I'm a Photographer, Not a Miracle Worker!

1940s Tapestry Footstool, $45

So said the lovely Kim Davies, my photographer, who had bravely taken on the unenviable task of photographing me for Indulge magazine’s contributor’s page. 

Taking a headshot, they call it in the industry.  Taking a headshot in a different life in another industry involved using someone’s head for target practice (though more often a simulated someone’s head).  In all honesty I can’t say which process I enjoyed less.  On balance, probably the photographic session.

So anyway, I shall now peer out at you from Indulge’s contributors’ page, and you’ll get the chance to judge my writing and my hair in the same package.  How good is that? 

I thought about showing you the picture now so you could get your guffawing over with and just settle down before the official publication.  But then I thought, Why humiliate myself for free?  So you can jolly well buy the magazine.  Just, please, one little thing – don’t spray bystanders with your mouthful of coffee if you’re flipping through the mag in your local coffee shop.  No good ever comes from drink-laughing.    

White cane Gothic Revival setting, c1900, $260

Notwithstanding what she had to work with, it must be said Kim the Photographer’s bedside manner could stand a little work.   

We went from the “not a miracle worker” quip, proceeded through “Oh my God that’s hideous” when reviewing photos, and finished with “we can probably use this if I crop a whole lot from your bosom”.  I do have an ample bosom, but you will be amazed at the magic of cropping. 

Meanwhile, in addition to posing a career challenge for Kim the Photographer, I have been having a bit of fun with the distressed paint effects I’ve been applying to various pieces of old furniture.

Extra large picnic basket c1940, $32

Crackle-glazing has been a big failure so far.  Big failure.  All I’ve done is burn myself quite badly with the concoction you’re meant to apply.  It’s amazing where you unconsciously touch yourself, and then learn about it when you’ve inadvertently applied something caustic to those surfaces. 

Before your eager little imaginations run riot, it was my face I touched.  But just imagine how bad things could have been.  Makes you downright wince. 

So anyway, my burns are healing and I’ll approach that more cautiously and have another go.  But the painting bit is going well.  So far I’ve sold everything I’ve worked on, but it’s slow work.  Maybe it’s Beginners’ Slowness and I’ll get better.  Maybe I’m just a slow painter and should just chill about it.

Wooden painted box, $70

But chilling is good, and I’m finding that painting furniture is a very Zen experience.  You lose track of time, you don’t focus on anything except the piece in front of you.  Even with Calypso yowling in the background, because if I’m outside how dare I be outside without her, I eventually zone her out, or she gets over it and goes back to bed.

I’m hoping to have some nice pieces ready for the next Collectorama Fair, on Saturday 7 November, but I’ve been selling a good amount of painted things at the Peregian Beach Market.  So I shall paint like the wind, and see if I can get a stockpile ready in time for Collectorama.

Last Collectorama, in September, went really well for us.  We sold lots, and almost everyone was lovely.  Almost.  You know if you’re weird you’re going to get blogged on, so why are people weird?  To give me blogging fodder, clearly.

So our one blog-worthy encounter at Collectorama was a guy who complained – he actually approached Doug and waited patiently until Doug was free – to complain that our prices were too low. 

Is there no pleasing some people?  No there is not, is the answer. 

Another wooden painted box, $42

Doug said if he wanted to pay more, if that made him feel better, that would be fine with us.  But no, he didn’t want to pay more, he just wanted to have it officially recorded that our prices were too low.  Things can’t be real when the prices are so reasonable, apparently.

News for you, weird guy, our stuff is real and reasonably priced.  Get over it.

Meanwhile, the Spring edition of the magazine Antiques & Collectables for Pleasure & Profit is now on the shelves.  It’s a good mag, and in this edition you will find an article by me about the joys of travelling to Helsinki for a spot of shopping.

Sept edition

As much as I enjoy writing for Antiques & Collectables, it’s only published four times a year.  So I’ve decided to write a book. 

Several books, in fact, but the first one shall be called something like The Shopaholics Guide to Free Travel.  Maybe The Shopaholics Essential Guide to Free Travel. 

In it I shall reveal exactly - exactly - how to buy antiques and vintage in France and England, where to go, what to buy, how to get it home to sell it, so you can go and do it again.  And seeing how you always work Play Days into buying trips, you'll have fun shopping and fun sight-seeing and playing, and when you sell your purchases you will recoup the cost of the trip.  Maybe even turn a profit.  Sound like a plan?  It works for me.

What do you think?  It shall be a Kindle book, and don’t worry if you don’t own a kindle because you can now download a free app to read eBooks on your computer, phone or tablet.  More on this as it progresses.

Cute little pigeon holes, $38

Our next outing will be at the Peregian Beach Market on Sunday 4 October.  I’ve painted a variety of boxes and baskets in preparation (some shown here), and maybe I’ll have another chair or two ready by then.  I hoping to have a smallish glass fronted wall cabinet ready – having instantly sold the last one to another dealer at the last Peregian Market – but you know how slow I am at this.

Brazilian Glitter, Designer Labels & Egyptian Pampering

Computer glitches have kept me out of the cyber-sphere for a while, but it appears I’m back in action.  Technology is a wonderful thing, until it carks it.

Creating a distressed paint effect

With hopefully enough advance notice, I’m letting those in the vicinity know that Collectorama – the big antiques fair at the Nambour Showgrounds on the Sunshine Coast – will be held on this coming Saturday, 5 September.  Come visit us!  I've included some random photos in this post of a few bits and bobs we'll be offering.

Last week I did a course on how to create a distressed paint effect on furniture, which was terrific fun.  Chateau Chic we called it, and that indeed shall probably be the title of the article I’m now going to write about the experience.  Until a sub-Editor minion decides to change my headline, that is.  Have I mentioned how sub-Editors are the bane of my life as a writer?  About a thousand times? 

Uranium Glass Shaker, $40

Anyway, when making furniture look old and distressed it is helpful if the piece you’re working on is already old.  So I have a head-start because the pieces I’m now working on have all been dragged out of the we-really-should-do-something-with-that pile of antique and vintage furniture from our garage. 

Perfectly good English Edwardian and French country pieces, with nice lines but in need of tarting up, or just plain brown and so looking drab, are now being zhoozhed by me.  I have already sold one of my first pieces, so yay for that.  The other pieces I’ve so far worked on shall be presented starting from Saturday.

You can come and critique my efforts at Collectorama.  But only if your critique is OMG this is wonderful!, or Wow, girl, you are so good, or I really must buy every single piece.  I will be offering utter bargains, because this is a test to see if my ability to do this type of painting stands up to public scrutiny.  It’s not as easy as you might think and it takes ages, but it’s quite a lot of fun so I hope it works out.

Meanwhile, we tried out the Aladdins Fair in Brisbane last Sunday.  It’s nowhere near as big as Collectorama, our space is limited to three tables, and the Fair only operates from 10am – 2pm.  But it went well enough, and we sold a number of vintage wooden items and lots of pictures.  We’d want it to be a whole lot better before we commit to becoming regulars, but we’ll try it again in October and see how it goes.

Royal Winton ceramic jug, $32

Somewhere we do attend regularly is the Nights on Ocean market at Maroochydore, and we’re enjoying it.  It’s held on the 2^nd Friday night of each month, and runs from 5pm to 9pm.  So we’re packing up and heading home just as all the clubbers and restaurant-goers are starting to get a bit tipsy.  That’s a good time to leave, especially when you’ve got antiques on display.

A great addition at the last Nights on Ocean market were the Brazilian Hari Krishnas.  If Brazilian Hari Krishnas wear little but glitter and feathers and gyrate a lot, that is. 

Apparently they were supposed to be Carnivale Samba girls.  But a friend who knows about these things watched the goings-on with her hands on her hips, a sneer on her lips and a great deal of snorting.  There was No Way, she informed me, that such cavorting was anything like the Samba. 

But I think she might have been the only one to notice that.  Everyone else was noticing a whole lot of wobbling glitter and feathers.  Whatever they were doing, it sure got a lot of attention.  And wherever they went, everything came to a stand-still. 

Large Vintage French Wooden Balls, $15 each

And drums, there were a lot of drums.  For every hip-swivelling glitter and feathers gel there were multiple accompanying drummers.  We reckoned there was probably a wait list to be a drummer, following those wiggling, glitter-dusted bare bottoms down the street. 

So with all that drumming and enthusiastic squirming-that-was-not-the-Samba, I figured they could only be Brazilian Hari Krishnas. 

I am sure you will agree, as usual my logic is impeccable.

The only other news I have for this post is that, yay, I have been accepted as a writer for a glossy magazine called Indulge.  It’s a beautiful magazine, focussed on lifestyle and food in south-east Queensland and northern NSW.  My first article will appear in the Spring issue, out soon, but I’m not sure if it will be the on-line magazine or print magazine.  Either way, I’m happy and will announce when it’s published.

Women's Winner, King of the Mountain

My role writing about the King of the Mountain Festival has now wrapped up, and the Festival was a lot of fun.  A lot of fun for those of us not schlepping up a whacking big mountain and back in 30 degree heat.  It was the hottest July day on record in Queensland, so it was tough going for a lot of the competitors.

I was poised to get a great photo of one young man who had made it safely up and back down the mountain, but just as I was about to get the shot he vomited everywhere. 

Wow, he really shouldn’t have had quite so much lunch before the race.  It was impressive.  It was almost Exorcist-esque in its special effects.  It took projectile vomiting to a whole new level. 

And that, my friends, is why I shall never be an award-winning photojournalist.  Did I get the shot, or did I screw up my nose and say erh-yuck?  

So I didn’t get an award winning techno-spew photo, but last week I did have my final article on the King of the Mountain Festival published in the local newspaper.  The Editor gave me a good run – six full page articles, including the front page on one occasion, and I can’t ask for more than that.  The Sunshine Coast Daily newspaper gave me the cover of their Sunday Supplement one week, and in 10 months they’ve published another 14 of my articles, so that’s going well.

French Art Deco Perfume Bottle, $82

Isn’t it strange, though, that after working so hard to get the attention of various Editors, and having succeeded with many that I have sent pitches to, I have now decided I’m really glad I didn’t choose freelance journalism as a career. 

I spent a good amount of time in my former life being a rooster rather than a feather-duster, and it’s easy to get used to everyone always and immediately returning your calls, and doing as you bid, and seeking your opinion and approval. 

But as a freelance writer I’m very much a feather-duster who has to work hard to get the attention of Editors from the sea of my fellow feather-dusters.  Yes, I clearly have a healthy ego, but there you go.  Being a freelance writer means constantly facing the prospect of rejection and constantly being last priority in any Editor’s day, and that’s not great for anyone’s ego.  But maybe it’s good for me.  Like disgusting medicine is good for me.

But enough musing.  I’m glad I have come only lately to professional writing, and I shall keep doing it while the fun bit outweighs the frustration bit.  And I think I shall focus more on magazine articles than newspapers.  I’m surprised to find that I prefer to write longer features for glossy magazines than shorter pieces for newspapers, which is exactly the opposite of where I thought I’d head when I first started writing for publication.

Armani coat, $140

Is it because I’m getting into the glossy magazine mind-set that I’ve also decided to start offering some designer label clothes among our stock?  The opportunity to get my hands on some very nice labels (Armani, Valentino, Perri Cutten, etc) landed in my lap, so I thought what the heck. 

I sought advice from a friend who specialises in vintage designer labels, and it was very kind of her to help because there are traps for the unwary. 

Did you know, for example, that some big name designers declare their clothes to be a certain size, say Australian size 12, when according to all internationally accepted sizing tables their sizes are actually an Australian size 8?  Talk about fostering insecurity in your customers!  Why would they do that? 

And how many size 8s do you know?  Not many is the answer.  So I shall have to be sure to buy clothes that Mr Armani and his colleagues would consider HUGH but are actually normal person sizes.  And seeing how most people are not stick insects, sizes 12 and beyond are always the most sought-after and therefore the most expensive.

Green Depression Glass Jug, $32

Anyway, it’s an opportunity to try something on the vintage front I haven’t done before, so I’ll give it a go and see what happens.  I’m not sure how I’m going to sell these clothes, but at the moment I’m supplying them to Collective Haus, the nearby shop in Yandina where I sell a bunch of my jewellery and French vintage images. 

And if it doesn’t work out, I shall say Oh Well and move on to something else.  I’m far more sanguine about having my commercial decisions proven wrong when it comes to antiques than I am about having my work as a writer rejected.  Isn’t that strange?  Writing is more personal, but making a mistake in the antiques and vintage trade is far more costly. 

Finally, on a different topic entirely, did you know I was an Egyptian Princess in a former life?  Neither did I until this week.

I finally got around to collecting a mass of rocks that were lying on the terraces below our house, and then precariously balancing wheel-barrow loads of them on the tractor to transport them to a garden-bed-in-the-making behind our house. 

And boy do I hurt now.  My knees are shot, my back is killing me, and even though I wore thick gloves I broke every single finger nail.

Art Deco ceramic vase, $42

So it is clear that in a former life I was not a peasant farmer or some quarry worker, nosiree.  I did not lug about rocks, I was not made of hardy stuff. 

I was clearly a pampered Princess who had slaves create nice little breezes with ostrich feather fans to cool me in the heat of the day.  And they fed me grapes – with no seeds in them, thank you!  And they made sure my nice linen outfits were properly washed – not in the river, thank you! – so I was suitably attired for lying about watching pyramids being built.

It has become clear this week that I was not made for heavy lifting, not in this life or any other life.  I was made for pampering, and nice food, and expensive, high-care garments.  Ergo, I must have been an Egyptian Princess. 

I am sure you will agree, as usual my logic is impeccable.

If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise ....

With the winter solstice just past, the chilly grey days are getting shorter.  Imperceptibly to me, but apparently It Is So. 

Sunrise is hidden behind low mountains before us at the moment, but as soon as the Earth’s inclination shifts slightly so I can see the sunrise over the ocean, then I will know the days are getting longer.  It’s amazing to see the large arc of the sunrise over the course of a year.

I do miss the solstices in England, though, because of all the celebratory Pagan activities that accompany them.  Where are all the pagans in Australia?  Snug and warm in the beds during the winter solstice, I’m thinking.

In England, we lived for a few years at Alderley Edge.  This is a small mountain that juts out from the Cheshire plains.  It seems bigger than it is because of all the surrounding flatness. 

Alderley Edge is a beautiful spot, with big old trees and a tangle of greenery, and it’s a steep climb to get to the top.  Then you can enjoy far-reaching views over the Cheshire plains, the patchwork of fields and hedgerows that makes this part of the country so lovely.

There are a number of legends and stories associated with the Edge.  Merlin is said to have had a haunt up there.  Boy that Merlin sure got around. 

What is verifiably true is that the Romans mined for tin on Alderley Edge in around 200AD, and an Armada Beacon was positioned there in the 1500s to warn of Spanish invasion and summon help.  In more recent times, every year the winter and summer solstices are celebrated on the Edge by white witches.

Even for the winter solstice, this involves getting your kit off and dancing naked around roaring bonfires.  Not too close – you don’t want to crispyfy all that nice white English witch-skin, but not too far because even nice white English witch-skin looks unappealing covered in giant goosebumps.

So the women would go dancing and prancing about their bonfires each solstice, chanting and singing, ducking in close to get warm, veering away to avoid burned-bum-syndrome, and all in all having a jolly good time. 

It was always women who celebrated the solstices on Alderley Edge.  I don’t think for one minute it’s because all the men were too sensible – come on, who would believe that?  Maybe singing and chanting and dancing naked with a bunch of pagan women isn’t a male pagan thing.  We’ll never know.

What we do know is that everyone else wanted to join in.  I mean everyone.  Thousands of people. 

Though, when I say “join in”, I mean they wanted to come and watch the naked, dancing, slightly crispyfied women.

So anyway, thousands of spectators would turn up to Alderley Edge in the middle of the night, every solstice.  It got to the point that the Police cordoned off the entire region every time and you had to prove you lived there in order to drive to your house.  Everyone else – outsiders - had to walk a fair distance, and that was before the steep climb to the top.  The Police hoped that would put people off, and maybe it did, but you wouldn’t know it.

Complaints were made some years by spectators about the late hour of the celebration and requests were made to bring it forward to an earlier hour.  Hello?  Ever heard of the Witching Hour?  Dancing naked in celebration of anything pagan has to happen at midnight, not before your 7.30pm bedtime.  It’s the rule.

The solstice celebrations had to stop for a few years because of stupid spectators, stumbling around in the dark and falling down Roman tin mines, but I hope they’re back in all their chilly glory.

In the meantime, there are plenty of good sized mountains in this neck of the woods.  Pagan solstice ceremonies, anyone?  No namby-pamby spectators allowed.

PS.  Have you guessed that this episode’s pictures relate somehow to pagan or naked or strong women?  Yes, there was a theme, numpties.

PPS.  Peregian Beach Market is this coming Sunday, 5 July.  Should be a lovely day at the beach, so hopefully see you there.