ANTIQUE PRINTERS PLATE DRAWERS

MY FATHER'S OLD FISHING LURES AND TACK

Old antique printing plate drawers are a collectors dream.  Not as a collection by themselves but for all the little things in life we have collected.  When I found my first printing plate drawer, it must have sat unused for a years.  It was content to just be sitting on display all by itself.  But then, while out and about I ran across another printer plate drawer and it had been filled with miniatures; postage stamps, silverware, milk bottles, farm animals, anything that was in the real world that could be made little. The tiny squares that lined the drawers where metal lettering plates once stored by newspapers were now used for peoples little treasures.

This one I made for my granddaughter.  I added the outrageous frame and let her imagination do the rest.

   Upon looking through junk drawers, old pieces of jewelry, treasured boxes full of childhood mementos and other tiny little what-knots I unearthed a goldmine of things to show off in the small squares lining the printer plates’ drawer.

From 50 year old marbles, to drill team bars from old uniforms I once wore; or a set of brass wax letter stamps to a miniature set of camp stove cooking pots and pans; foreign coins and cash, and barrettes worn in my hair when I was a little girl. When I was finished uncovering all the keepsakes I had plenty left over to embellish a second display.

LIFE'S LITTLE MEMENTOS

It would be many years before a printer plate drawer came my way at a rummage sale alongside the back roads in Idaho. This one still had the old handle used to pull the drawer in and out.  It would be quite a few years before I filled this with keepsakes that I treasured. Only this time I chose something completely different from my childhood mementos.  My Father had recently given his entire fishing gear to our son (knowing his days of fishing were behind him) to enjoy.  As I sorted through the old rusty metal tackle box I came across something more than just a bunch of old finger pricking fishing lures. It was a walk down memory lane to all the wading in streams and rivers I’d once pleasured with my Father.  These were the treasures that will fill the empty squares of the second printer plate drawer that had long since been forgotten in the attic.  I dusted it off and carefully began placing the fishing lures in just their perfect spots, all the while reminiscing of fishing tales once told. 

HIS NAME "JIM" IS IN THE UPPER LEFT -  SPELLED OUT BY USING FISHING HOOKS

 Now I can enjoy not only tiny mementos from a childhood but also all the journeys of simple fishing trips with our family.  It all tells a story, but only I know them well enough to gaze at the display and lapse into a dream of fishing days gone by. I wonder which fishing lure caught that big one hanging on the wall above the printers’ plate. Now there’s a story needing to be told.

A SOLDIERS FRIEND INDEED

He is a mustang! He is a stallion! He is a soldier, black with mottled white at his rear. He is powerful, yet gentle as a lamb.  With a whistle he stands at complete attention and focus’s himself upon you.  He holds his head with honor, for he has endured the battle.  His majestic head projects the victory; proud, full of strength, yet weary from pain.  Shrapnel that had sprayed his hind-quarters now seeped blood making it difficult for him to remain at attention.  Yet he did just that. A flag of red, white and blue draped over his back, was soaked in his blood. His leather bridle and reins were shredded and barely hanging from his head. His rider, who long since had fallen to the ground, looked up from afar and whistled for his return. 

 It took all of the mustang’s last strength to lope across the battleground to the rider who was calling him.  He slowed as he got closer, carefully stepping over the many broken bodies that lay motionless on the ground. He stopped at each soldier, smelling for any life.  Coming upon his rider he held his head low to smell him. Smelling his familiar breath his nostrils rubbed against the face of the rider nudging him to rise. He stomped the ground with his hoof in a gesture of friendship, then carefully this giant of a horse knelt down on his forelegs to gather up his rider.  He waited while the soldier pulled himself up onto his back then he gently rose again.  With his rider draped over his back he began the long journey back to camp.  He needed no guide; the way was a familiar one. This would be different; they would be returning with only a handful of the soldiers they had come with earlier that day.

The mustang was met in camp by soldiers who carefully drew the unresponsive rider from his back. He smelled the familiar body and his weary head hung low.  The journey back had taken its toll on the stallions’ tattered and torn body.  His blood and his rider’s stained the back of his legs.  But majesty remained in the horse; fighting his own pain to save the life of his friend.  He struggled to stay upright.  His legs shuddered from exhaustion. He whinnied out a dismal refrain to the others in the herd that had made it back safely before him.  They responded back with a welcoming neighing, but sensed the agony in his. He stomped the ground with his front hoof and let out one more cry to the herd as he collapsed. His grunts and snorts alerted his rider, awakening from inside the infirmary. Hearing the familiar voice of his steed he drew all his breath, puckered his lips and whistled to his giant friend. The magnificent animal moaned and rumbled as he tried to rise to his feet, but it would not be.  Just as he had kneeled for his rider to climb upon him and drape his broken body over his back, now his rider with the help of his fellow comrades limped over to the stallion and knelt beside his ravaged and exhausted friend. Resting his face against the stallions he blew his comforting breath against his nostrils. The stallion gazed lovingly from his weary black eye into the face of the soldier and let out a shuddering sigh. A calm and peaceful expression swiftly replaced it. He served his soldier proudly to the very end, just as any fellow soldier would do for another.

Portrait of my friend 1990 – 2009

     Sol Sahhargazon (I knew him as Solly)

Staring at the photos of her horse for hours left her with grief pumping through her veins.   Her paint brush had fallen to the ground beneath the canvas some time ago. She had painted portraits of horses before, but this time was so very different. She picked up the brush and raising her paint brush towards the canvas was a seemingly impossible portrait to begin painting that day.  Where would she begin?  How do you paint death?  Is it all dark and gloomy? Or do you paint about the life once loved, enjoyed, cherished? Either way will never convey the loss that one experiences when we loose our very dear friend.

She picked up the brush again and began with gentle strokes like the brushing of his back and neck.  Making long graceful whisks, much like pulling the dirt and sand from beneath each hair on his back gave emotion to the feel of his majestic strength.  Hesitating while switching brushes for more delicate work around their eyes, 

nose and mouth gave her a moment 

to step back and look at her work.  

 

Oh how he would toss his head while having his eyes and nose brushed.  Her loving kisses on the end of his nose always got him to readjust his mouth and give a lick. Or was it that he hated it so much or that it tickled and made him sneeze creating his own layer of art on the fronts of her shirt.   Those were the stains on many of her shirts she wore when spending time with her friend. Some were green like the tall sweet grasses of his pasture. Others were in multiple shades of browns from the earth all around his world. Some were from the highest branch of the Russian olive tree he had rubbed up against straining to strip off the deliciously sweet bark.  Sometimes it was the Hawthorn bushes with the three inch thorns that would poke his hind quarter just right for a deserving scratch. 

Painting his eye and capturing his sincerity was of all the most difficult. Looking longingly into his liquid brown eyes was easy, but to show that loving look he always gave back could never be duplicated.  Yet she gave it her best as she chose carefully the colours within those exquisite pools of love. So many photos had been stored in albums but none could ever compare to those moments she fell hypnotically in love each and every time she met his eyes and his to hers’.

       Stepping back from the portrait of her friend, her heart ached as she gazed upon the beautiful horse captured in colours of grandeur. Starting from his crooked stripe down his long nose to his shiny mane that was blacker than a starless night with a tail to match, brought her to a smile. His mane and tail, silky and illustrious, they hung gracefully around his Arabian confirmation. The reddish brown bay with tall black socks on each leg, stood regally like the champion that he once was.  Shiny hooves from way too much polish gave it the finishing touch for this classic showman.  At last she had captured her friend as he once had lived. He would remain her friend forever on canvas, always there looking lovingly from across the pasture as he often did.  Ready to ride, ready to serve and always ready to be loved.

Won fourth place best of Show 2007

All gussied up

A Good Ride

My Best Friend

 

DECOUPAGED SEWING KIT FROM OLD LUGGAGE

THE DECOUPAGED SEWING KIT


What do you do with the old Samsonite luggage that is every bit as indestructible as the commercials they once advertized? Don’t throw it away! Continue using it for the same purpose it was manufactured. Hold your toiletries. Great little storage container! I use mine for a sewing kit. It still has all the side pockets in tact for storing packages of needles, buttons or flat things. The tray for cosmetics or first aid items is slightly cracked but works fine.

The case however, lacked luster. Any artist could think of hundreds of ways to change its exterior. So that is exactly what I did. I made it mine. I love horses (mustangs) and so clipped every picture from books, magazines or news articles about horses. The selections for this collage were a bit comical. I found silly looking horses and drunk looking riders. I few long forgotten hay rides, and other arbitrary pictures. Whola!



Using the old stand by Modge Podge for decoupage, I randomly placed the pictures. Well, there was some intentional direction; up, down, on the sides, depending mostly upon which end was up on the case. I even applied pictures to the bottom. This is an arguable choice, but consider if it fell over, it would bare a resemblance to the once boring case. This could not be allowed. Likewise, if a surface remained bare I took some flashy oil paints (yellow) to give it a sense that it was once all yellow. As you can see it has been personalized for my enjoyment every time I use this reclaimed toiletry case turned sewing kit. It is funky! It’s my art!
I have come to a brain block and am asking for your assistance. How to decorate the handle that currently doesn’t do justice to the artsy sewing kit. Do I just paint it? Yellow? Should I decoupage the handle too? What do you think about replacing the handle? I would need suggestions for a proper replacement. So get busy, put on your rose coloured glasses or what ever you do when you get that creative bug in your head. Send me your ideas, and should I choose your idea I will give you accolades here within. Attached will be a picture of the newly decorated handle and it will then be perfect!