In the week before a show several interesting things happen. Time travel occurs with ease and frequency; you sit down to string dolls, whoosh, it’s midnight. Fool people with nothing better to do with their time steal yours for entertainment; they ring you to have long and cosy conversations. Unexpected occurrences occur all the flipping time, death, family crisis, medical emergencies and scheduled appointments that seemed to be ideally timed a day before the NEC, when the appointments were made in January.
I have reached the tooth grinding stage. I do sleep, begrudgingly, because otherwise my work goes all rubbishy but I wake with teeth like razors (this is how I lost the ones replaced by implants) and a pounding headache.
I have, of course compounded the problem this year by putting all my stock online and then having swine flu when I should have been working to replace it. I have to be careful telling you that because if I think about it too much my blood pressure goes up. I’m supposed to be going to a funeral and a party tomorrow. Do you think the other guests would mind if I sat in the corner and made doll stands?
So I haven’t got time to entertain you with anything other than what I’m doing. I’ll have to start a new category ‘watch Jane work’. If you could you’d be amazed. ‘Cor, Jane’,’ you would say, ‘you don’t half shift for a mini middle aged miniaturist.’ ’Strue, at this stage of the game I’m like Superman on steroids with the squits. I’m so busy I can just about fit in breathing, though five minutes ago when I was stringing 14 piece porcelain three inch glass eyed men, I held my breath so much till the uncooperative bit of elastic went through, afterwards I did a huge involuntary gasp and nearly inhaled the whole damn doll.
Right, chatting to you was my tea break, though the tea was not up to much, I think I may have made this pot of tea several hours ago. Would you like a picture? Here’s a couple of dolls who will each be going for the first time with an entire changeable wardrobe of clothes in one of those wheelie suitcases that fight back all the way through the airport and come to bits on the baggage carousel. These cases are not very realistic because they’re sewn leather and made to last years and years. All the clothes including the underwear are removable, the hair is brushable the eyes are glass, etcetera and so forth and they’re going to be about £85 each, probably (I haven’t priced up yet).
They’re 12th scale porcelain ladies, 5 1/4 inches tall and pretty. You can hardly see them there, can you?
There, done big. Horribly like me right down to the huge upper arms, the solid knickers and the orthopaedic bra. Okay, I’m off, no rest for the wicked. The only thing that keeps me going is the thought of all the other artists also working their little socks off.
Why do we do it?