Sandboxmonster

Clutch me closer.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 31 Aug 2015 18:36:00 +0000

My friend's birthday was coming and the dreaded feeling that maybe this is it when all my good ideas are finally exhausted was back. I knew that I wanted to make a clutch, unfortunately design was not happening, time came for browsing. After 1 hour uuuuh'ing and aaaahhh'ing at moths with skulls on their backs (Death's head moth) and wallpapers on their wings (Oleander Hawk-moth), I drew my hybrid. 'Finally!'. The gift crisis was averted. Embroidery was done on dark blue suede and took about 2 days, sewing all the rest 1 evening.

Buzzing over black combs.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 16 Jul 2013 16:06:00 +0000

My second reclaimed chair, standing in a corner between wardrobe and wall, proudly holding all the weight of the world tucked inside a handbag. Decision to make it black was easy though my love-hate with this color revealed itself in the process when I got scared that it will look like a big black dot in my colorful place, added some flare in the form of neon (ultra) orange and sprinkled grey dots around. If I were you I would have an urge to ask what is it with me and polka dots? In previous life I was Yayoi Kusama. No, that's not right, she's still alive. Besides this explanation I have nothing.

Pantyhose sausages.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 29 Jun 2013 22:16:00 +0000

When I was rolling pantyhose sausages, all I could hear in my head was 'We are the wieners. We are, we are!'. Wait, wait, what? Once upon a time there was a Eurovision song. And probably the best what our music grands could have came up with in many years. And we almost won. Like 6th place. No joke, that was big. Of course there were no 'wieners' in the song lyrics only 'winners', but probably due to our sometimes funny pronunciation and a little arrogance encoded in the song native English people threw some jokes around, that all what they can hear is 'we are the wieners of Eurovision'. But what has Eurovision and (pantyhose) sausages in common? And more importantly what tights have to do with chairs?

When in need.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 20 Jun 2013 21:17:00 +0000

There is that much what you can say about a chair and squeeze out of it's simplicity. The one, I asked my parents to bring me to Vilnius, when they came for a visit and which while lying in the bed with book in hands I wanted to lodge into my room. 'Wouldn't it be nice to have a chair for my handbag? I would put it right in empty spot next to the bookshelf. It's so annoying when bag doesn't have it's place and is always unpleasantly in my way', I would lie there still for a second in big need for a small change contemplating new addition to room's decor. 'Tomorrow I'll look something up. Probably a small chair, nothing fancy, with old changeable cover and legs screaming for a paint job. And then I remembered the perfect match for my imagined chair standing in my old room at parents house. It was quick and almost sweet feeling starting and finishing search within several minutes.

Bird's view.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 22:42:00 +0000

Cupcakes again? My very short answer of 500 words - Yes. What can I do if I'm sweet tooth fairy. It's the last puzzle in my fields of cupcakes piece. The last look from the bird's view. The view when bird flies very high, spots something slightly violet and pink, is intrigued, flies closer, sees shapes and tries to guess what it is and when he gets even closer 'it's a marching rows of cupcakes!' and at the closest thinks again 'I'll have a good look and decide which is my favourite and which will be eaten first'. if I was a bird, I would totally think that.

Speaking about eating first. Let's make a little detour from cupcakes to the road of first bites. The dilemma of eating the first best or last best in your plate. I usually eat the bits that are my least favourite so I could have a pleasure to dive teeth first into the fantastic at the end, but sometimes everything is just opposite - the most delicious looking disappears first and then those which were second, third and fourth best (we will pretend that I will eat only four cupcakes). And I get frustrated when I forget which way was better the last time I was at the decision making point. If you think about it (probably it's for the best not to think about it too much, because who cares and there are more problems like hunger, lack of water or (cupcake) wars out there to be obsessed with, but still do you ever tried to change your thinking process? I see forest of hands swinging) it seems complicated and funny at the same time.

Intimidation of white paper.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 18 Feb 2013 23:13:00 +0000

Today I was struck by intimidation twice. And smart folks say that lightning doesn't strike twice. Yeah, right. First it was in the morning when I took out white empty sheet of paper and decided to draw, the other time when opened a document to write about cupcakes. Though the first attack was solved by filling the space with huge baobab and after that with two more. With the second hit I didn't have this easiness. I can't write BAOBAB and expect that it will hold the pressure of empty white space on the screen, or can I? Most likely it is more of 'if pigs could fly' case. Cursor doesn't like my lack of words and is not a big fan of BAOBAB too. It is flashing like yellow street light at night forcing me to choose 'should I stop' or 'should I go'.

Her Majesty.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 19:22:00 +0000

Good mistakes.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 21:47:00 +0000

How can you tell which mistake is good which is bad? How can you tell which cupcake is delicious which isn't? By tasting it. Bitter or bland taste in your mouth and you quite sure neither mistake or cupcake is good. Though with mistakes things always get a little bit tricky. As things with cupcakes.

When I agreed to try to bake them my imagination got very busy by painting a masterpiece of getting gorgeous little cakes with delicious twirled butter cream hats on top and some little yet very elegant decorations. The only thing missing in that visions was the branch and birds singing. That's the problem with masterpieces in your head they usually are hoax. A smoke curtain for the part of your brain which tries to think realistically while the imaginary one tries to sell a fake dream. By now you probably have an idea what's going on. Things didn't went like I imagined. I was like a collector with a copy of masterpiece.

Cupcake Odyssey.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 23:36:00 +0000

What's cookin'? Cupcakes. About half year ago. It was Thursday. In the background TV was playing live from the London Olympics. I was alone in the kitchen, contemplating in the pose of Thinker. The rush and heat of the day was subsiding and I was feeling some sort of withdrawal and intoxicating indolence, in big need of a little more kick before the night came in. Evenings are always perfect to bake and tease my neighbors or crows on the roof with the sweet smell of baked pastry leaking from every possible gap in my apartment straight into their noses or beaks. And bake big. Big like binge baking. If 18 cupcakes count as binge baking.

Creature(s). Part 3.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 20:56:00 +0000

It's funny how everything works out. My original plan was simple and short: no. 1 'fix shoe soles', no. 2 'change fabric from violet to green with brown edging'. It didn't include no. 3 'paint dark flowers on the brown leather'. It included itself in the process. Oh, don't get me wrong I don't mind. Actually, it's the best part of creation, because if the original plan and the outcome doesn't differ I hate to tell you but you work in the factory. Or you have better planning and foreseeing the future skills than I do, but I'm better at adapting in the changed circumstances. Or I don't like to announce something as a failure and try as hard as I can to get out of this mess that a sheep would be alive and wolf satisfied. Gosh, it begins to sound too twisted...What I was trying to say, that when process is creative all the way until the end not just plain old technicality I'm really pleased.

Operation. Part 2.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 20:27:00 +0000

Becoming doctor Shoesenstein. Part 1.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 17 Jan 2013 15:37:00 +0000

Shoes and the Frankenstein story have not much in common. But in my case it has. Doctor Frankenstein created a monster by putting together animal and dead human parts. What I did? I didn't went that far away to bring my 'creature' to life, however I created my kind of monster. I will brag a little - mine came out beautiful.

Magnetic fields.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 20:31:00 +0000

It's not a coincidence that I'm sitting and writing in my kitchen from time to time staring at the fridge while eating a soup with a small spoon. Not purely for the change of scenery. For inspiration. Many of magnets on the refrigerator are gifts from my friends. Some came from Switzerland, Turkey, Hungary, Sweden, South Korea and USA. Like little flags of countries which me or they, or we visited. Some marks baked pies and mutual hate to one particular learning institution, some were found in bags of Christmas candies or given as a gift to protect from ill-wishing looks. Each can tell a story and I can tell a story about each of them. But today I wanted to write about magnets of my own. If magnets most of the time are associated with going to foreign countries I decided to visit past again and bring something back from it. Because past feels like abroad and I'm a frequent visitor there. Though travels to the past are not the healthiest choice. But if I want to eat a doughnut even if it's not the best choice who's gonna stop me?

Games we play. Part 4. Bird and jumping snake.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 30 Nov 2012 23:37:00 +0000

House of floppies. Attic of floppies. Drawer of floppies. They came, occupied big space and after a while started disappearing, slowly giving away their place for bigger forms. It was time to move into a drawer. For ten or more years they were laying there untouched until I came, looked, build a tower, snap snap with the camera and put back to the drawer for another ten years. My story about the joy the other day has stopped, it was getting too long already so I cut the cake in half and decided to prolong the feast next time, this time.

I bet all games on floppy discs still work, but I don't have a computer which could read them anymore. That's a shame. Oh, I do have that kind of computer, but it's too dead. Oh, again, even if it was still working it's grayscale, so no real fun playing games without colors. My only left hope - internet.

Games we play. Part 3. Meeting computer.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 23:22:00 +0000

What a day. It felt like an old buried time capsule* landed in my lap just out of nowhere (that's how I call internet). I opened it and canned joyous emotions sprung like birds from cages or oil fountain from the dry land and promised me soul touching music or provided future. What? I'm seeing your raised eyebrow. My joy asks for quick explanation, if my gut feeling is right I'm seconds away from you thinking that I belong to Cuckoo's nest.

Games we play. Part 2. Legacy.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 22:48:00 +0000

Did you thought that it was over with buttons and memories? Nooo, far from that, more joy is coming.

My grandfather was a wise man and knew some good tricks how to make an impression on little children like me and catch their attention. One time he showed me a very weird game. I'm not even sure it can be called a game. What was the purpose of this game? No clue either. Though for the little version of me it was fascinating and hypnotizing. The sound, the speed and button turning into a small fast wheel, what could be better? At that moment when I saw it for the first time - nothing. My jaws just dropped.

Games we play. Part 1. Everyday objects and dolls.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 02 Nov 2012 22:50:00 +0000

Looking back I'm feeling like a seventy year old and torturing my grandchildren with none ending stories about young and glorious days. Stories begin 'when I was young like you are, I used to...', 5 minutes later and no listeners at wide several kilometers range around, I find myself talking alone, enjoying good company and liking the topic. I know the narrative too damn well but don't mind to hear it and to tell it who counts what time again. The story of vivid childhood memories. Even understanding that my brains rewrite memories all the time again and again and everything looks much nicer then it really was, won't stop me from taking this road. I almost can smell, feel, hear and see it. And still I don't. It's just nervous signals trying to remind what is long time gone. When I was young almost like you are...

Jelly madness.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sat, 27 Oct 2012 07:58:00 +0000

It's not the biggest secret in the world that I love blogs. All story with them started when I came across the idea to have a personal page on the internet but without going through problems of figuring out how to have your own domain and create a nice place with it on web. The name 'blog' started to pop out, blog platforms appeared, they were accessible for bigger audience then those who was fish and felt like fish in internet waters (nerds).
I realized how much pleasure I find in reading raw and fresh personal thoughts, seeing pictures, feeling and grabbing a bit of real people and their everyday lives (scary, I sound like a peeping tom!). At that time for me it was like digging in a gold mine and finding crumbs of gold everywhere. Naturally at first I had to go through all that mud and by mud I mean blogs which I didn't like. I have to agree that probably those who said that 99% of blogs were shit and only 1% was worth reading, were right. But what I wasn't satisfied with this phrase was, that it got into account mainly only blogs which could make or made money (it doesn't necessarily mean they were worth my time). But it is a discussion for later.

Sewing origami.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Thu, 18 Oct 2012 15:30:00 +0000

Let's talk cold today. It's obvious that now is the right season to go hunting for one. And I did. Just on weekend I managed to catch it without a gun, traps, dogs or any other trouble. At first I didn't admit that I'm sick and cold is in my hands, doing whatever it pleases. It shivered me, didn't let to sleep at night, wanted to play tickling my throat, raising my temperature (a bit). I really did try to ignore it like an annoying pet. Didn't work. It went uncontrollably wild. What else it was to do, then to become an onion of clothes to avoid it biting me, give it thyme tea and honey that without noticing I could sneak some cold medicine in. Finally it started to surrender. Leash is on and I'm almost good (I'm still angry that it ruined my plans to go and have flu vaccination but it can wait).

Now we can talk about something else. For example warmer wardrobe for a phone. Not mine though. Gift again. I suppose this year gifts' main theme is warmth and no for cold. Why I chose to make a phone case? It was no brainer. I used to have one and still remember that I liked it, because I didn't have to worry putting my phone anywhere were keys, coins and other stuff causing scratching were. For perfectionists like me it was ideal. But gift wasn't about me. Everyone has a phone (or two) so I thought I couldn't go wrong. I kind of miss having a phone case so probably I need to make one just for myself too (we all know how long it will take, because a shoemaker usually is without shoes).

Gift season.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 15:45:00 +0000

No, I'm not going to talk about Christmas, they are still hundred miles away in my time measurement. It is about October. In my nearest circle, many people chose to be born particularly on this month. And where are birthdays there have to be gifts in my world.

Leg warmers.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Sun, 07 Oct 2012 07:09:00 +0000

Temperature is dropping almost every day and I have to admit finally that autumn is here in

its full power. Brrr. It was time to take my knit needles out of the closet and start knitting. I had in mind one particular thing: leg warmers. While I was keeping my hands busy I thought how many presumptions we have about them.

Moving boxes.

noreply@blogger.com (Unknown) — Fri, 28 Sep 2012 11:30:00 +0000

Oh well, I'm starting again from the beginning. Perfectionism is a bitch. Though this take I'm trying without expectations or any unnecessary promises, because I have suspicions that they killed all blog's predecessors. Lack of commitment, laziness and self-doubt could be usual suspects too. But lets focus for now on the main thing that I'm here and kicking. Stay tuned. It's my fourth time. Must be lucky.