps). There were times I got distracted from my sales mission, too, like when I tried to make a love connection between sweet Dan here and a gorgeous Irish girl from Wexford who's travelling around the world.


Remember, Dan, just write. The Man in Black wasn't brilliant every moment, either.
Trust the revision process.

Ziggy Stardust sold. Iggy Pop sold. The Clash sold. The Ramones sold. AC/DC sold. The Rolling Stones sold. Nirvana sold. Vintage Romance Comics sold. So did Frank Sinatra, and Sammy Davis, Jr., and Star Trek, and Cher. But Playboy DID NOT SELL. Not one thing. Bunch of Puritanical punks, you Philly folks who've left me with yet another kind of Playboy problem...overstock.

For many hours yesterday, no matter what people bought (or didn't buy) one item caught everyone's attention: The Freddie Mercury Lightswitch Cover.

In a sad parallel to Freddie's real life, every shopper pointed at, picked up, and inappropriately touched it. But no one was willing to make a commitment to him... until this lovely girl heard me despair for poor Freddie Lightswitch and bought it on the spot. She didn't even bargain.


Dear Lovely Girl: don't be too surprised if you get a virus from this kiss.
I mean, a hell of a lot of hands touched Freddie yesterday.

In the last hour, from 4-5pm, I went into full Carnival Barker mode, yelling to passers-by, "C'mon over here and fall in love with something! I'll name a price that you'll love, too! You'll buy it, take it home, and be smiling in your sleep tonight, knowing you got the best deal ever!"

I think I startled Jonelle with my vehemence, but I wanted to make another hundred in sales. And I did. Anyway, I've been doing shameless things to make sales since I was thirteen and Little Mamacita let me dress like this for a St. George Melkite Church bake sale in Sacramento's Country Club Mall.

Several Old Man Mall Walkers lewdly offered Pull My Tail.
I enjoyed retorting, "I'm THIRTEEN, Mister!" every single time.

I was back home and in bed before midnight, wearing my flannel jammies and sleepily debating with The Prince of the Forest what really constitutes "Punk." If I am to judge by the patches the flea market kids pinned to their spiked leather jackets, then Rush, those venerable Canadians, are punk. 

Tom Sawyer, dude!

(Take that, Pat.) If Punk means body modification and tattoos, then half the mothers I know in Westchester, one of the richest counties in the USA, are punks. If Punk means dyeing your hair blue or purple, then a decent percentage of America's high school cheerleaders are now punk. If Punk means expressing deep alienation from a society that demeans and abuses you and holds your intellect and abilities in contempt, then ALL the mothers I know are Punks. Fight the Power, Mamas!

I think punks and other supposed social oddities have always been those who wear their hearts on their sleeves. The toughest punk I saw at the Trenton Avenue Fair proudly marched along the artists' stalls behind his pig-tailed daughter who was driving her electric pink Cadillac and blasting Katy Perry's "Eye of the Tiger," a craft beer in one heavily tattooed hand, his daughter's dripping pink ice cream cone in the other.

I enjoyed the moment too much to take a photo, so I drew it for you.

Copyright 2015, Tanya Monier

My Playboy Problem

About a year ago, I bought 14 copies of 1960s and 1970s Playboy, which I found moldering on a shelf at my favorite second-hand shop, Tarrytown's Hank's Alley.




A few I haven't chopped up yet.

As I forked over a modest amount of green, Hank winked at me, "You'll make your money back on these, Honey."

See, at the time, I told Hank, "I'm gonna resell these on eBay." Until I did some online research, I thought I'd get a decent return, turning a $30 investment into $300+. A few minutes' search proved me wrong. Turns out, horny 1960s and 70s college boys did a fine job of squirreling their naughty stash away, and they all want to unload now (pun intended, I guess.)

As I flipped through my new purchase, I also discovered that about half of my new Playboy collection was literally moldering, torn and water-damaged.

After giggling and eye-rolling my way through the lot, I put a profitable plan into action.

I've made shrines to Playboy's classic Vargas Girls...

"What kind of peace did you have in mind, Mr. Smith?" SOLD

...game boxes full of mischief...

I think the lambskin rug gives this box the right kind of sleezy swinging feel. SOLD

...and briefcases that bite the hand that feeds it.

Interestingly, not sold...Learn more about this case here.
I'll gladly make a deal to get it out of my life and into yours...

I turned these kitschy coasters...


...into these kitschy coasters.

Again, SOLD.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh...and the problem is...?"

Well, last night, while prepping for Philly's Punk Rock Flea Market on June 7 (be there!), I hit a snag...

I was again making coasters--because Small Things Sell--upcycling thrift shop and church sale tins of coasters...


...like these: $.75 at Goodwill...

...and these, $3 for the lot at The Cherry Door. I can't possibly use all of these,
so if you're ever walking down Main Street in Tarrytown and you feel
something lightly thwap! the back of your head, worry not--
it's just me practicing my frisbee skills.

Then, the snag: this set, bought for $3 from Union Pocantico Church Spring Sale.

See the problem?

At first glance, I only thought, "Metal. Nice. Cheap(ish). BUY!" When I flipped the canister over last night, I felt my first small shock: $65 for coasters? I mean, I know this was donated to one of the richest churches in America, but, uh, $65...?



Alan Chan Creations: "Rediscovery of cultural art for contemporary life style."
Yeah, fair enough. But $65?

 So, I opened the tin, laying the truth bare. (again, pun intended)

Mr. Chan, you dirty, dirty dog. 



Is that 1st base or 2nd?



On the mat



In the forest



I don't know...in the bath?



Is she gouging out his eye? Ugh. Different strokes...

As I looked Mr. Chan's upcycled images over, things became clear in my mind: "Ah, so this is what you get for a former 1960s Playboy reader!"

 

And things became unclear: "Should I cover these ancient smut scenes with merely vintage cheesecake?" 

So, that's my problem. For now, I'm covering the cardboard coasters, but I want at least one more tin of metal coasters for Philly.



Am I alone in thinking that these young women, with their unaltered bodies and their playful expressions are more attractive and innocent than what I see in today's average music video (not to mention what's available in the ancient scroll art scene)? 

Can you help a Badger out, dear Readers?

If you have any tins of metal coasters featuring teddy bears or Precious Moments, I'll trade you for my set of "cultural art for contemporary style," you dirty dog.


copyright 2015, Tanya Monier