Last Easter I made some eggs.. some very bad eggs, I boiled and blew the eggs out then sculpted not so happy faces on them. Now the paperclay is a completely different colour than the eggs, so when I began dipping everything in tea to stain it, the faces went dark, the eggs barely stained at all.. frustrated I took the eggs with their sculpted faces and washed them.. NOT a good idea when one is using paperclay, their features eroded and all the careful sanding I had done was gone, now they really were bad eggs. I tied some ribbon to a broken toothpick and inserted it into the hole at the top of the egg, so when held upright the toothpick would keep the ribbon from coming out.
I then decided to try painting them.. again a mistake.. the paint simply wouldn't stick to the eggs, worked great on the paperclay, but not the shell. It went like this for days and days, until frustrated I gave up and admitted that my "bad eggs" were a bad idea. I hung them from my leafless tree at easter, then brought them inside and hung them on the wall.
Now something I hadn't counted on was my cats fascination with the bad eggs . The first one I found smashed to a million pieced at the foot of the stairs. The next I saw fleetingly as my cat ran down the hallway dragging the poor egg behind it.. this went on and on.. finally there is but one egg left, hidden away so I can remember what they looked like. The cats managed to find and destroy the rest.
Bad eggs indeed.
Canadian artist illustrator, eccentric and maker of many a useless thing. I paint mainly in watercolours with a folk-ish fairytale victorian-esque style. I sometimes dabble in making puppets, jewelery, kokoshniks and dolls of little woodland creatures wearing their winter jackets ;) I have also been known to write terrible limericks and dreadful prose.