A reverie of creative obstacles, errors and disappointments turn into a bundle of joy. Fabric eyes that failed to meet requirements, a visiting garden slug and a worn baby onesie converged on a day and Sylvy was born.
It could be a Bonds suit but I can’t be sure. I was so quick in cutting the label off clothes I wont and can’t wear. The biggest baby wondersuit is for 24-36 months.
Been making dolls so long don’t know how not to. Seasoned, jaded or a zealous dollmaker I can’t decide, but without second thought, I started stuffing the wondersuit with every piece of fabric around it that isn’t itself.
Somewhere around where a real baby’s knee would have been, I ran out of fabric within my arm’s reach. It’s a sign to stand up or stop. I cut the decision paralysis together with the stuffed portion out of the remaining limp majority. Bye bye, have a good life.
It sat on the table for a day and another, and days turned into weeks into part of the table. I stopped seeing it.
She needs to see me. I know it’s a she, by the way she almost looked at me if only she could, if only she had eyes. She needs to really see me.
I make a lot of spare eyes, by accident. You won’t kow where you’re going until you start walking. And only when you’ve walked a bit that you know where you’re not going.
The chance of an eye fitting on first try is one in ten. Ok, I made that up. But the chance sure is low, because if I got it right more I would not have so many eyes.
And arms. And noses. And elastic bands. And what’s that? Some eyeballs make good wrist support. Some ok mobile phone holders. I have a spare giant doll torso that is a super duper meditation cushion.
In one of the holes on the pink polka dot side, I stuck what used to be an arm of an itty bitty dachshund doll. Mirror that, and add 2 more random fabric balls.
She has been coming into the house. From the weather warped timbre deck through the sliding door shut tight.
She comes in through the same opening we cannot find. Mr Lunarian escorts her out through the front door.
She comes in the next day, through the same opening we still cannot find. Mr Lunarian escorts her out through the same front door.
I stitched up the hacked off end neatly into a soft point. I held her up in front of Mr Lunarian.
He puts her on his left shoulder and he closed his eyes.
” She sucks away the excess emotion, she takes away the pressure that’s not mine, she even eats up the ego I don’t have much use for right now.”
I haven’t seen much of Sylvia since. Only her magic.
Wishing you a Sylvy. May your Sylvy find you.