No Salt on her Tail

When I was a a teenager, I fell in love with the band Mamas & Papas.  The song No Salt on her Tail was my favorite.  I've always been partial to harmonies and emotion-triggering string sounds, and I tend to memorize the lyrics of every song I like within two or three listens.

Of all the hundreds of times I've sung along with this song, though, I never understood exactly what the words "No Salt on her Tail" actually meant.  Over twenty years, later, it finally occurred to me that I could just look it up.

Turns out it's an old timey saying about putting salt on a bird's tail to catch it. The joke is, if you can get close enough to the bird to put salt on her tail, you're close enough that you may as well just grab her.  Over time it became a reference to "keeping" a woman, as in, "I'd sprinkle some salt on HER tail".

It got me thinking, as I looked this up during a time when I was still processing my grief from a divorce several years back.  

I spent an excruciating amount of time in a relationship I ought to have walked away from long before but was too terrified to, for myriad reasons.  Despite being raised by progressive parents with a feminist bent and presenting as a tough, independent free thinker, I had it in my head from an early age that marriage was the end goal.  The status symbol to the world that would show I'd arrived, now I was fully realized.  I would finally be a woman.  This speaks volumes about my inner turmoil as a child into teen into young adult about feeling feminine, and whether or not I was doing it right.  I never identified with any of the girls in magazines or even the the ones in my school.  I was horrified by my pubescent body and buried it under a series of baggy clothes and distracting hair styles.

But maybe...if I found my Prince Charming, and got married, then it would be like a spell lifting and I'd be a REAL woman...not unlike Pinocchio becoming a real boy.

All this is to say that I rushed into marriage blindly and a bit forcibly.  And as anyone who has been in a long term relationship knows, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

Despite being handed to key to unlock my self-imposed bear trap and walk out multiple times by my then husband, (the last time he practically served it to me on a silver platter with a steaming side of "NOW'S YOUR CHANCE"), I instead chose to slowly and painfully gnaw my own own foot off over an embarrassingly long period of time.  I struggled to wrap my mind around the fact that I could feel so certain about something, about someone...and then feel differently over time. It seemed impossible to me that feelings weren't static.  I felt completely betrayed by my own heart.

In the song, they describe a bird who can just fly away, no salt on her tail, no cares to make her stay. I feel connected to this sentiment in that I believe to the world outside our marriage and our home, it did appear that way. Intimate relationships to me are extremely personal and private; I'm not of the generation or mindset who feels comfortable airing that laundry on social media or even in casual conversation (at least not while I'm experiencing it).  It was months before I started telling even my closest friends that something was very, very wrong.  But when you work so hard to put up a front that says to the world that "everything is fine, nothing to see here, business as usual"...it can lead to assumptions on the part of those outside the situation.  Such as, that I flew away from a significant relationship with no cares to make me stay and left a very hurt person in my wake. 

For the sculpture, I had envisioned a mounted starling poised for flight just on the edge of something.  Her tail is missing a decent amount of its feathers and taking off will be a challenge.  She's leaving behind chunks of herself, literally, under a pile of salt that she pulled and struggled to free herself from.

The only unresolved bit was the surface, as in, what would all this be taking place on?  A tile?  A piece of wood?  It had to be something meaningful.  Then, at work, I was digging through a pile of antique books and found this gem: "The Girl Today, the Woman Tomorrow." It was a handbook written for adolescent girls in 1932.  Inside are instructions on everything that could concern a young woman such as what to wear for any event, how to properly introduce your parents to your teacher,  employment options (sales girl!  Operator!), how to eat any food (corn on the cob is to be eaten with one hand only!  Chips may be consumed with two fingers or a fork).

Reading through this book I was at once furious and sympathetic.  Nothing inspires rage in me faster than being told what to do with my body. However, I often struggle with my conflicting emotions in regard to "traditional" gender roles.  There is plenty in this book about who does what for whom in the typical cis-gendered hetero romantic relationship.  I adore the feeling of being cared for, like when my husband (I remarried in a heartbeat, but that's another story) insists on taking the bulk of whatever grocery bags we are carrying, or hauls out the heavy recycling bin for me each week.  Once upon a time I felt like this would be insinuating that I wasn't capable of doing things for myself, but now I see it as a gesture of love.  When he is returning from a work trip out of town I take great pleasure in making sure the bed is nicely made and the house smells pleasant and welcoming. And I've settled into it quite comfortably.

All this is to say that navigating one's role as a woman in this world can be a real mind-fuck for some of us, and a breeze for others.  While I cannot stand being told what to do, I still feel like I somehow missed out on the course instructing me how to "be a woman".  Now, approaching my fourth decade on earth, I think I'm finally grasping it.  I just wish someone had told me when I was twelve, or twenty, or even thirty that I wasn't supposed to look or feel like the gazelle-legged, long torso having, blissed-out models in those shitty vapid teen magazines.  

All I had to do was look and feel like me.

Upon all this reflection I have learned, as far as interpersonal relationships go, that in this intricate and beautiful tapestry of shared experiences on our planet sometimes your role is to be the one weaving pain into the life of someone else, to be their bad guy.  Other times it's your turn to get hurt.  Either way you both keep growing and advancing along your path. And thankfully, even the most uncomfortable feelings will pass.
It is for this reason I chose to use a starling for this piece.  They are regarded as an invasive species, destroying crops and making homes out of any piece of human property they please.  They mimic the calls of other birds to lure them out of their nests so that they may sneak in and evict them, destroying their eggs in the process if necessary.  On the surface and as a whole they are widely seen as selfish, cold, unfeeling and willing to do just about anything in the name of self preservation- the very things I was accused of as I did my best to gracefully and quietly untangle myself from the ties of my first marriage (albeit in reality it was quite clumsy).

On the flip side, Starlings are extremely intelligent.  Could a dim-witted fowl be capable of such villainy?Also, have you ever seen a Starling murmuration in person?  It's truly breathtaking.  No animal can be completely shitty while being capable of creating something like this:

I suppose all this is to say that human nature (and animal nature) can be vile and magnificent.  Just be willing to see both sides.

Warthog Footstool

After a long day, what's better than pouring yourself a tall one easing back onto one of the many fur covered surfaces in the house, kicking off your shoes and resting your tired old dogs on a custom one of a kind taxidermy warthog footstool?

It was a long journey to get to that particular end of the day, however.  

A hunter contacted me after exhausting his contact list of taxidermists ("I've tried EVERYONE AND NOBODY WILL TAKE THIS COMMISSION!") to see if I had any interest attempting to transform this very petite warthog hide & skull into a custom footstool mount.  Usually being told that you're the last person on someones list doesn't inspire self confidence, but the thing about taxidermy is that it's a very niche craft with even more niche subdivisions.  Hunting trophies and wild game are some artists' specialty, and that's who one would reach out to in this case.  My area of expertise is more fantasy decor for home and self with the smattering of pet preservation.

Below is what I started with, a tanned hide with its respective skull.  Rehydrating was tricky; I wasn't familiar with methods used overseas, but followed instructions carefully so I could turn the head right side out without tearing or cracks.  Unfortunately the ears were all but blown out and would need plenty of attention later.  There were some odd cut marks also, and spots where it just seemed like...parts were missing.

Nonetheless, I went ahead and hired a couple of professional sculptors to help me with the form for the body. The used reference photos and hide measurements to construct a basic mannequin; here he is, emerging from his foam block:

Taking shape:

Since this mount was to serve as a functional piece of furniture, it needed to be sturdy,  The mannequin was cut open so steel reinforcement rods could be inserted as a sort of skeleton. A harder, more durable type of foam (think pool noodle) was also used in the top of Warty's back so that he could withstand years of foot plopping.

Lid on, legs back on. Isn't he cute?  Too bad he's so far from finished.

Now for taxying that dermis onto the form.  Sadly I didn't take any photos of the skull beforehand while it was all clayed up with the glass eyes set into it.  That was its own adventure.

There were many hours spent fitting, sanding, and refitting; this little dude had legs skinnier than any of us has imagined.   Below you can see the beginnings of legs.  Because of the steel "feet" within his own feet, I had to make a few executive decisions in terms of alterations which fell more on the side of functionality than anatomical correctness.

I just adore his long, thick eyelashes.  Mounting a hide directly onto the skull is always a challenge for me; it's different than a foam head where pins can go anywhere you please.

I sealed up the leg seams with epoxy clay, which I then textured to match the skin pattern and began coloring to blend the skin tone.

There were other spots where seams were necessary, so I had to blend those with epoxy clay as well.

To recreate the texture of the skin on the seams, I used a terrycloth towel, as well as a small piece of actual skin.  I save little scraps of everything I work on for this purpose.

Hide is on, still so far to go.

A scene from a busy work table.  That's a dog mount in its early stages in the foreground, while Warty sits in the background with his ears carded up to set them into a correct position.

I wanted to fill him out a bit since he wasn't particularly rich in the hair department-oh! I forgot to mention that he was covered in hundreds, maybe thousands of nits that just held onto those hairs for dear life:

As you can imagine, some hairs were lost in the delousing process.   I figured he could use a bit of help in the coat department as well, so I sourced some wild boar hairs (as well as saved every single original one that fell out while picking nits) to put back into his skin one by one by one....

All stitched, smoothed and haired up!  Now he's getting some steam and some color treatment, plus a sealant on his hide.

Two years later, and here we are.  Nice knowing you, Warty.  It'd been real.

Fur Lovers, this one is furrrrr EWE.

Meet Kifli the cat, she is the mascot to my Transylvania life.  Here she is pulling her best calendar kitty pose amongst a bed of sheep and rabbit furs.

In the last 15 months my life has taken me into a direction leading to all things Hungarian.  This can be traced to the Hungarian man I met and fell head over heels in love with who lives in a small city near Brasov in Transylvania.  It's technically in Romania but for all intents and purposes the people, animals, and culture I am discussing here are strictly Hungarian.  

When driving around over there it's impossible not to see herds of sheep from the road.  Shepherds and the flocks they maintain are a major part of the culture and traditions in Transylvania.  Sheep are raised for meat, cheese and fiber products; many villagers, during the Spring and Summer months, will send their sheep off with professional herders who tend to them and take them over vast green spaces to graze.  The villagers know that their animals are well cared for and when the shepherds bring them back they also get some cheese!  

I'm oversimplifying this two way relationship and how beneficial it is to all parties involved, including the land.  To read more, check out this very elegantly worded piece written by Paul White on his website Wild Transylvania: Walking with Shepherds.

The man who brought me to this enchanting part of the world has familial ties to sheep keepers, butchers, and even the tanners.  Through my visits with him I've gotten to see (as well as smell, touch and taste!) parts of this full circle first hand.  Here are some hides I brought back from my last trip:

Now let me back up to my trip.  Here is the view from the courtyard at the tannery.  It's run by a family near Brasov and they live on the premises which are deceptively sprawling.

One of the hide rooms. This guy is busy.  Cows, wild boars, sheep, goats, rabbits, all byproducts of food sourcing.  

More hides.  You may notice some non traditional game furs here and there, like fox and mink, beaver, etc.  I'm honestly not sure if those specimen are used for food or not (in the U.S. it's frowned upon to eat some of these critters but I know in parts of the world fox meat is completely acceptable) so I am choosing to focus on the sheep, as this is what I have become somewhat intimate and familiar with.

Part of the tannery serves as a sewing and crafting studio for manufacturing hats and garments.  As you will see, sheepskins are ubiquitous in this part of the world, and for good reason:it gets really, really cold in Transylvania.  Therefore sheepskins are on car seats, work seats, beds, floors next to beds, couches, basically anything you put your butt on.  And they work!  I am amazed at the heat one hide can generate when sat upon.   This is also why they make such good hats and coats.

Another sewing machine in his studio, also with a seat covered in sheepskin.  You may notice there is no shortage of appreciation for the female form here.  

Hat blocks for days.  A multidisciplinary Renaissance man, this one.

Some examples of his millinery craftsmanship:

Shop cats:

A leather sewing machine, the type which I have been coveting since my first trip over there last year.  These heavy little wizards make joining fur and leather into tidy little seams a snap.  

Needless to say, I have been completely overwhelmed with inspiration and the timing couldn't be more ideal as I've been wanting to take my craft, and Diamond Tooth, into a more luxury fur goods direction.  While I've stepped back somewhat from all the taxidermy I was once so immersed in I've had time to recalibrate my thoughts on what part of creating brings me pleasure, and I'm exploring the joys of tactile art.  I love working with materials that are nice to touch and have always been intoxicated by the feeling of fur on my skin.  Perhaps this is the time to explore more luxury home goods pieces, along with the couture hats, bags and wearables I have made my mark with.    All this is to say I brought home an entire suitcase full of fur and have listed a few for sale on my Etsy page.  I am also going to create a queen sized bed set (bed spread and two pillows) out of sheepskin and see what kind of interest it generates.  Stay tuned!

 For now, if you're keen on having a piece of an age old Hungarian tradition in your own home, please don't hesitate to check out these items I've listed for sale now, like this lush black hide:
Black Tsigai Sheep on Etsy

Or this soft as a cloud Butter Pecan Hide:

 Maybe Chocolate Spots suit your home better:

 Perhaps a small Oreo Crumble hide for your child's bed:






 Try not to take your clothes off and roll around on this cream and coffee spotted hide:



These last two hides aren't for sale; they were gifted to me by my new in-laws and may be subject to future colorant experimentation!

 If solid creamy white is your preference, I got you covered there too:

Happy grazing!