Steampunk Coat at Steampowered Convention

Every year that I make coats is another year of enjoyment. I dont know why it makes me so happy but there is something so satisfying about doing this. I am very lucky to love what I do so much.
A silkscreener moved into the studio courtyard. He was showing me his designs and all I could think of was how great they would look combined with coats. We put it together and I came up with this one. I call it the Praying Mantis Coat because for some reason I have been having praying mantis's popping into my last two studios to say hi. This time one came around and really seem to appreciate my efforts. And he liked that it was spidery and green just like him.
This coat is made from black bull denim, features Richards art work and my appliques. It went to the home of Andy Bear and John Inis. (please forgive me if I have misspelled your last names)


So now that this creation has found its owner, I have to go sit on Richard and get more art out of him. I aim to make it a very different feel than this one. I cant wait.

I started making this coat twenty fricking years ago!

I cant believe it. I still love it. It was one of those happy accidents. I had been making a jacket with whacky lapels. Huge and very eighties. Because it was the eighties.
I needed to make something a bit more refined and had spotted a picture of Marlon Brando in Mutiny On The Bounty. It was in a Hollywood Costume calendar book that I still have to this day. It was just a shot of his face and chest. It showed the lapel and I liked it. So I made it. To me it looked very Mariachi. That was more my bent anyway. Thinking it needed a skirt, I pulled out paper on the floor, drew a big sweep and in five minutes my coat was born.

That was twenty years ago. I just cut out another stack of Mens Mediums yesterday. Check out KristiSmart.com for more information.

I miss my Baby Nu Nu

He was so cute.

Completely lacking in brains but rich in odd behavior.
Not really a cat. Not really a rat. Something in between.
He had breath that smelled exactly like chicharrones.
He was my special ed guy with special ed needs.
I was afraid I would never love him as much as Henry. That he would be neglected and ignored.
Turns out this ugly thing named Pepper took over my life.

He was a feral manx. When they called me to say they found a manx kitten they said "If you aren't sure you want him, dont come over. He is the cutest kitten ever and you wont be able to say no."
I got in my car and drove over for a look. This woman had him by the scruff of his little neck and was holding him up to the face of a huge male cat. This huge male cat was licking him from head to toe.
They held this ratty runty tailless thing up for my inspection. Slathered with cat spit. Hair sticking out in all directions. Puffed up wormy hairless belly, soggy little feet with muddy claws. Ugly ugly ugly. Ugliest kitten I have ever seen. Looked like a lab rat.
"Isn't he cute?" they asked. Oh man. He was anything but.
I had to sit there for a half an hour talking my self into taking this hideous excuse for a cat home to his older brother.
I did.
Only because it was my other cats brother.
Funny thing is. The first glimpse of him is pretty much nailed the rest of his life.
His brother Henry would start the day by pinning him down and licking his hair in all directions. Pepper would show up for breakfast with what little hair he had looking like it had gone through a blender. It was always "Oh.. Hair by Henry! Nice work, Love what you've done with the cowlicks"

I would follow him around and try to get that shot that captured how weird and rat-like he was. Somehow he always looked like a million dollars in a photo.
He was always doing something stupid.
Ari, my five year old neighbor (at that time) chased him down. Pepper ran for his life for about five feet. Then he threw himself down on the pavement and went belly up like a submissive dog. Not good survival instincts.
He loved water. As a kitten I had to fish him out of the toilet five times before I realized the lid had to go down until he was big enough to get out by himself. He jumped into the full tub more than once. Loved when I turned on the garden hose and ran it down his back. I could always tell when there was a pipe leaking under one of the apartments because he would come home with a demented expression and a soaked head.
what a nut.

The down side was that he was wreaking my life. He was spoiled rotten and high maintenance. There was no sleep to be had for seven years. I was stating to have close calls of the vehicular kind. My hair was beginning to look a lot like his. We started to compete in the dazed and confused contest.
He met a swift end. As sad as I was I got the first full night of sleep in years.
After two years of catching up on sleep I am starting to miss him.
In a tupperware kind of way.
Thats when you have something really great but its only good in small doses. You keep it in tupperware and only take it out when you have the energy to deal with it.
A bag of chicharrones would make me feel better. I could put it in tupperware.
I could stick a name tag on it and call it Pepper. 

Losers Paradise. Chris Gaffney, We miss you.

Friday, April 18th, 2008

Its been a day of Losers Paradise and tears. If I drank beer I would be crying in it.

Chris Gaffney passed away today. One of my all time favorite performers. I knew he was ill with liver cancer. A hard thing to beat. I didn’t have much hope that he would make it but still managed to be shocked when Chris Laurence called this afternoon with the news that he had passed this morning.

My heart goes out to his wife Julie and his family.

I have Gaffney’s “Losers Paradise” on an ancient beat up tape cassette. Amazing that it still plays considering how much wear it got. I feel fortunate that my neighbors always tolerated my obsessive and unrelenting taste in music. Some days that tape would get played three times in a row. Loudly. Very loudly.

Back in the day I would sail down the highway toward a night of dancing blasting his music, singing “take the right turn off the wrong road and take it all the way” at the top of my lungs. It revved me up for the evening and wound me down when I got back home. Any road trip I went on was started off with a round of “I’m on the road to Indio”.

I played that tape three times today. Loudly. Very loudly.

I thought that man was the bee’s knees. His voice sounded like gravel mixed with melted chocolate. He had a face full of character and a head full of whacked out sensibilities. He took those sensibilities and turned them into great songs seasoned with acidic dry wit.

One night at the Alligator Lounge my friend Betty Sword and I were swooning over him. When I told her that I was going to ask him to autograph my chest, she said “Your not going to do that. What are you? Sixteen?” Not being one to resist a double dog dare, I ran to Gaffney with pen in hand. I ended up with an autograph that delayed bathing for days.
I haven’t seen Chris Gaffney in years. He quit playing in the LA area, I got to where I wasn’t going out as much. I wasn’t willing to drive that far.

He also changed bands. I had a hard time believing that I would like his new group The Hacienda Brothers as much as his original band The Cold Hard Facts. But of course they would be good. He wouldn’t have been with them if they weren’t. I heard how great they were but regrettably never saw them.

I took if for granted that I could go see The Hacienda Brothers some day when I was a little less tired.

Its been a very sad day

Always play your favorite tape very loudly and never take things for granted.