This week’s doll was a request from an old family friend after she saw my most recent crocheted “Little Me” on Facebook. When I asked her to send me a picture of herself that she would like to see in doll form, she said, “You pick one… I would SO cherish your artistic ‘interpretation’ of me.” She’s a very kind, creative, and eccentric woman. She has had several profile pictures on Facebook of her in a Viking-opera singer costume, complete with enormous metal boobs and a horned helmet. When I sent her a picture of the finished doll last night, she was ecstatic. Although this doll was a request from a dear friend and I did not ask to be paid for it, crocheting it made me think a lot about the idea of commission work. Continue reading
In less than a week, I whipped out another doll in my quest to perfect a pattern that is more my own creation than someone else’s. I have to say that I am quite happy with how this one turned out. It’s another self-portrait, but I figure that I might as well experiment on interpretations of myself to learn about what I do and don’t like. I made the head bigger, cinched in the waist more (although I am eager to explore different body types), gave more curvature to the back, and got rose-colored embroidery floss for the lips. It’s also a little better at standing on its own because I added 3 pennies per foot. This is in addition to wadded up strips of t-shirt in the legs, which provides more weight than just poly-fill.
For comparison, here is last week’s doll:
I have spent much of the last week finishing some of my WIPs. Some of these were started a month ago, while others are 8 months old. Continue reading
Mussorgsky wrote [“Pictures at an Exhibition”] for the painter Victor Hartmann, who died young… This is the closest you can ever get to that exhibition. They say all of Hartmann’s paintings have been lost, so there is only the music.
I’ve recently taken to listening to audiobooks on my way to and from work, and a couple weeks ago, I came across 2010’s Pictures at an Exhibition by Sara Houghteling, which was readily available to download from the library (related note: it was very enjoyable to hear it read by Mark Bramhall, who beautifully articulates multiple European accents and French words). Pictures at an Exhibition tells the story of Max Berenzon, a young Jewish Frenchman who desperately wants to work in his family’s prestigious art gallery in the late 1930s, and pines after the lovely assistant, Rose Clément. His father repeatedly denies him the opportunity to become a gallerist, telling him that he does not have “the hunger, the desire to hunt and chase.” Max and his family are certainly cognizant of the Nazis’ war efforts and occupations that are coming ever closer to Paris, and there are a few moments where you see them experience anti-Semitism from fellow Parisians. The war itself is largely glossed over, and before you know it, it’s 1944, and the Berenzons are returning to Paris after hiding in a farmhouse on the French countryside. Continue reading
I read a Mental Floss article a couple months ago about a study that showed that not following one’s calling in life is worse than not having any calling at all. According to the study, “those who do not feel called to any particular vocation report higher levels of work engagement, career commitment, and domain satisfaction and less physical symptoms, psychological distress, and withdrawal intentions than those who have, but cannot pursue, their occupational calling.”
Unfortunately, while the general premise of the study could resonate with a lot of people, it was rather narrow in its scope in that it only looked at how American academics rated their life and job satisfaction along with their physical and emotional well being (and considering how arduous it is to break into academia, I’m not surprised that these types of people would find it especially difficult to not pursue their dream careers). Nevertheless, I think it could be study that could be expanded upon to look at non-academics.
It has been over a year since I posted on this blog. I thought about it a lot and wished that I had some new crocheted doodad to show off, but life happened, as it always does. If I may have a moment of rather personal honesty, I dealt with a lot of emotional hardships that made it difficult for me to make time to crochet things that fall under the “mission” of this blog, let alone write about them. One of these hardships was a miserable job. Continue reading