I have been reflecting on how much of my house and the things that fill it are handmade. I love knowing who did what to contribute to the building of the house. I love knowing that my brother screwed the toilet roll holder into place. I love knowing that Lauren and Mel stuffed insulation into the gaps around all the doors and windows. I love knowing that Tim laid the bricks, that Alan did so very much. I love knowing that when I look closely at the floor that the helicopter marks I can see were left there by Bruce.
Most nights I eat my dinner off crockery made by one of various potters I know. I often drink my coffee out of one of Chris Plumridge's beakers or - if I'm having espresso - one of Zak's little porcelain cups. This morning I'm wearing a woollen vest (the same one I'm wearing in the photo in Indefatigable). The wool - from a beautiful brown sheep we owned when I was a kid - was spun and knitted by my mum about 25 years ago. I'm snacking on atheist buns I whipped up yesterday using wort from my brother's Grand Ridge beers.
I love knowing where things came from, their stories. I am going to start a series of Handmade (...) posts to tell a few of those stories. Today's entry is about a newly acquired Handmade...
I bought a few of Sarah Dingwall's little houses about twelve months ago. I love them. The little helper and I selected seven from the dozens that were on display at Gecko Studio Gallery at Fish Creek.
|Photo: Sarah Dingwall|
Each little house is different, not only in shape and aperture size, but most obviously in what it houses. We selected three feathers, some lichen, a couple of seed heads and a butterfly wing. They hang above the bathroom door, backlit by the large pane of glass that lets light into the hallway.
I also bought one of Sarah's collages for home and a mushroom as a gift for Lara's birthday.
|Photo: Sarah Dingwall|
When the little helper was born he had eleven fingers. The midwives tied off his tiny eleventh finger and after a week or two it dropped off. Since then it has been in the fridge in a shot glass. Admittedly that's a little odd, but it seemed too important to throw out and I doubt Big W sell detached-finger containers... So I asked Sarah if she'd make something to keep the finger in. And she did!
Thank you Sarah. The finger finally has a home. In fifteen years if the little helper is ever tempted to use the line "you want to come back to my place and see my eleventh finger?" at least he'll have this lovely handmade vessel to show off the withered digit...