heart transplant

 Heartbreak.  Humiliating, devastating, yet liberating.  I've discussed this before.  But what if the heartbreak doesn't come from some bastard lover, but from an old, beloved friend?

Our friends are part of who we are.  Their laughter is our medicine.  An old friend is there when you need them, won't judge you when you screw up.  Someone who loves you just the way you are.  But... 

Sometimes we pretend everything is fine whilst nursing resentment.  The outcome:  One moment you are nestling in a comfortable companionship and then suddenly you can't have a conversation that isn't riddled with tension.  And you keep finding yourself disappointed with them for failing to live up to your expectations.  Because of course it is all their fault.  But is it?

When someone has been your friend forever, you can get absorbed by your own view of them.  The person is that little girl who was your BFF in school.  Or your Maid of Honour.  Or your Kindred Spirit.  You behold your person, heavy with memories and glittery titles.  So what to do when the one who fit into your life so snugly becomes like a square block for a circle shaped hole?  And like a baby, you insist on pressing and pushing and hoping it somehow will just go through.

It takes real courage to 'fess up feelings of discontent.  To dig in there and prepare with thought, kindness, and ego management so as to find words that will not offend.  It is far easier not to bother.  And thats when you find yourself in the middle of a Communication Breakdown.  Its like God has pulled a Tower of Babel move on you and your friend.  So you have to go your separate ways.     

Deciding to press the pause or stop button on a friendship can be one of the most difficult ever.  But sometimes it is necessary breathing space.  It could be what is needed to help the friendship grow.  And for you to grow.  Learning to function without the constant familiarity of a dear buddy is like a painful coming of age.  Thankfully Time is a tender hearted mentor.  One that has taught me (with the help of Karma) that if you care, its worth it to make the effort to talk.  

So when I found some beautiful pieces of vintage linen in a xmas bazaar I knew that one of them was destined for heartbreak.  The transplant donor was an Angelique Houtkamp sugar skull, who gave the heart from his forehead.  The operation went smoothly, and I have almost completely recovered.
 

The return of the evil eye

Once upon a time in the nineties, I went to visit my brother who was studying in Boston.  One day he took me out of the Tufts campus for a tour of the city.  As we went around, he pointed out different features and details of interest.  One of these was a car. 'This' he declared 'is the stereotypical car of a Greek American.  As you can see, it is a BMW, and if you have a closer look, you will see that dangling from the rear view mirror is a cross and a protective eye.'  Wow.  Nineteen year old me was appalled at the uncoolness of it all.  I was particularly offended by the eye.  Why did they have to hang it there?  Were they afraid that everyone would be jealous of their fancy pants car?  I felt full of disdain and above it all.

So its been a few years since then.  And I seem to have developed a strange fascination with the eye or mati to use the greek.  It was one of the first things I tried to make as a newbie embroiderer.  I was not pleased with the outcome. I moved on.  And that was the end of my career as a mati maker.  No!  Here I am again.  But why?
 
There are two Australian blogs that I just love.  One is Discount.  The other is Swallow Glitter.  Their aesthetics make me catch my breath.  And with eyes peering out at you from the screen in all the colours of the rainbow, I couldn't help but give it one more try...

This time around I thought it would be a breeze.  But I struggled with the metallic and flouro thread.  And with my abilities.  How could I ever have judged somebody else's taste? This is rubbish.  I can't do this. I was casting the evil eye on my evil eye...

So it took ages to finish and a part of me didn't want to blog about this one.  But, having struggled with some demons in the stitching of this hamsa hand+eye I felt the need to discuss.  Embroidery is like yoga, an exercise in self-scrutiny.  Even if the outcome isn't so great, its all worth it for the things you learn.  I realised how much I appreciate all the amazing art we get to look at on the internet and how grateful I feel for it being there.  If you can, do spare the time to browse the links I have in this post and those on the right under stitchy blog love.  Each and every one of these blogs is a gem.  I dedicate my protective eye to all of them.

As for the finished product, Kimona loved it.  I want it in my room mummy!  he said as soon as I finished. Elias photographed it hanging in its place.

My Parliament

After days of headache from watching our members of parliament squawking away into the night, I thought I'd take the matter into my own hands.  My parliament is ready.  In the making I was inspired by many things I love about Greece; our ancient heritage, the colours of the cycladic islands, the stars of summer nights. 

There they are sitting in the windows!

 

 

I hope they imbue our silly lot in there with some wisdom, cause we sure as hell are going to need it.

Raw

'When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window'.  Maria from The Sound of Music.

Please don't hate me for quoting The Sound of Music.  I know some of you may be utterly repulsed offended.  But I have a drama background and it came into my head and it fits!  Like a lot of us over here I've been feeling the pressure of limitation.  But I did this workshop that helped me appreciate one of the things I really love about Greece.  And that is the deliciously superior quality of the local vegetables.

The workshop was an intro to vegan raw food.  And it was an eye opener.  Firstly, I learnt that raw beets and raw mushrooms can be exquisite.  I had no idea that vegan cheese alternatives (the one we made was called macademia 'cream cheese') can be much, much tastier than any of the real dairy stuff.  And the chocolates we made were so good they made me feel sort of high. 

I made some of the dishes for my family this weekend.  My mum, who is the most unadventurous Greek tunnel vision person when it comes to food went completely nuts and started demanding I get her nutritional yeast immediately so she can make the cheese and ALWAYS have it in her fridge.  My little boy who won't touch boiled or baked beets wouldn't stop eating the raw ones.  Its really good.  If you live in Athens you can head over to Avocado on thursday night and see for yourselves as the lovely troo food liberation team will take over the kitchen to cook Vegan Mexican Thali Platters.  You can read more about the event on the facebook page.

And if any of you are wondering why the embroidered beet the answer is I saw work by Sarah Greaves who stitches anything from bananas to chocolate and my curiosity got the better of me.  Thankfully it was pretty easy and only a small portion of one veg was sacrificed.  Stitching it reminded me of Miranda and the talking hot dog in sex and the city, and in my book that can only be a good thing :)

hard drinking housewife

Once upon a time in university I met a girl who played an operative role in bringing about something of a metamorphosis in my young life.  I was starting to feel seriously sick of whingey music and mosh pits and she came along and opened the doors to Heaven.  And Return to the Source and Club UK.  Liberation!  After years of hiding behind my pout and dressing like a 90's version of an emo I cut my hair and covered my face with glitter.  So one day this influential figure said something to me that really startled my 20 year old brain.  It went kind of like this:

'You know, I think women were stupid to have wanted emancipation.  We could be spending the day painting our nails and having cocktails from noon.  And also, you could go to the doctor and pretend to be depressed and get free valium prescriptions!  What were they thinking wanting to go to work?  Women really screwed things up for themselves.'

This coming from a dynamic, outspoken PhD student.  No.  Really?  Was she at all serious?  I thought housewives were always vacuuming and wishing they could 'break free'.  Could a housewife be rock and roll?  Could being a housewife actually be an option that anyone would ever choose?

So here I am, teaching so few yoga lessons that I essentially qualify as a housewife.  Although now it seems more acceptable to say 'stay at home mom' I quite like the ring of 'housewife' just because it carries so much baggage.  Including stitched baggage!  I love how stitchery by people like Julie Jackson and Carla Hansen takes a style that is traditionally associated with domesticity and housewifery and messes with expectations.  One of my favourite artists, Joetta Maue, makes some valuable points on the tension between feminism and the 'domestic role' in this excellent interview.  Anyway, I felt it was time to follow in the footsteps of the subversive stitchers.

Hard drinking?  Yeah I'm too much of a yoga nerd.  But when I first started this blog I was all about making cocktails.   I quickly found myself with a Mexican Mule obsession that had us consuming so much Don Julio that we began to worry about our money and our health.  Its from diffords guide and I'm including the recipe here because its the best cocktail in the world. I recommend you make it at the first opportunity.

Mexican Mule
1 2/2 shots tequila
3/4 freshly squeezed lime juice
1/4 shot sugar syrup
 shake it all up and put it in a tall ice filled glass.  Fill up to the top with ginger beer.  Yum.

We are hard drinking housewives
Eels in the sink
Rats of unusual size
We're not cocks on weed
We are chicks on speed*

*These are lyrics from the Chicks on Speed song 'worst band in the world' from the album Cutting the Edge.

Flesh Embroidery

I get a wide spectrum of responses to my stitchy hobby.  Some are very positive.  But not all.  Ooooooh no.  I try not to dwell  insanely on those comments.  However, sometimes the sneering and scorn can really piss one off.  'Its a wonder you can be bothered' is a classic reaction that I am actually getting used to.  And I ask... why?  Why do they think its lame?  Is it because embroidery conjures images of sentimental ladies of leisure with no social life?  Maybe it brings to mind an uptight auntie whose house is drowning in doilies (σεμεδακια) and small porcelain objects.  How can my labour of love have such a bad rap?  

Embroidery is far more akin to tattooing than to, say, knitting.  I'm not trying to say that embroidery is cooler than knitting.  No way!  But it is a different creature.  Early embroidery took the place of tattoos with decorative symbols appearing on clothes in the same places as they appeared on the flesh.  Tattoos have been called 'flesh embroidery'.

So now things have come full circle, with embroiderers again taking tattoos and applying them to fabric.  The inspiration for this whitework is the most stunning piece of 'flesh embroidery' I have ever seen up close.  I love old school tattoos for their raw style and classic symbolism and this lovely gentleman's arm is an example that deserves to be celebrated.  And, in addition to being a walking work of art, he is a talented artist to boot.  Check out his art here.

I wanted to stitch this in white to create a lace-like quality, to draw attention to the details of the needlework and the parallels between fiber of fabric and flesh.  I wanted it to look, at first glance, like a tablecloth that any elderly lady may use to decorate her house.  But nestled in the centre is a ghost of a tattooed arm.

A heart that's true

Ok so I lied when I said I was going to stitch a dvd player cover.  What I was really stitching yesterday is in these pics.  The occasion?  I'm going a bridal shower!  As I am totally unfamiliar with the tradition I didn't know what to get.  I thought it had to be something like handcuffs or a whip so I was stalling for ages.  When I told Maria she laughed at me and said underwear or sleepwear is traditional.  Phew!  No need to take Kimona (age 3 and absurdly curious) around a sex shop then.  So I figured a tee-shirt totally counts as a nightie since thats what most girls I know wear to bed.  A little dig around my Sublime Stitching toolbox for tee-shirt stabilizer and I got to work.  When I was finished it was night-time and the shops were shut so as a gift wrap alternative I pulled some pink from my last christmas felt mountain and made this envelope with black wool and a vintage button.  Voila!  Bridal shower gift complete.  I hope she likes it:)