Day off on a Saturday? Perish the thought.
I may have revisited my mojo after the doldrums of this week. I decided to redo all my graphics and get them in situ, so that's Folksy, Facebook and here done.I'm a little sad to see the old ones go, but they were very much a grab it quick solution when I was setting up and needed pictures quick. They were photos I took in Scotland at xmas and they have great sentimental value to me, but rest assured they'll still be working hard on the sidelines as inspiration for future projects.
I'm also working on a mega admin task this weekend. My work is to be submitted to another site that I've been accepted for, details of which I'll post later, so I'm filling in upload forms for every item and gathering pictures to go with the descriptions. This promotion mallarkey is a full time job in itself. I need to be ultrasuperduper organised if I'm to continue being productive in any arty sense at all.
One thing I ought to be thankful for is that people can't actually see me while I'm a hive of productivity. It's almost 1pm and I'm still sitting here in my dressing gown, slurping tea and ferretting away at everything. My immense lack of glamour would put off even the most foolhardy shopper, should I be on view.
In my defense, I have been here since about 9am and stopped only briefly to make cordon bleu beans on toast for the Monsieur and myself for lunch. He's busily uploading geeky bits and pieces onto Ebay as I speak. We're pulling out all the stops to dredge up cash for the rest of the month. Someone loves a tryer, think it might traditionally be god, but we don't subscribe to that. Let's substitute Darth Vader for now, which has quite a ring to it in my opinion.
Something peculiar occurred to me this week while I was knee deep in sewing. People who create art do it partially to put their creativity out into the world, yes? But has anyone ever considered the DNA forwarding that goes on? Seriously, it happens. I frequently have to pull one of my hairs out of my sewing, crochet, paint or whatever, but how many make it past my eagle eye? Then there are the hand sewers who lick the end of the thread before they can get it through the eye of a needle. I reckon most have that habit. So when you buy a handmade item, you are also likely to be receiving a little piece of the artist himself/herself.
I should keep my big mouth shut. I can put people off buying seemingly without even trying, so I shall keep any future observational grossness to myself, I promise.