Dolls jennifer avery
issuu, indesign, photoshop, scanner, photocopy machine, fabric, paper, thread, feathers, yarn, plaster, acrylic paint, aerosol paint, thermally activate adhesive, toilet paper, buttons, flour, glue, lace, eye hooks, fur coat labels, cat hair, human hair, ribbon, pheasant feathers, rabbit fur
(delirium) Doll Houses Replica copy copy copy Scale. A version of this text was originally published in Arch(i) texture, by Jennifer Avery
The tynie bits. Eyelashes. Piles of window frames unpainted balsa wood. (Is it even a wood- much more like layers of oak tag paper cooked too long in a samovar?) One to eighteen is not preferred over one to twelve, when the copies pop inside clever hands can count on a one to one hundred and forty four. I recall it once was delight, but these things do tend to go into intoxication, fever and other disorders. We tried to make it precise, but smaller, and the next smaller than that. Toys and collections and models- tiny wishes and dreams of what they could become and the very first dream with a bean sĂŹth. A tynie wench calling out over the water tickle over a broken kitten- begging; no no take me! It becomes a drawing an assortment of lines churn out plans for the tynie houses in factories blurring the mechanical press with the motion of repetition. Everyone gets the same box. I crave to overpower the structure, to wear it rather than the house always wearing me. Or is the house always eating me? Some sweet pettiefour-petticoat shifting from spleen to stomach covered in an acid shawl. Some Queen, a British one of course has a dollhouse. There is a Christmas ornament of it. A silent movie star no longer craving a close up has one too. How morose her granddaughter Sarah Rothe looks! How knee bent a faded ballerina stocking, slouching the leg warmers. More show piece than toy. I want to dominate the chateau smash it with fists and kicks rather than crawl about its guts. Tynie furniturelooking so grim. It has a cutaway a glass peephole like the cows with holes to their tummies or an anatomy model. This is when it was a baby house. Here is a house of wax with lungs. Like doll houses, reliquaries are tynie homes because dreams are a home, in heaven there is a home of splendor. Tombs can be shaped like homes with garland and birds and cult tools. Keep photocopying the plans. This one builds a decrepit Tudor with a black spot smear- a dollhouse over taken by tynie doll vandals complete with dust and rattle cans. This is naught but dirt and webby streamers but it used to be part of a music machine. It used to sit upon a wrought iron foot treadle base of a singer sewing machine. The wall was graced with a record that played by a conic piece of paper and a pearl caped pin when pumping the platform. I could do it in high heels. The notes were fed to a vase in the attic, the roof was ripped off. All gold and black and red. In a conversion to grays and fades and electric sanding, dragging my little friends the copy center. They have no place to hang coats, so taupe opossum mounds the floor. Hours spent poking buttons, glaring green lights lines rippling over the stuffed forms. People ask if I work there. Me? With my unbrushed hair, thrift store dress and pile o bodies. I do not explain that they are crazy, not I, and offer the advice they seek. Why do I need more of these friends building an army of little loves, my little friends the form to project upon. This cut way; this disaster tornado presentation is not always the way it is done. Some hinge like snake jaws and there is double the space and double the shingles. These homes are secrets, and can be locked tight. How lovely they key to such a space would look! Can the house get smaller? Ask Theodore the president of Bliss Manufacturing Company. Does common sense degrade with each iteration? I used to go to A. C. Moore, a craft store, to look at the dollhouses. A representation of each: Queen Anne, Light House, Cottage, Second Empire, Stick, Shingle, and Richardsonian Romanesque. They taunted me from the very top shelf defying my dominance once again with pastel anarchy (pale pale green pale pale pink pale pale blue) I wanted to live inside of them in the store and eat silk flowers with glass beads. They would make fine homes for hamsters and snakes wearing dresses. Thrilled thump thumped my heart at this excitement I loved this. In side all houses there are perfect shapes of houses and perfect shapes of bookcases thanks to Rachel Whiteread. Killed pummeled ventricle at this passion like rectangles of homes like wax illness molded by Eleanor Crook. Wept mush vein at this fear like boxes of castles like marble gables of Roman sarcophagi of Dokimeion. Moaning red porridge like the boredom of a basement apartment past its glory but still making its best work, like Duchamp the chess king.