stepford wife ahoy

I made this apron a few weeks ago from some old curtains I found in a charity shop, and added some trimmings to the pockets and waistband. I can be affectionate about this particular creation because at no point did I want to fling it into the canal. (I live on the first floor of a building conveniently located next to the River Irwell, so the temptation is at times overhwhelming).

This hasn't a permanent home yet so if you'd like to own it, or one like it, just email me at steph.odea@hotmail.com. Commissions and colour requests welcome!

long time no speak

Yesterday, I made sleeves. I started making a dress a couple of months ago and ever since it's stood untouched on the dressmaker's dummy in my living room whispering of a half-arsed job. It's amazing how a headless figure in a dress can develop its own personality.

I don't like her much, to be honest.

Yesterday her grumblings and mutterings finally broke me, and I rounded on her headless neck and yelled Alright! Al-bloody-right! And wrestled the thing off the dummy in a slightly worrying fury. (No, you're right of course, I didn't, because I am not psychotic. But in a metaphorical world this is entirely what happened). 

Twenty-four hours later and Lady Jane...but permit me a topical digression. Lady Jane is the dummy's name, and also an indication of my closet status as a history geek for whom this passes as quite the joke, since the aforementioned Lady Jane Grey and my dummy share the somewhat unfortunate situation of being cranially deprived. As I was saying, Lady Jane is laughing on the other side of her missing face now that she's got sleeves that are not only of equal length (miracle) but structurally sound (unheard of). I can even get my arms through them without risking bloodflow and/or subsequent amputation.

So here is a picture to document my small but not insignicant triumph over The Headless One. Give it a day or so and she'll be whining about her scratty hem and the lack of buttons and oh, god knows what else, but for now we have reached a ceasefire of sorts and she stands forbeaingly silent.

and from darker times...

I stumbled upon this angrily scribbled lament recently and since it's pretty topical thought it would be well placed here. I wrote it when I was living at home and working about 4 jobs, one of which was copywriting for about 0.000004p a word for a medical company. I think this might've have had something to do with my somewhat negative state of mind.

the work of a Sunday

The pieces of this bag had been lying on my desk for about 6 weeks when I finally accumulated the wherewithal to sew the blasted thing together. Behold, the finished article. Once I'd made the customary mistake of sewing the wrong thing to the wrong side of another thing and gone all Quasimodo for half an hour unpicking zillions of stitches it went swimmingly...

jack of all trades, mistress of none

Well here I am. Finally. Someone once said that procrastination gives you something to look forward to; someone else said it's just opportunity's assassin. I've got a foot in each camp.

My name's Steph and I talk a great game. I make stuff, now and again, and dream about being able to make other stuff; everything. When I'm making bags I want to be makings hats. When I'm making clothes I really should be making jewellery. When making jewellery I ought to be knitting. As soon as I drop a stitch while knitting I feel an irrepressible urge to crochet. Which is funny really, because I can't crochet to save my life. But dropping a stitch while knitting can do funny things to your mind.

So I'm here flying the flag for the indecisive amongst us, the dabblers, and the procrastinators. Now and again there might be a picture or two; I might explain how I completely wrecked, ruined and otherwise massacred a new craft project, and now and again, heck, I might just take orders and sell the successes of my creativity. It has been known.

Well then. Hello void. And, for goodness' sake, talk to me...