| mini bows and pale pink matches - went to the lovely miss emma over cupcakes on sunday |
[30 Apr 2008|05:53pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
From a crumpled red and white candy striped paper bag came two very good looking matchboxes, all the way from Scotland. From a gallery in Edinburgh to be exact and individually decorated by an artist called Laurie Hastings. I kept the cuter one and it's now in good company with other souvenir boxes given to me from France and India.
I especially love that the fire/friction part of the matchbox was not the usual burgundy cross-hatch but grains of sand and the matches inside had pale pink tips. And that they were apparently carried through customs in one pocket, with a tube of superglue in the other and no one was arrested/frisked. So much for uber terrorist safety laws, not that I’m complaining.
So we’re taking a break from the lovely diversion that was guest-boxes for a while! Apologies for the general delay – a combination of flu and an avalanche of uni essays makes matchbox making and dropping largely impossible.
And so we have little bows! On safety pins! Because why buy a one inch badge pin with a picture of a bow on it when you can have your very own mini bow. For your coat as the days get colder or just to make your bag happier.
X
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| let's hear it for the boy(s) - part 3/3 |
[13 Apr 2008|09:39am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
It was a Google game of cat and mouse and I know this (not because Tyler knows this) because I've done it before, especially when something takes my interest.
Hanging out in Shell's studio one day, I was treated to an impromptu show & tell that featured her zine drawer and other strange and wonderful objects. My favourite was this knitted creature, which was like a sock puppet and teacosy at the same time - which was apparently designed to keep hardboiled eggs warm as you wait for your toast to pop. Cute.
And then there was this mini movie zine of the Goodies, with concetina folds opening up to reveal miniscule key frames from the film. She had received it with the egg tea cosy at Christmas time and thought that it might have been made by one of the guyswho runs China Heights gallery in Surry Hills.
And so I Googled and I clicked, and I emailed and a few weeks later this envelope arrives in my letterbox. Too easy! Turns out that Mark Drew is from China Heights and made the mini movie zines a good few years ago (apparently there was a Donnie Darko one made for Pnau!) and luckily he had a few lying around.
And like all neat things, I kept one and am passing the other onto.. well the universe, with the hope that someone will find and appreciate it.
Cheers Mark!
x
p.s I stumbed across these in the library today - an exhibition of sorts of privately published books. Naturally I went for the small ones. If only they weren't housed behind glass.
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| let's hear it for the boy(s) - part 2/3 - left at Satellite cafe, Newtown* |
[07 Apr 2008|06:27am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
On the whole, Matt (of baby harmonica matchbox fame - these generous boys rock!), an artist, illustrator and popstar, would not strike you as one for world domination. Thin and always very smiley, he's overwhelmed by the inner-city crowd and mentally cowers in the peak hour pedestrian rush. But when it comes to creative things and projects, he talks about total control and world domination often. And rubs his fingers together ala Mr Burns as he does it. Sometimes he even slams his hands on the table. 'YES!' he cries, 'Popperbox is spreading!'
His contribution to the matchbox project is suitably intricate and thoughtful.
A tiny tiny stamp (which he calls Tiny Dancer) specially designed for the project and manufactured over Easter comes complete with a hand-made watercolour book. I squealed at my computer when he sent me the first sketches. Jumped and cheered when I saw the final product. So nice! So much effort!
Thanks Matt! See ya in Wollongong! (Matt's got a talk on at the Wollongong zine fair this coming Sunday, April 13. He's going to teach us how to draw.)
x
* I got busted for the first time leaving a matchbox! But that's okay, I know who got it and he seemed really nice.
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| let's hear it for the boy(s) - part 1/3 - left in a photocopier! Sydney Uni copy room* |
[30 Mar 2008|09:17am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
The week just past was an especially lucky one and I got not one but three matchboxes back from 3 very creative boys with very different sensibilities...
Tony (of legoman matchbox fame) promised to finish his box before he went overseas to do some art in Scotland. And surely the night before he left, the boy came good.
'It's very silly,' he'd warned me and I laughed because although packing presents in matchboxes and strategically abandoning them is a serious pursuit of mine, it's hardly sensible. The box he handed back was encrusted with play crystals, nubbly and a giggle to touch. As I slid the drawer open I found a box of matchsticks looking at me. Big eyes, small eyes - googly eyes. I stared back at them for a good while - I couldn't actually think of what to say so I just grinned instead. 'Googly eyes are heaps cool!' he said by way of explanation and later I find a t-shirt of his that proclaims just that. Only the googly eyes had come unstuck. Sad.
And although I would have never expected a box of matches with eyes, I wasn't entirely surprised. This from a boy who remixes Bindi Irwin tracks (and will drop it along with the Powerpuff girl theme song in DJ sets..) and gets so close to paintings at art galleries that I worry that he's going to fall in - or at the very least get told off by a mean looking gallery attendant.
And because every kiddie wins a prize, Tony got a matchbox with a small-ish kilt pin in it. Happy art-making in Scotland T!
x
* Super excited about making one-off mini mags for friends!
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| Found things - from Michelle - left on the steps of the Art Gallery of NSW |
[21 Mar 2008|10:30am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
Michelle jokes that her Mini Majellen zines were designed to make her friends, very specific like-minded friends, and not money. She tells me this a good six months after I picked up one of the said zines on at a Spring afternoon zine fair by the river and was absolutely taken by what I found between the covers.
A palm-sized square of a zine, the Mini Majellen is all about urban adventures - playfulness, appreciating very small and simplistic things and having fun everyday. Made entirely from found objects (discarded tickets, illustrations from old story-books...) its concept was simple, it was aesthetically very beautiful but best of all revealed a very appreciative and inquisitive mind. And so, as the Beatles song goes, a small game of 'I've got to get you into my life' followed.
Over many emails, coffee, tea, cake, lunches and several breakfasts Shell and I discovered that we have parallel creative lives. At first we were a little spun out but now love (and are used to) having someone to bounce ideas off.
I love the way Shell thinks and seeing how her ideas are manifested into beautiful things. I may have cheered out loud the afternoon she showed me the prototypes for her latest project - bookplates. Pretty little stickers to mark your personal library. Two weeks later I was happily sitting in her studio helping her cut out the collection of Red Shoe Girl bookplates and fold a fresh batch of Mini Majellen zines for an upcoming market.
She told me about another book project of hers, a personal one, where she asked her friends and family to recommend their 3 most favourite fictional books, with the intention of working her way through all of them. So far she's got everything from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, to Jane Eyre and Franny & Zooey. I've finally decided that my top 3 would be:
1. The Wind Up Bird Chronicles - Haruki Murakami
Because it consumed me as I read it and left me in a daze for 2 weeks after. Incredible.
2. Star Girl - Jerry Spinelli
A discovery of my sister's about a renegade present-giver - the details in this book are just lovely. And..
3. White Noise - Don DeLillo
For Chapter 16 alone - 'This is the day Wilder started crying at two in the afternoon.'
Shell didn't miss my enthusiasm for her bookplates and when I casually asked if she could make some tiny ones for this project, she said she’d already started. Handing them over a couple weeks ago she wondered aloud how I would decorate her box. With a sticker from her city scapes collection of course! Thank you M!
x
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| Lost time from the lovely Lex - left at Hoyts, Broadway* |
[10 Mar 2008|07:11pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
I remember the very first time I met Lex. March 2004, it was our first day studying fashion and textile design at UTS and we had both been placed in Group B. A group of about 20 of us sat around old wooden tables that had been cut into one too many times by wayward and overly enthusiastic Stanley knives.
Icebreakers and introductions ensued. I physically shuddered each time a girl said that she had a ‘passion for fashion’. And then it was Lex’s turn. ‘Hi, I’m Lex,’ she started, ending memorably with, ‘..and I don’t think I want to be a fashion designer because realistically, hardly any of us in this room will be.’ Insightful and to the point. Intimidatingly so.
Over the next year we would shuffle around each other in pattern making class, meet up occasionally at the ironing station in construction, eat lunch together in the hall between classes with another girl called Emily. We called ourselves the Seed and on my 20th birthday she brought me a rich square of chocolate cake and slipped me a hand drawn birthday card. It was a picture of a seedling.
I left uni and we lost contact for a while, one night meeting up for dinner in Chinatown. We have been inseparable ever since, star sisters living parallel lives, with our very own lexicon and matching pink star pajama pants. We draw and cook together, read, listen to music. We make each other themed talking tapes and eat milk and cookies sitting on the kitchen floor. We tell each other stories about our respective childhoods, we talk about relationships – prospective, current, dying and past – at length.
Lex is like the best friend you had in school – the one you want to share everything with, without inhibition. It feels natural to do everything and nothing together. You feel safer because you have another you.
And so the contents of her matchbox is so appropriate. Despite being an instinctive and incredibly talented illustrator (in first year fashion she was already being commissioned to draw for the final year collections) she returned the box filled with tiny leaves. To be released from a great height was the instruction. I tipped it out immediately, having spotted handwriting down the bottom. ‘How do we revisit the day when we first found these amazing?’
Thanks to her, I'm already back there.
x
* Fittingly after seeing Be Kind, Rewind. The sweetest movie I've seen in a while. Walked out smiling like an idiot.
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| it's one! birthdays and present karma - left at the new cupcake bakery, the ivy, george st |
[03 Mar 2008|10:16pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
March marks the first birthday of the matchbox project, which is pretty unbelievable for me, considering it started off as a wouldn't-it-be-funny-if? thought and has clearly morphed into something else. So over the past year (oh wow, I'm getting nostalgic and it's only been a year.. cue the violin music already) the Matchbox project has brought me an unexpected amount of joy which is hilarious cos I'm the one giving presents away, the last thing I expected was to get anything back.
Planning, decorating and photographing my matchboxes helps me escape dull moments at work or on the bus and leaving a box in a new location each week always makes me feel a bit sneaky and playful at the same time. Ironically it really hasn't been about the literal finder of the box, but the fun to be had in making them and for lovely readers following along and commenting on them. I met Michelle incidentally through matchboxing - I bought some stickers at a zine fair from her and thought it was only right to mention what I would be doing with them - and we're now great buddies who egg each other on in creative pursuits and plan urban adventures on our weekends.
I'd been looking for lego men for ages for a matchbox - inspired by an oldschool toy shelf that I spied at a friend's house - but to no avail. They only sell that ridiculous Star-Wars themed stuff these days and looking for lego men at op shops is no where near as fun as it sounds. So it was present karma when Tony pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and pushed it across the table over lunch last week. Inside were legomen from his childhood - some missing hair and others heads, some with dog bites down their legs but most fairly intact. I positively squealed before picking out the best two - the one that is being left this week and another super cool white spaceman with a green visor (which I'm told is particularly rare...) which I decided to keep. So you can understand why after this and the baby harmonica incident, I'm very into this idea of presents from the universe - and thought I might just put it out there that I'm still looking for a baby babushka doll :)
And so starts a month of guest-boxes made by most favourite creative people! It should be interesting - and kind of like a holiday for me at the very least. The brief is simple - whatever they want and feel like making/giving/designing so long as it fits in the box. I received my first box back over the weekend and it is just beautiful. Can't wait to post it next week!
Happy birthday blog! And thank you so much for reading along, you're awesome.
x
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| please note - left at Belvoir St (downstairs) theatre, 11pm, Surry Hills* |
[26 Feb 2008|12:39pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
I live in a house of notes – most often left on the kitchen table, scribbled in the dark as I come and go. My family is obsessed with accountability. Even if they’re as mundane as -
S went to market
(to market to buy a fat pig)
S home but napping
(even if music is on – pls do not disturb)
S at work
(patisserie today – pls sms any urgent food requests)
I always wish I could have left something more beautiful on the kitchen table instead of some smudged biro on crumpled paper. And so I made calling cards of sorts. Cos I figure if you’re going to communicate with someone, anyone, better make it good-looking. Think of it as old-school sms. I had a lovely time making these - sometimes looking out for things to put in these boxes gets a bit stressful, especially when I already have very specific things in mind. Next month I've got something very exciting planned for the matchbox project... can't wait!
X
* If you're in Sydney, you really must try and see Daniel Kitson in 'The Ballad of Roger and Grace'. It's quite late at night, in a small and dark room, Daniel Kitson reading 'the greatest love story of all time' from this old orange notebook and his friend playing songs sporadically, ala Flight of the Conchords. It really is very lovely and Daniel Kitson is hilarious.
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| trouble sleeping - left in a fire stairwell after the Lover Jumble sale, Surry Hills |
[19 Feb 2008|08:20am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
No matter how long I just lie there waiting for sleep to come - thinking about my 5.30am starts, it never works. Neither does counting sheep - because I get bored (I know this is the point) but instead of falling asleep I start imagining the sheep doing silly jumps or dances or wearing crazy hats. My best friend calls me if she's still up and ends up telling me ridiculously funny stories, ironically making the problem worse cos she'll tire before me and then I'll be all hypo. She told me to try milk and honey - her primary school crush once recommended it to her and despite being delicious, that too does not work.
The Little Match-Girl comes from this tiny old book I picked up at an election book store. It's hardback and burnt orange and filled the fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen. It makes for good bedtime reading.
x
p.s - My good buddy Shell tagged me as part of her 'You Make My Day' blog awards (aww.. how nice! She apologises for the naf name, which she is in no way responsible for). And because it's like a chain-letter of a thing I'm meant to tag my top 5 blogs that, well, make my day. And they are...
1. Snail and the Cyclops - The lovely Francesca from Boston, a regular on wardrobe re-mix who I got to chat to recently for a story I'm writing. She has a pink dress with giraffes on it she intends to wear to the zoo. Might do the same in my parakeet dress...
2. Raging Yoghurt - my food hero.
3. Exploding Dog - Sam Brown is hilarious and always surprising.
4. Simply Breakfast- beautifully composed.
5. Sesame magazine - online, Australian and gorgeous. (Turn on your speakers!!)
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| cheer squads and encouraging faces - put in the post for a friend who had had a bummer of a week |
[09 Feb 2008|04:27pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
Last week Em arrived home after three months in India, no she hadn't yet seen the Darjeeling Limited (I don't know why I bothered asking, it was clearly the first and most superficial thing that came to mind) and announced her return via text message. Notorious for continually changing her return dates whenever she is overseas, I was surprised she actually got on the plane on the scheduled date. I left Chinese New Years celebrations early to see her, she'd promised presents repeatedly.
There was no time for hugs or inspections on how much she'd grown etc as she excitedly shoved a pile of presents into my arms and started talking a mile a minute. Every sentence seems to end in 'In India, that would only cost....' Hurricane Em was truly back. 'Look, look, look!!' she squealed, shaking Indian matchboxes in front of my face. She proceeded to re-enact the pantomime she had needed to perform in order to buy them. This included smoking an imaginary cigarette in a very exaggerated fashion and striking an equally invisible match on her jeans, accompanied by a 'kkkeerrchook!!' sound. The girl's hilarious.
She quickly snatched the boxes out of my hands and began reading me the incredibly lame jokes that had been printed on the back. Like 'What did one ghost say to another?' 'Do you believe in people?'
Almost lost in the bundle of boxes, multicoloured lanterns and bangles was this tiny tiny pin. An encouraging face, she said, that she'd bought from kids in Nepal. I lost her on a tangent as she wondered aloud whether it had been ethical to buy it in the first place. Would the money the kids made encourage their parents to keep them from school and instead on the streets selling to tourists?
I decided that I didn't need to keep the encouraging face ('Some of them were crying,' she'd said, 'But I didn't get you one of those') - not because I didn't like or appreciate it but because I don't really need it. I already have a pretty strong cheersquad of my own, of which Em is as good as captain. And so into a matchbox it goes.
S
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| welcome home si! - left at Mint Condition Vintage store, Rozelle |
[01 Feb 2008|08:52am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
Apparently not everyone appreciates being greeted with an oversized painted welcome home sign at the airport arrival gate. Or balloons or faux chauffeur signs... After a year abroad, Annie's best friend Simon requested cookies instead. And we happily obliged. So one particularly lazy day, after fat blueberry pancakes and a long session of painting and reading we set to work. Chocolate chip with sultanas and hazelnuts were our final combination - the poor boy is allergic to peanuts.
Choc chip may make the quintessential cookie but they also work well in pancakes and banana loaves.
S
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| message in a bottle - left in Crows Nest park, Sunday 11.30am |
[22 Jan 2008|09:16am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
It was almost like the Princess and the Pea. Almost. Late Sunday afternoon, I had fallen asleep listening to Lennon and surrounded by books, magazines and coloured pens. It was a restless nap because I was very sick and something kept digging into my back. It wasn't my glasses (thank god! They were still on my face..) but this - a tiny little bottle with blank scrolls in it that I'd bought a few weeks earlier for a matchbox. How it found its way into my bed I'm not entirely sure.
Sadly, I awoke not a princess but covered in bedsheet and book creases. Lovely. This box reminds me of The Police song, which my father listened to repeatedly on family road trips when I was a kid. Twenty years on it can still get stuck in my head without even having to hear it.
Last week my good buddy Angela and her boy Rich texted me at 2am. They had spent a cold London evening making matchboxes with Rich's family (how cute! A family craft night). They left their first - where else but at the top of the Eiffel Tower and what a view!
The second, containing puzzles and a mysterious but cute penguin thing was left last night, at The Dorchester in London. They said Naomi Campbell, Elle McPherson, Jemima Khan and Kate Moss had dined there the night before - and what a shame because what if Kate Moss had found a matchbox?? She could have given it to her daughter! haha
Thanks heaps guys! They've got a couple more boxes to drop... what about Buckingham Palace or that massive ferris wheel - the London Eye? Though how you would leave it in there without the attendant seeing I don't know - I've always wanted to leave one at the Luna Park ferris wheel but it's logistically tricky...
S
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| kick out the jams -left at the silverscreen movie lounge thing, before seeing Juno* |
[15 Jan 2008|08:45am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
'Would you like some ribbon on the Sorry cake box?' I asked. It was a legitimate question - I figure if you're going to say sorry, there's no point being half arsed about it.
I've spent a good chunk of my summer as a countergirl at one of my most favourite patissiers. It's been the perfect summer job, it's quiet work and most days I spend ample time reading books and writing stories behind the counter. I sell cakes, pastries and bread to people and get to take the leftovers home to share with friends and family. I've left sourdoughs on porches, tied boxes of cookies to front gates and nursed fat slabs of flourless chocolate cake on the bus home. The chef once told me to take an entire box of vanilla slices home and give them away. I told him I took the bus and they would melt on the way home. 'Give them out on the bus!!' he said, entirely serious.
This particular afternoon I helped a lady pick out a sorry cake. We chose this incredibly decadent little chocolate cake- chocolate mousse and raspberry brulee sandwiched between two fat choc-hazelnut meringue disks, a cookie of a thing that was rolled in dark chocolate and then in hazelnuts. Now that's an apology. Earlier on in the day a man asked if I had jam to go with the croissant he'd just bought. I didn't, and the only thing I could find in individual packets was tomato sauce. Sad.
Only someone like my Mum would actually carry around spare packets of jam in her purse but hey, who knows, maybe the person who finds this will decide to treat themselves to a croissant or a spot of high tea. No more of this diet new-year talk, food was meant to be enjoyed.
S
* Did you know on super cheap Tuesdays you can get silverscreen tickets for $10? So cool!
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| the blues - left wrapped in a picnic rug at the Little Marionette cafe*, Balmain |
[09 Jan 2008|02:59pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
My sister got married over the weekend (which partly excuses the lack of boxes...I've been very busy doing nothing of late - like baking honey cakes and watching several movies in a day), which was one of those happy/sad events. I think adults call it bittersweet. I'm used to sharing toothbrush cups with her and our matching care bears living in the same house, seeing what she's wearing everyday as she runs out of the house each morning. So when I woke up the day after her wedding and saw her bedroom was empty, I realised she was gone and became quite upset. I want to call and text her all the time but don't. And I know she's not gone completely, it's just hard to adjust to the change. If these moments had a soundtrack, a cheesy harmonica blues wouldn't go astray...
The baby harmonica was actually given to me by Matt, a very generous comic artist who I first met doing FBi mag and kept bumping into over the next few months. As I sat down to interview him about his most recent Cut & Paste Digital Design competition win and view on comics, he pushed a tiny box perspex box across the table - containing the baby instrument (on a necklace for easy access and everyday use!) and a teeny tiny box of matches from Crumpler, no bigger than a fingerprint.
Thank you so much Matt! I wanted to keep the harmonica.. but I guess that's not really in the spirit of the project. Rats. I'm going to make sure I leave this box in a prime position though. Speaking of which, last week, a friend of mine left a matchbox at the top of the Eiffel tower! Pictures to be posted soon!
Happy new year!
S
* The Little Marionette (which I initially mistook as Marie Antoinette...silly) is one of my most favourite places to spend my afternoons. The counterpeople are lovely - the boys usually wear cravats, braces and hats and one of the girls wears these bright red shoes. If their tiny cafe is full, you can grab a picnic rug from the basket and head across the road to Gladstone Park, they even let you take real cups. You'll know when it's time to bring them back in cos they start playing the Presets real loud when they want to close. Cute.
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| rules of the game - left at the academy twin cinemas, paddington boxing day |
[26 Dec 2007|07:40pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
It's naive but I had no idea that dominoes had a use independent of stacking them up next to each other and pushing them over until I picked up a box the other day that had a lengthy list of rules. So sad! It's sad enough that adults don't play nearly enough - something happens in between primary and high school where play is no longer something you just do to fill the time. And when things like rules and productivity start to worry you.
I stumbled across a playground for kids and adults when I was in Melbourne a couple months ago - called Experimenta playground, which was so much fun if you're not scared about looking like an absolute idiot. I spun myself silly sitting alongside a massive silicon baby in this equally massive tea cup. Each time I spun the wheel, a different love song played - it was definitely baby love. Sadly sometimes shopping centres masquarade as playgrounds for adults - we can only hope for more non-consumer based places to play. Bring on the Sydney festival!
X
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| pretty up your cons...NOW! - left on the 518 bus suburb bound from the city* |
[18 Dec 2007|11:33am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
I met Nicky for an early Christmas dinner in Chinatown the last week and was super excited to show her my latest purchases. I had arrived a little early and skulked around Chinatown and managed to pick up polka dotted stickytape (which I didn't quite know that I wanted until I saw it), novelty shoelaces and some hello kitty stickers (for a friend's daughter, not for me..). Later that evening as I cheered at all the stupid little things we continued to find in those Korean stationary stores, I took one look at Nicky and said - 'I'm really Asian, aren't I?' 'Yup!' she replied without a seconds consideration. I had my big fat digital SLR in my bag and more silly presents in another. We went to Ezy way for one of those Jelly drinks. Oh dear.
S
* Being Christmas and all, I had intended to leave this box under the gigantic Christmas tree in Martin Place that I had heard rumours about. But by 4pm on Christmas eve, having worked all day at a patissier and run into the city to finish my shopping (covered in chocolate.. not entirely a terrible thing) Martin Place seemed a very very long way from Pitt St Mall...
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| power up - left at the Dymocks cafe, mezzanine level, George st |
[11 Dec 2007|09:41am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
There are times when the minute something falls out of your mouth, you know it’s a lie. Like when the Herald asked how often I update this blog and I immediately replied – once a week, without fail. Well I failed this week but only by a few days. I’ve actually been on the lookout for something very specific but like the miniature harmonica, this item seems to be evading me. So we have batteries instead. But not just any batteries, bright yellow coloured ones! Trust those crazy Swedes at Ikea to make batteries fun and happy. Although yesterday a very friendly lady came into my store and announced ‘Green is the happy colour.’ She dispensed facts frequently, almost randomly in this sing-song voice and she said this with such conviction that I thought it pointless to argue with her. ‘Daughters are wonderful,’ she sung as she exited the store.
So Cale has been sending me pictures of matchboxes he has started leaving. I have never met Cale before but we are… matchbox friends? He found out about the matchbox project through our uni magazine and this was his second box. ‘Share the love’, this box says and photographed on top of a $20 note I thought, Jesus, that’s love alright. Turns out he made tiny heart cut outs and put them in the box, which reads on the flipside ‘Red is the colour’ (of love? My Italian is very poor/non-existent). He left it a couple weeks back at Central station, which is awesome!
S
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| cards taken - left at Drummoyne Swimming Pool, 11.30am |
[01 Dec 2007|03:41pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
I have left tiny cards in a matchbox before but never an entire pack of 52! A lot of my friends reckon these cards are too small for actual playing and that they exist purely for novelty value but I think our thumbs deserve more credit than that – we all sms enough for practice! I’ve actually had this tiny pack of cards for at least ten years, they used to be encased in this equally tiny Perspex box and dangle from a key ring.
So the contents of this matchbox hit me on the head, literally. Opening my overstuffed and incredibly disorganized wardrobe the other morning, a very heavy bag full of miscellaneous junk (books I used to doodle in when I was 5, school photos from infants school, collectable coins my grandfather delights in giving me…) fell out of nowhere and nearly knocked me out. The tiny playing cards fell onto the floor.
It’s been a week of unexpected discoveries. Poking around at Ariel books for some Christmas presents, I stumbled across Miranda July’s latest book – Learning to love you more. It’s super cute – you should check out the site.
S
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| stitch it up - left on the stairs of the Museum of Sydney, 1pm* |
[26 Nov 2007|06:45am] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
I'm proud to say that I didn't have to steal the thimble from a Monopoly box!! I went looking for a tiny sewing kit, like the ones they leave in hotel rooms and came across this fairly comprehensive one, which had thread on spools!! And I thought I was running out of ideas... Unlike the bubblebath in the monkey's head, this one should actually be useful, I mean there are some times when a safety pin will not suffice for sudden wardrobe malfunctions. Today I had a rather unfortunate experience with my favourite black dress and an exploding but very crucial little button. I hope the finder can sew because I do remember working with this one boy who had to Google how to sew on a button. Ten points for trying Mark!
S
* Go and see the Biscuit Factory at the Museum of Sydney if you get the chance, it closes Dec 2. And then let me know if you also thought it smelt like cookies in there or was it just my imagination??
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| it overtakes me - left at the Museum of Contempoary Arts, Spirit of Youth awards night |
[20 Nov 2007|08:49pm] |
Each week, a decorated matchbox with a tiny present hidden inside is left by a girl (and sometimes willing friends) somewhere in her travels. It's a random act of semi-artistic kindness aimed at disrupting someone's day in a tiny but positive way. That's if they dare to pick it up...
Christmas is inescapable, especially if you work in multiple retail outlets. Several weeks ago a very small blackboard with deep green borders and wooden candy canes stuck all over it suddenly appeared by the till at work. ’63 DAYS TIL XMAS!’ it cried gleefully. A couple weeks later my manager presented me with a Christmas card, ‘You can wear tinsel in your hair’, she said. And then, last Saturday at my other job, elaborately decorated gingerbread houses started appearing and taking up more and more counterspace. When I returned to the shop midweek, they had multiplied and sat alongside fruit mince tarts and puddings of all different sizes. I can't see the customers now for the cellophane.
And so this is my nod to Christmas. I figure you can avoid the retail displays all you like but once they start playing Christmas carols in public places, you may as well give up. And what better way to welcome the festive season than with a gingerbread boy cookie cutter, especially one that ensures that the chocolate button will take up a disproportionate amount of the surface area, yay!
S
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