Profane Crafting - Decoupage a Tray the Edward Lear Way!

Hello and welcome to my new series, Profane Crafting. I grew up in a crafty household, watching my mom transform our 70s-era ranch house into our own suburban Spanish-Colonial empire. Decoupage was hot in the 70s and my Mom was riding the crafting wave. She was hardcore, even soaking off the backings from glossy imagery in order to make it appear "sunken" into the wood base, once it was glued down. I didn't understand what that was all about, nor did I understand the seemingly hundreds of top-coats available to add patina to each decoupage masterpiece. But in decoupage circles, that is the goal—perfect application for complete smoothness of form.

Anyway, I visited a lot of crafting sites to get a feel of the land, so to speak and although a few had a shrugging, what-the-hell attitude toward projects (my favorite sites include blunders and mishaps), most are of the cheery, flowery, extremely enthusiastic women's-magazine variety (when will "women's journalism" stop sounding like Snuggle Bear dialogue from a Bounce Fabric Softener commercial? In my lifetime, I hope). Quite a few push product and probably get some financial reward for doing so, hence the cheerful glow throughout an often arduous process.

That will not be the case here. In fact, expect some swearing and general bad attitude from this crafter. I mean, how hard can it be to decoupage a tray, right? Well, to decoupage it well—that takes a lifetime.

Anyway, here goes nothing. I have this bamboo tray. I think it's from Target. It's a perfectly nice, serviceable tray. We use it a lot because we have little ottomans in the living room and sometimes we want to put some snacks upon them—enter the tray. It's a good size, not too heavy, unbreakable but goddamn, is it dull. Here it is:

*yawn*

Even with this cool rock embedded with fossilized seashells upon it, it's hard for this tray to make an impression.

I've had this dream where I take this tray and update the shit out of it to finally give it some personality. In my soul, I'm a crafter. In execution, I'm an oaf. But I was determined to live my dream through this tray.

First, I sanded it with my 220 sandpaper—one of the wussiest grades around. I just wanted to take off any finish that Target might have applied. Let me warn you, bamboo isn't the best material for this project because it's non-porous, at least compared to wood, but I wasn't about to go out and buy a wood tray, just to have something porous to work with. That's not my style. Damn the consequences and full-speed ahead.

The sandpaper shot:

I used a sanding block and my sandpaper-covered fingers. I don't know if I did a great job, but I did what I could.


Next came primer. I was painting a side-table during this whole fracas, so I had all these painting supplies out and ready to use anyway. Otherwise, this tray would not have transformed. And I advise you to do the same—try to group messy projects so your house and garage/yard areas are messy only half the time.

This primer claims to be eco-friendly (hmmm) and guarantees to seal stains, old varnish (once it's sanded) and god-knows-what before you start painting. My side-table was covered in disintegrating 50s-era varnish, so if this primer could seal that, I figured it would be all right for a serving tray.

Did it work? Mostly. After drying, it was a little tacky on first application, so I sanded it lightly and applied a second coat. I didn't mind because I've painted a lot of surfaces over the years and I know from experience: PREP IS EVERYTHING. You prep a surface properly and most of your troubles are solved. It's true! So use some primer.

Next, I needed to paint the tray. I already knew I was going to use an Edward Lear illustration for the decoupage (I'll get to him in a minute), but what colors for the base? Some people would have just slapped some leftover end-table paint on the tray and be done with it. Not me. I had a vision of cream with navy-blue trim that led me to Hobby Lobby, where I swore I'd never shop due to their CEO's dreadful campaign against full healthcare coverage for its employees. (Summary: Hobby Lobby is a Christian-based company that doesn't want their healthcare to cover contraception—which is fucking insulting to the modern age).

Anyway, I was already tired of working on this tray AND an end-table, that when I found myself across the street from Hobby Lobby, I forced myself to go in and buy two bottles of craft paint. Otherwise, I'd be driving in rush-hour traffic to the Michael's across town and blah blah blah... The upshot is: I suck. But I got my craft paint and started painting.

Note that Hobby Lobby's abundant array of paint selections didn't seem to include "cream," so I bought "linen" and mixed it 50/50 with some white I had on hand (avoiding the dried-barf look of full-strength "linen"), and painted the inside section of the tray. I then went to town with the lovely navy blue, which is my new favorite look for everything, painting the bottom, sides, top edge and handle holes of the tray.

And when I say "went to town," I mean "fucked it up" royally. Blue paint got on the cream side. Cream somehow went all over the blue while trying to cover any mistakes on the top edge. The top edge actually had no clear defined "edge" so I had to to create one with painter's tape (don't forget your painter's tape, crafters!), which didn't work either, causing me to graduate to smaller and smaller brushes to invent an edge that didn't look like shit. So that when I serve cocktails, no one will exclaim, "Jesus Christ! Just look at the ragged edges on this tray—what a fiasco!"

In summary—I wanted to kill this tray, but I soldiered on and after several coats of paint and fixes, I figured, eh, good enough.


Now it was time for the MOST IMPORTANT PART OF ALL. The decoupaging of the Edward Lear print. Who is Edward Lear? He was a great 19th century British eccentric who started out as a landscape painter and naturalist illustrator (and a good one) but once his eyesight began to fail, reinvented himself as a writer and illustrator of nonsense. In fact, his most famous work, besides "The Owl and the Pussycat," is The Book of Nonsense, published in 1848. I had a copy of this as a child and always loved the limericks, weird stories and imaginative and silly scientific names that Lear poured into it. Some of the illustrations, done with squiggly pen-and-ink and much expression, pop up from time to time in public-domain collections.

For this project, I narrowed down my image to one of three: the Fizzgiggious Fish on stilts, the Tumultuous Tom-tommy Tortoise playing a drum alone in a forest, or this Zigzag Zealous Zebra with monkey passengers. I decided the commuter zebra was the best fit for this tray. Since I own The Book of Nonsense, I scanned the image and blew it up a bit, printing it on a cream-colored background.

I made two different sizes to see which looked best and went for the larger one, but I had to cut most of it out to see how it would look. Sizing is half the battle. Because I used regular printer ink on regular copy paper, I fixed that sucker with ultra-toxic Prismacolor spray-on fixative (there's my endorsement). Being paranoid about the paper's properties, I sprayed both front and back. Printer ink is about as archival as mascara, so get yourself some toxic fixative if you plan on going this route.

For cutting out the image, use VERY sharp scissors (smaller blades are easier to work with) and a steady hand. x-acto knives are good for the little areas between the monkey arms and legs. The zebra tail—I don't know how I managed that. Dumb luck, probably. Keep the cutting-out part in mind when picking an image. You don't want to completely lose it during this important phase.


Time to decoupage! Here's my go-to glue for all collage-like projects, Mod Podge, still in its groovy packaging that I remember from childhood. All hail, Mod Podge! It goes on smooooth.

I have a matte soul, hence matte-finish Mod Podge

I poured a little in a bowl and added some water. Probably not completely necessary, but I was worried about the paper wrinkling and wanted to apply the thinnest layer of glue possible. I dipped my fingers in the bowl and smeared the glue around the tray, then laid the zebra in the middle and positioned it. (Some decoupage book from England recommended this technique—sorry I'm too lazy to fetch it for the title.) The book recommended setting the image down from the middle and squeezing all the glue bubbles out to the edges, smoothing everything with a damp sponge to collect any extra glue.

Sponge reenactment

Here I am pretending to smooth the image with my sponge. I'm just posing though, having already done the gluing earlier because I couldn't take a photo and work with glue at the same time. I'M ONLY ONE WOMAN. Also, I was really nervous that the paper zebra would:

a) wrinkle
b) tear
c) smear
d) flake apart

Out of all those disastrous scenarios, only the flaking apart was a slight problem, because I used cheap paper. Little bits of zebra came off, but I smoothed and picked them away, trying not to freak out about it as I went along. I figured, it's an old illustration—some flaking was aesthetically okay. Soon enough, I had a glued zebra.

A proud moment in decoupage

The Mod Podge surface area was shinier than the painted area, so I painted a layer of it across the tray surface to even out the finish and seal the illustration.


Then it was on to varnish, otherwise known around here as water-based polyurethane. Minwax Polycrylic was already in use for my end-table, so I brushed it on the tray as well. Wish I had read up on it first since I wanted to use a roller but assumed a brush was necessary. Turns out a roller or rag is fine. Next time!

This polyurethane had been sitting out in the garage, baking for a couple of summers. It was kind of yellowy in scope, but I didn't want to get a new can and it turned out fine.

See?

The British decoupage book recommend four coats for a tray (up to seven for maximum toughness). I did three, then lightly sanded the third coat with a sanding sponge (the most delicate sander of all) before applying the final fourth coat. Meanwhile, the earth kept turning and life went on.


A genuine Edward Lear serving tray. It's not a completely pro job. It's not going to sell in an Etsy Store and make a name for me. But I had a dream. A dream of a navy-blue and cream tray with a zebra on it, carrying five monkeys on its back. And now that dream is a reality. And we can put our crap on it.

Triumph

Update: I made a Lear "Tom-Tommy Tortoise" remote-control holding pen. It's not heirloom quality, but it keeps the remotes rounded up and out from between the couch cushions, and who could ask for more out of life?

"The Tumultuous Tom-Tommy Tortoise, who beat a Drum all day long in the middle of the wilderness." - Edward Lear

She Mob - Bloody Valentine video

I haven't taken a survey but I assume no one in She Mob particularly likes Valentine's Day. It's just a hunch. From our third album, "Not in my World," released in 2005, this is about as close She Mob gets to composing a love song, so clap your hands say yeah.

A combination music video/science experiment that demonstrates the properties of surface tension.


She Mob's music is available at CDBaby.

The Fab 1980s Production Design of Desperately Seeking Susan (1985)

On a recent visit to New York City, I grew nostalgic for the NYC of the 80s. Cities tend to do that for me, having lived in one throughout my entire young-adult life. I wasn't just missing grit and squalor although those things and a prior economic collapse made New York (and my home city, San Francisco) affordable for the marginally employed such as myself to somewhat thrive. We lived in close quarters alongside other inclined people, following our artistic impulses wherever they led us. That's what I grew nostalgic about.

And I thought—why not revisit Susan Seidelman's Desperately Seeking Susan? It was shot (at Seidelman's insistence) in New York City during the time of my most intense nostalgic memories. It starred Madonna whose career blew up in the middle of the shoot. According to Seidelman's commentary track on the DVD, production had to beef up security to handle the growing crowds of little Madonna clones trying to get a glimpse of their new pop goddess on the very streets she had anonymously tromped upon just a few weeks prior.

I just wanted to see that New York of yester-year. When this film came out, I thought it was charming but kind of dumb. I liked the concept of the bored housewife and the bohemian wild-girl switching identities, but the screwball elements (amnesia from a bump on the head) and goofy crime caper (stolen but wearable ancient Egyptian earrings) were not working for me. I also didn't yet appreciate the delicate appeal of Rosanna Arquette—she seemed too innocent and soft for a grown woman. Madonna's Susan was a slob whose cons never worked and created trouble for everyone around her. Seidelman knew this narcissistic character well, having explored her to the nth degree in her first feature Smithereens.

As we've all aged, I've come to appreciate the ladies of Desperately... more. Arquette has a truly weird core that she lets out more readily in her current if sporadic film roles. As a young woman playing the romantic lead, she wouldn't or couldn't play it too weird (although Scorsese's After Hours showcased it well), but you see pleasant glimpses of her comedic abilities as she traipses around the dirty downtown streets in a tutu, caged doves in hand.

Madonna oozes presence in her every scene, but obviously can't act her way out of a paper bag. Actually, she could act her way out of a paper bag with engaging sexual energy and charisma, but the moment she has a line of dialogue, she's stiff and mannered in a middle-school drama-club way. Had she been working during the silent-film era, she probably would have excelled onscreen. Nonetheless, she's well cast here, in her best role, playing a sexually alluring jerk. Seidelman was right to cast her, convincing her producers that Madonna, lording her layered-lingerie-wear on the streets of New York, would give Susan a young, edgy appeal, even though she had no acting experience other than her early music videos (which were about to blow up all over MTV and beyond). The original Susan character was written as an older hippie-traveler type, recalling the 70s with Diane Keaton and Barbra Streisand as considerations for the role. Can you imagine?

Seidelman started her creative career as a fashion student who hated sewing and so switched to filmmaking. Her visual storytelling sense through set design and costume always comes through, especially in New York City, which she knows well. That's why this movie, made in the 80s, set in the 80s, defines the look and feel of the 80s so well. There was an artist's eye behind it.

Susan takes a Polaroid selfie after a bender in an Atlantic City hotel for a very-80s moment.

Inspired by Jacques Rivette’s 1974 film Céline and Julie Go Boating, Desperately Seeking Susan was written by Leora Barish and produced by a team of lionesses including Sarah Pillsbury, with boffo production design that extended toward all visual elements, including costumes, by Santo Loquasto. It is a quintessential 80s experience. 

And now:

Rosanna Arquette is Roberta Glass, romantically stifled New Jersey housewife. Her obsessive attention to romantic personal ads in the newspaper (this is where people used to read the news—upon pieces of paper), relieves her from a pampered but dull existence as middle-class hausfrau to hot tub and spa king, Gary (Mark Blum). Her favorite ads feature Susan, who meets her new-wave rocker boyfriend Jimmy after various travels in this manner (no cell phones, no email—a sense of mystery permeates transient romantic encounters).

Meanwhile, Susan, stylishly transient, could care less.

She's got bigger fish to fry at the oddly existent Magic Club, where magic meets 30s-era nightclub lore of Hollywood dream imaginations.

Susan meets up with her nerdy friend in a scene designed to show off some backstage set design. No magic club existed at the time and no backstage ever looked this jolly, but it's an excellent look. Also note Susan's jacket, which is almost a character with magical properties in its own right.

There are inspired local-scene cameos throughout, including Ann Magnusen as a cigarette girl. John Turturro, who plays his magic-club MC straight, and delivers the funniest line of the film perfectly.  Also, Steven Wright as Larry the dentist, at the cusp of a long and illustrious movie career.

I'd like to see more vans like this around town.

The thrift shop! We lived in thrift shops, or at least nearby, haunting them with our vintage-clothing cravings. Back in the 80s, you could find wearable affordable dresses from the 30s through the 50s (great decades in dress design for women-shaped women). The 60s were also coveted, especially the colorful shoes and booties, but not the 70s yet. That would come later, unfortunately.

This magical jacket will transform you! (we thought as we paid for used clothing).

Contrast the wonders of the thrift store set with Roberta and Gary's kitchen. Sterile, reflecting their marriage. Her new used jacket doesn't belong here at all and provides some relief.

Oh, uh, helloooo, young Aidan Quinn. Not set design but certainly welcome as romantic interest. I never ran into someone who looked like this while downtown, but this is a movie, not real life.

The exciting streets of New York! To save money, the producers wanted to shoot in Toronto. Seidelman wouldn't have it, as was proper. The city of the 80s is its own character, of course.

This is a typical Boho apartment of the time—vintage curtains, faux-marbleized wainscoting, Grandma's knitted afghan, aesthetically doctored landline, pizza on the coffee table.

Madonna would go on to adopt these Susan outfits, which were an exaggerated version of her own look, as her own.

Can people be set design? In this Danceteria crowd scene, yes.

Aidan Quinn's character, Dez, lives in this palatial warehouse with neon lights, martial-art-film wall coverings and fish tank. This is nothing out of the ordinary for the time. It's just a little more artfully presented than in real life.

Dez's fashion-victim ex-girlfriend is on point. I wish she had an accent so she could be the ultimate Eurotrash socialite, but good enough.

The dirty but artfully lit streets of the lower east side.

Another quintessential 80s new wave film, Diva, was a visual influence but Seidelman had to stop citing it as a reference because Diva, while a cult film, wasn't a huge money-maker and that made the studio execs nervous. Nonetheless, you'll note the heightened quality of color and light here and in other dark alleyways, which is pure Diva.

The girls in this faux commercial are pure 80s. I remember most everyone looked like this in the suburbs where I grew up, until I moved to San Francisco and then everyone looked like the crowd in Danceteria (see above).

In a sort of identity switcheroo, Madonna, I mean, Susan, ends up in Jersey, partying with Gary.

OMG with the pastels and the flamingo art

I just like the hideous qualities of this bathroom, especially because Gary is a spa salesman. Brown porcelain fixtures and hanging plants. Plus Madonna.

I love the details—the weird sectional candy dish, the many cigarette butts, wedding photo, beer bottle, little yellow robot, bright blue hair scarf.

Ageless Laurie Metcalf as Gary's catty, bossy sister, always adds the funny.

And I like that with no dialogue and a few well-designed settings, it's obvious that Susan has completely trashed Gary's place within 24 hours. Did she and Gary drink all this wine themselves, or did she invite some neighbors over, or what? Impressive.

Just slipping in this tiny Richard Hell cameo because he mentioned in his autobiography that these few onscreen moments paid for a flight to Europe. Bon chance, Richard!

Yep, Susan's trashed this room too. It would be tough to be friends with Susan.

Backstage Gary only defines how beige he is. Like his spa tub, he's shades of brown from head to toe. Bon chance, Gary!

One-minute Movies - timed perception

Hi, I'm an ardent member of the 1 Minute Video Project on Vimeo. What the hell am I talking about? It's a simple idea: shoot something for one minute without camera movement or editing, using natural light and sound. Slap it up on Vimeo. That's it.

You might think: that sounds goofy. Or perhaps even worse—boring. But I disagree. True, these little snapshots (like the animated portraits in the Harry Potter books) are not "standard movie fare." But I'm a fan of staring at things and soaking up my surrounding environment. This just places a rectangle around that state of mind.

And sometimes I shoot just for sound. Listening is underrated! Soak up some surroundings.


One Minute of the Birds of the Outback Aviary - Mystic, Connecticut 2015 from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.



Flying Horse Carousel - Watch Hill, Rhode Island, 2015 from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.



Whiskeydrome at Pedalfest - Oakland, California from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.



Birdsong Convention from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.



One Minute Crabbing in The Atlantic from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.



One Minute Didgeridoo in San Francisco from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.



One Minute Toy Train from Miss Lisa on Vimeo.

Classic Monsters - The Kirk Hammett Collection at SFO Museum

There's a lot going on here that you might have questions about. First of all, yes, SFO refers to the San Francisco International Airport, and yes, SFO does have an acclaimed museum, installed throughout the entire airport. Should you be lucky enough to be traveling to or from SFO, you will have a pleasing walk through its terminals, witnessing lovingly curated works of art and eclectic collections galore.

Classic Monsters in an international airport? Yes—the Hollywood heavy hitters from yesteryear: Frankenstein's monster, Wolf Man, the Mummy, the Creature from the Black Lagoon—all those guys (in my rush to get to my gate, I didn't capture any Bride of Frankenstein, which is disappointing). There's some lesser-known monsters too: Great Garloo, Uncle Fester, Mole Man, and one of my favorites, The Crawling Eye. If you're hankerin' for some monster memorabilia, this is the exhibit to see.

Thirdly, you read that right—this is the collection of Kirk Hammett, Metallica guitarist and horror-movie fanatic. According to the SFO Museum exhibit guide, Hammett stumbled upon the 1931 Frankenstein on TV when he was six years old and never looked back, man. Hammett's so deeply committed to monsters, he even starred in a movie called Some Kind of Monster.

Check out his modus operandi:



Kirk Hammett knows his monster stuff and is a pure fan of the genre. Here's some quickly snapped photos from the SFO exhibit in terminal 2, post security. You can see the SFO Museum even if you're not traveling by getting in touch and scheduling a visit. The SFO Museum FAQ answers all other questions.

And now, Monsters.

Everyone calls him Frankenstein but let's be frank, he's simply the Monster

Creature From the Black Lagoon board game with cheerful pop-art spinner

You gotta admire the creative type who came up with The Crawling Eye

Fester puppet deserves a closeup

Great Garloo robot cost $17.98 in 1961 - probably higher today

I like to imagine Hammett relaxing after a grueling rehearsal by making some monster candles

Hammett used to bring his magazines to class - no doubt a popular fellow in the school yard

A very effective Mummy's Chariot model

I kind of want to befriend Hammett so we can play some board games

The Wolf Man paint-by-numbers kit comes with oils (classy)

Creeeeepy model kit for that creepy kid who lived down the block

Kind of dark