The Easter chicks have landed!
The fireplace mantel in our family room is never bare. It’s long, it’s plain old white, it’s just begging to be dressed up with a collection of something.
For Easter season, some of my pottery bird planters (plus a stray bunny friend) have come to visit. They’re all in cheerful Lu-Ray colors.
On one side, a big bluebird, a tiny chick, a green duckling, and that party-crashing rabbit.
On the other side, more noisy ducklings and an exuberant yellow songbird!
None of the critters are marked, except for the fat bluebird—he’s stamped “USA.”
Some of them might be McCoy, or Shawnee, or some other American pottery. I don’t really care. I collect them for their charming shapes, not for their brand names.
What I really love about this vintage pottery is their soft glazes. The way that the clay of the high-relief bits shows through the translucent glazes is so pretty.
Isn’t it funny that something so small can make me so happy?
Fear turns me into a procrastinator. Some people are afraid of tornadoes or spiders. Me? I’m afraid of ruining perfectly good things like new blank sketchbooks or pristine rainbows of pastels. The sketchbooks stay blank. The pastels never get out of the box.
Most of the time I can’t bring myself to cut up perfectly good vintage fabric. I’m always afraid whatever I create will be less than worthy than the original materials.
I’ve been putting off a project idea for months. I’ve been worried about using a borrowed serger with complicated threading. (What if the thread pulls out?! HALP! HALP!) And I’ve been anxious about cutting up a quilt my grandmother made, even though that’s what I’m planning to do. I’m afraid my makeover might ruin it. My inner critic will start yelling, “It was great until YOU got your hands on it! You RUINED IT!” Read the rest of this entry »