Working with other materials

For the most part, as you may have noticed, I work with wood (or facsimiles thereof like MDF, laminates and laminated chipboard). But I also work with other materials. I have a studio at home, where I carry out handcrafts that don't involve power tools: sewing, beading, decopodging...that kind of thing.

Tray table - before

In the typical manner of a creative person, I tend to start out with one goal in mind, and wind up in a slightly different place, as inspiration moulds the project organically. So I seldom work entirely within my comfort zone, and most projects stretch me at least a little. Oddly enough (or perhaps not), this is exactly the approach I employed when I used to design learning solutions in my previous life.

Then from time to time, I am given the opportunity to explore new territory.

I was recently commissioned to restore a metal patio set that had seen better days. A two-seater bench and a little tray table. It had great sentimental value to its owner. I knew that I could strip it and sand it back by hand, before painting it again. And I knew it would be a long, slow process.

Two seater - before

At the same time, I was also given a candelabra made of twisted iron rods. The cups for the candles had pretty much rusted away, and the client gave me carte blanche to let my imagination run riot. Once again, this would involve stripping and repainting.

First things first, though - those rusted candleholders had to come off. This sort of work gives me time to think, so it is during the purely manual parts of a project that inspiration tends to strike. It dawned on me - maybe I could have the rust sandblasted off instead.

I found a local sandblasting firm and approached them. For them it was a small project - they usually work on huge pieces, but they were keen on the idea and agreed to do the work for me. They sanded and primed all three pieces.

Screw-in eyes

In the workshop next door to the sandblasting firm, is a metalworker. He works on Rolls Royces and vintage lorries. But he was happy, too, to weld screw-in eyes onto the candelabra for me (he also made a new drip tray for our gas barbecue, but that's another story). I think the work felt like a holiday to him.

During conversations with the sandblasting man, we discovered that we could form a mutually beneficial relationship in respect of some of the stuff he throws away. I will save him the trouble of disposing of it, and it will provide me with the basis of some interesting pieces going forward.

Once that was done, I painted all three pieces in accordance with the clients' instructions, and reunited them with their happy owners.

Patio set - after

Candelabra turned lantern tree

The point I'm making is that it's worth having a go. It's worth talking to other local tradespeople and crafters. It's worth asking. People can always say no, but often I find people enjoy the opportunity to do something different. Especially if they get to be a little creative in the process.

So you've never tried x thing before. Give it a shot. You might surprise yourself. And you might make some interesting new acquaintances into the bargain.

How do you know how to do that?

People sometimes ask me how it is that I know how to do so many things...or at least how I know what needs to be done, even when I can't necessarily do it myself.

I don't know.

I'm very, very inquisitive. And very, very greedy when it comes to knowledge. I want to know things. And I want to try things.

There are some things that I have learnt on purpose:

Tiling the stairs

• My Granny Norton taught me to knit and sew with a machine. 
• My Granny Snyman taught me to crochet and helped me perfect my hemming stitch. 
• My Mom taught me to cook.
• My step-dad taught me to give a car a minor service (in the days of plugs, points, condenser and oil change - don't ask me to do it now!).
• My Dad taught me to dropkick and fight with my fists. He wanted a son, what can I tell you? These days, it's perfectly acceptable for a girl to play rugby and box. Not so much in the 60s!
• My friend Catherine taught me tiling so that I could do my stairs. 

Then there are other things I sort of learnt by osmosis. I used to watch my grandfather at work in his workshop, mainly because it was made of creosoted split poles, and I loved the smell. I don't know how I absorbed as much as I did, when another person might not have done so. Maybe because I wanted to?

I have sat and chatted with workmen who come to the house to do various tasks, sometimes working with them when a second pair of hands has been needed.

But a lot of it goes back to my earlier post about just assuming that 'it can't be that difficult, surely?' I sort of tilt my head to one side and think 'if I attach a doohickey over there, and connect the hypergrolium to the hyperdinglepuffy (my Dad's favourite two words), it should work'.

Knowing how to do something for yourself is very empowering. Even supposing - for whatever reason - you don't have the time to do it yourself, or you've broken your arm and you're physically not up to the task. If you have a knowledge of what can be done, you can talk confidently to the person who will do the task for you. You can make suggestions about treatments and options, and you can call their bluff if they try to bulldust you about how difficult and/or time-consuming a task is going to be. You can make sensible suggestions about colour or finish or whatever. Even though you're not doing the work yourself, you're not at anyone's mercy.
Today I've been thinking a lot about my lovely Granny Norton. The one who taught me to knit and sew.

An old Singer: an icon

She had a Singer sewing machine. Those black and gold ones, with the wasp-like waist. If I remember correctly, hers had a foot pedal and a foldaway handcrank, so you could choose which you wanted to use. Initially, I think I used the handcrank because it was slower and gave me more control. Then I progressed to the foot pedal.

I can remember sewing all sorts of things by hand in my early childhood, but the first thing I remember making on my Gran's sewing machine was a green T-shirt dress with side pockets. I remember the challenge of working with stretchy fabric (no stretch-stitch in those days). I remember doing top stitching in white around the neck and the pockets. I remember taking the dress back to boarding school and feeling very pleased with it.

I can only think that my Gran must have been very patient with me, because I'm sure I was quite inexpert to begin with. It would have been so much easier (resisting the urge to say 'sew much easier') - not to mention quicker - to just do the work herself. If she had done so, my dress would have been prettier, there is no doubt about that. But I wouldn't have felt the same sense of accomplishment. I wouldn't have worn the dress with anywhere near as much pride.

And I probably wouldn't cock my head and think 'how hard can it be?' quite as often as I do today.