raincoats for penguins

– halloween decor for weird sisters who overthink

It’s Halloween.

I want to make a simple decoration.

A witch motif.

A decoration that won’t burn your retinas.

A teeny tiny decor with teeny tiny old world charm,

like a hand-drawn picture book by an 8 year old,

Chapter 1 / context

Consistent with my personality, I start the project with no technical knowledge and an overly passionate connection to the subject matter.

I also think I can do this in my spare time, outside working hours. Like, in a few weeks.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Let me explain, and simultaneously offer ya’ll a little insight into the way my endearing noggin navigates its way in the big wild wood.

It starts with Shakespeare’s, ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’:

Yep.

That’s all it took.

Chapter 2 / the why… oh why

When I was a teenager I kept a 1965 Heritage of Literature Series (second impression) of ‘Macbeth’ under my pillow.

And around about the same time I watched Roman Polanski’s 1971 film adaptation. It was a visceral experience for me. It seems an inane concept to me now but I had no idea you could interpret/adapt Shakespeare however witch way you wanted (pun intended).

For the first time in my life I watched a cinematic version of Shakespeare that was; gritty, sweaty, primitive, repulsive, beautiful…

A cinematic realism i had no idea existed until then.

How does this relate to a halloween witch bunting I hear you ask with a hand gently upturned?

I guess this is a very long winded disclaimer to say that even though a G rated witch decor is obviously something that needs to be made, I need to tip my pointy hat to a dark and stormy psychology that propels us to even look at the things that are dark, that are ugly, a bit too… real.

Yep.

A rather disproportionate obsession about the subject matter.

Side note: the only reason I completed this project was because I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let another half finished undertaking end up in my D.O.O.M pile (Didn’t Organise, Only Moved)

Chapter 3 / the process

It started off well. Until it didn’t.

I frolicked into the world of embroidery with a Fraulein Maria jump-and-heal-click, an optimistic foray without any knowledge or experience.

A frolic that was short lived because I immediately made the art of ‘needle and thread’ serious. A dangerous methodology if you have a seriously over-analytical personality.

And I do.

I researched, read dissertations, watched documentaries that introduced me to artists I never knew existed, discovered embroidery so beautiful it blew the top off my head.

So it became serious.

Then it clicked.

This is what I do.

I get excited about a topic. I experiment. And in my excitement I research.

Then I get overwhelmed by the brilliance achieved before me… leaving me neurotically self conscious about what I can or should even contribute to the medium.

And I reflect.

I go back to the drawing board.

Acknowledge my faults.

First up, embroidery requires a backing fabric. It halts the fabric pull and hides your thread.

Secondly, don’t use a fabric chalk you thought would be amazing because it was expensive. It can still stain.

Thirdly, it’s ok if something you worked hard on doesn’t meet your expectations, or worse, ends up putting you in a financial deficit.

If it is something that really means a lot, it means a lot.

Chapter 4 / the end

Do I like it?

Whether it be a Halloween window display at my local thrift store, or an art exhibition with a million dollar advertising budget, I will always love a witch aesthetic. No matter how amateurish the artist, no matter how ignorant the attempt, my heart skips a beat.

So, yes.

A miniature G rated witch bunting inspired by my love of Shakespearean female archetypes with supernatural powers is something that I am proud to add to my Halloween decor.

And with its mistakes, it will stay in my daughter’s bedroom.

I just won’t put it on Etsy.