30 THINGS I KNOW: AGED 30…

Well geez, you guys.

I’ve just quietly closed the door on my Twenties, and today I give an awkward, warm, but slightly weary hug to Thirty.

I thought I’d kick off this new decade, one that I hope to leave strewn with all sorts of writing, with a list. A list that I’m well aware I may cringe at, in horror, when I look back on it at in another decade.

However for me, right here and now, it’ll do just fine.

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30 THINGS I KNOW: AGED 30…

(in no particular order of importance, or wisdom…if at all)

1. Leopard print is a neutral. Ditto for red lipstick. 
2. Don’t buy into fashion fads. Find your own style, one that makes you feel like all of your heroes at once, then wear the fuck out of it until you own that look.
3. Always triple check that you’ve got your baking powder and baking soda quantities the right way round.
4. Spare time, and space, are precious. Only surround yourself with people and things that you love the bejesus out of and would want to save in a fire.
5. Toast is a totally viable dinner option…but never more than twice a week.
6. There is no such thing as too many fairy lights.
7. No one is 100% sure what they’re doing in life. Not even that beautiful, skinny, girl on Facebook who had that vintage-boho wedding to the hot bearded Architect.
8. No one is 100% happy in life. Not even that beautiful, skinny, girl on Facebook who had that vintage-boho wedding to the hot bearded Architect.
9. Remember that Social Media is an exercise in individual personal branding and Public Relations: we only project the parts of ourselves, the greatest hits of our lives, that we want others to view. We never show, nor see, the entire picture. 
10. When at a loss, the answer is always Leonard Cohen.
11. Spend your money on well-made, high quality, shoes that make your heart flutter. Failing that, just get the metallic ankle boots. 
12. Sunscreen. Sunscreen. Sunscreen. Oh, and don’t even think about attempting a tan.
13. It’s okay to occasionally withdraw, not want to leave the house, or talk to anyone…just don’t do it for longer than three days at a time.
14. Big knickers. Bigger hair.
15. Never stop exploring, listening to, reading about or discussing new music. Even when you think you’ve heard it all, there’s always a song that’s yet to be written, that will encapsulate everything you’re feeling in life, right when you need it the most. 
16. These days it’s more comfortable, and appealing, to sit at a concert or gig. You will always regret that decision, so don’t do it. General Admission all the way, baby.
17. Gin and Tonics produce the least hangovers due to their high water content. *
18. Don’t stop concentrating on not falling over. The second that you do, you will stumble. Usually in public. Or in front of your crush. Refer to point 14.
19. Going it alone in life can be scary. However it’s only a fraction as scary as feeling that you’re trapped in an unhappy situation…or with the wrong person.
20. Dance! Anywhere! Anytime! But just dance!
21. It’s okay to just say ‘no’…
22. …however the most magical, enriching, WTF moments in life seem to occur when you say ‘yes’ to something out of your comfort zone.
23. Do one creative thing each day, no matter how trivial. Even if it’s just inventing a badass salad from whatever the hell is going on at the bottom of your fridge. Or doodling a picture of a T-Rex on a skateboard. Every little counts. 
24. You’ll never be totally happy with your body no matter what age, or size, you are. Focus on being healthy instead.
25. Fight or Flight as a survival instinct is a real thing. You’ll know when you need it and which option to engage. I always used to joke that the only time you’d catch me running would be when my life depended on it. This turned out to be true. 
26. Singing Wonderwall, very loudly, whilst sitting on the kitchen floor, crying, is often as effective as a week in therapy.
27. Garden State is not as original, quirky, or profound as you thought it was when you first saw it. Ditto for Donnie Darko.
28. Practice your angles. It’s not vanity. It’s self-preservation.
29. It’s a cliche, but your gut instinct is always right.
30. If in doubt, do it for the story.

*not scientifically proven by author

xo

STITCH: LOVE IS LIKE A BOTTLE OF GIN…

It makes you blind, it does you in
It makes you think you’re pretty tough
It makes you prone to crime and sin
It makes you say things off the cuff
It’s very small and made of glass
and grossly over-advertised
It turns a genius to an ass
and makes a fool think he is wise
It could make you regret your birth
or turn cartwheels in your best suit
It costs a lot more than it’s worth
and yet there is no substitute
They keep it on a higher shelf
the older and more pure it grows
It has no color in itself
but it can make you see rainbows
You can find it on the Bowery
or you can find it at Elaine’s
It makes your words more flowery
It makes the sun shine, makes it rain
You just get out what they put in
and they never put in enough
Love is like a bottle of gin

…But a bottle of gin is not like love.

-The Magnetic Fields, from 69 Love Songs

x

STITCH: COLOUR MY LIFE…

Happy New Year, bitches!

(Yup, I’ve been watching so much Breaking Bad I’ve started talking just like Jesse. Pfft. Gatorade me, bitch.)

I guess this is where I’m meant to go on about goals and dreams and resolutions and how 2014 is THE YEAR etc. etc. and yeah, I do  have some pretty clear goals set out. But… *shrugs* don’t we all at the start of a New Year? Isn’t that kind of the point? I mean, we can sit and talk about them all we want, but unless we actually get on with it and actually start doing these things and working towards our goals, then it’s all stupid, pointless, hot air.

They’re just empty words, a waste of paper, a waste of time. Yeah, sure, they are filled with nothing but the very best of intentions, but they are still pointless. For example, it’s like when you’re at the pub and you’ve had a few drinks and you and your friends are all “No but SERIOUSLY. Listen. To. Me. We WILL go to Russia next Christmas. You. Me. Her. ALL OF US. Like, for reals. No no no…hey….no. Listen. LISTEN. I mean it. I know we say these things, but RUSSIA IS HAPPENING. It is. Seriously. We’re fucking doing this. You. Me. Russia. Christmas. Seriously.”

It’s like that.

So right now, that is my priority. Just getting on with this shit. Getting things done. Forming habits and cementing the mindset. Oh, well that, and also finishing Breaking Bad and sourcing a download of the new Sherlock once it’s aired in the UK tonight. Like I said, priorities.

Therefore, lets start as we mean to go on. Here is my first stitch for 2014:

“Colour my life with the chaos of trouble.”

I’d like to say that this piece started out of passion for the quote and how I really felt impassioned to nail that inspirational wordy bad boy in stitch form.

However…uh, no, it came from me blankly staring out of my window, yesterday morning, with a big mug of tea, and thinking “Squee! I LOVE CRAYONS!”

So I drew a crayon.

Then I felt, a bit, oh I dunno, hmm how to put this…I felt like a fucking moron toddler for considering the prospect of a lone crayon on a stitch. I mean, no offence to the child species, but I don’t really want Queen Stitch to go down the “kids bedroom decor” avenue. I fear that if we steer ourselves that way then before I know it I’m only stitching Peppa Pig and Dora and ZERO swear words. And then I would feel very sad indeed.

So I sat trying to think as to what text I could put with my simple, lone, crayon. I felt I would never be able to think of anything…ever.

Then like magic, within about six seconds, one of my favourite Belle and Sebastian lyrics popped into my head: “Colour my life with the chaos of trouble”. This is from the very wonderful and earwormy song ‘The Boy With the Arab Strap’ from my favourite B&S album of the same name.

And all in the world was bloody joyous and rainbowy because it’s a fantastic line and was made to accompany a crayon.

This is a 20cm piece. Black hand stitched outline, with watercolour infil.

Now, ONE THING, I need to actually remember to say, which I always forget to say on my stitch pieces, is that this piece, as well as every one of my works shown on this site are available for purchase, and of course, custom orders are adored. 

If you are interested in purchasing anything on this blog, please send me an email to thequeenstitch@gmail.com and we can sort the deets from there. 

Okay, lovers! That’s me, for now.

And really, Happy 2014. May it offer up everything good in life… and then so much more.

xxx

 

QUEEN SWEARY: “FUCK”…

First, lets deal with any lingering guilt about our potty mouths and the contents of this post by absorbing the following fact:

Yeah, print it out and put it in your wallet ready for next time someone hints that you perhaps you swear a bit too much (it happens, trust me).

Now that we are feeling mighty happy and good and strong and so very zen about our free use of the english language and the joy that is the simple cuss, let me present to you my latest beast of a work:

Now, I know what you’re thinking “How would one even begin to give a title to such a deep and complex work?”, well yes, I thought long and hard about what to call this work, and after much deliberation and really deep soul searching for the meaning of this piece, I have settled on “FUCK”.

Genius, right?

This is my first profanity work, something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time – and hopefully the first of many. There was something really bloody satisfying about spending so long on one, beautiful, bad, simple and powerful word.

I mean, “fuck” is a pretty brilliant word. One of the best in my opinion. Yeah yeah, not just in a juvenile “tee hee I’m swearing, I’m such a badass” kind of way, but really,  is there another word out there that has as many applications, versatility, meanings or ability to express emotion?

We use the word “fuck” (or a variation of) when we’re happy or excited, when we’re angry, in pain or upset. We use it to emphasise a point, to express passion on a subject, and also in our deepest throes of passion. It’s a one word fits all kind of deal. And at the same time it’s a bit naughty, which makes everything in life a little more fun.

All hail the “fuck”, I say. Use it more. Use it like butter. Spread it liberally throughout your vocab without care or caution (okay, unless there are children present, maybe?).

As the word is short, blunt and abrupt, I wanted the style of the stitch to make a statement – both in form and colour.

I liked the idea of such a powerful word taking on a slightly cartoon quality, something strong that punches you in the face but not taking itself too seriously…something a little urban, punky, but fun. Something a bit like a Kanye West album cover. You know?

See, I’ve been doing a lot of research into  the “sweary cross stitch” movement, I’m really sick of these “profanity” stitches being created in an ironic “prim and proper” Times Roman or Copperplate type font. It’s just so *YAWN* boring – especially when the word you are stitching is a mere four letters. Make very letter count, I say!

With that in mind, I took my final inspiration from a large print that I have hanging on my lounge wall, a print that stylistically I adore in every way possible  – a print of a Yeah Yeah Yeah’s concert poster that I picked up at their Brooklyn concert:

With this very graphic, punky style in mind I settled on the font “Double Feature” – which I’m pretty sure, going by the title, is the Rocky Horror font. It’s pretty sexy as far as fonts go: a little chubby, a little spooky, retro, bold but with detail. This was my guy!

However with the “horror” undertones of the font I wanted to keep away from reds, blacks  or anything too dark on the stitch so it didn’t look like a gothic wannabe piece. Again, I love the juxtaposition of the green and pinks on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’s poster – so I settled on a lime green for the infill and bright fuchsia pink for the outline – I love it when colours, when put together, are so garish and clashing that they end up being both ugly and beautiful at the same time. This is the best kind of beauty!

I’ve also been rather obsessed in the past six months or so with the vintage “Dinosaur Attack!” trading cards that were put out by Topps in the last 1980’s – the illustrations on these cards were very fun but graphically violent, with a real “B Movie” or “Pulp” art of the 1950’s feel about them. This is also the kind of vibe I wanted the peice to have…

This piece actually took a surprisingly long time to stitch. The “fuck” is about 15cm in diameter however there was a lot of work making such a chunky wee word look good and retain it’s definition. As per usual, the font I picked, with all of it’s drips and wiggles made it very labour intensive…the outline itself was particularly time consuming – as we know, I like to measure my stitching time by episodes of DVD series, and the pink outline took five Breaking Bad episodes – that’s almost 4 hours!
I’m VERY happy indeed with this bad boy. It’s going to live in my house – the only question in where…

…whilst I decide, please enjoy this masterpiece of all things “fuck” from everyone’s favourite ginger Australian musical comedy genius boyfriend, Tim Minchin.

Be. Fucking. Good. Alright? xox

HOW TO NOT BE A TOTAL DICK THIS CHRISTMAS…

“Oh I wish it could be Christmas everyday…”

THE QUEEN STITCH GUIDE TO NOT BEING A TOTAL DICK THIS CHRISTMAS: 

Say please. Say thank you. Try to smile.  Don’t go to the mall. If you do go to the mall please don’t go at 2pm on the last Saturday then bitch about how busy it was. Don’t’ complain to the shop assistant working the midnight close about how much you still have to do. Don’t buy shit you don’t need. Don’t buy shit they don’t need. Don’t abandon your trolley in the middle of the aisle for ten minutes whilst you examine dips. Don’t take your shopping trolley laden with groceries to the self-service check out.  Don’t panic buy food (you fucking moron). Don’t take your husband / boyfriend to Farmers. Be prepared to walk a whopping thirty meters from your car park to the shop. Indicate. Let other drivers in. Get a taxi. If someone is looking a bit sad, give them a hug. Tip your hairdresser. Take a gift for the host. Make sure no one has an empty glass. Don’t play Snoopy’s Christmas. If you don’t know what to get for a Secret Santa, just get them some wine or chocolate. Call your Mum. Don’t ask if you can help, just do it. Don’t be an asshole.

If in doubt, stay home, have a whisky and watch Star Wars.

Got that?

xo

A THOUSAND KISSES DEEP…

A THOUSAND KISSES DEEP

You came to me this morning
And you handled me like meat.
You´d have to live alone to know
How good that feels, how sweet.
My mirror twin, my next of kin,
I´d know you in my sleep.
And who but you would take me in
A thousand kisses deep?

I loved you when you opened
Like a lily to the heat.
I´m just another snowman
Standing in the rain and sleet,
Who loved you with his frozen love
His second-hand physique –
With all he is, and all he was
A thousand kisses deep.

All soaked in sex, and pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
We made it to the forward deck
I blessed our remnant fleet –
And then consented to be wrecked
A thousand kisses deep.

I know you had to lie to me,
I know you had to cheat.
But the Means no longer guarantee
The Virtue in Deceit.
That truth is bent, that beauty spent,
That style is obsolete –
Ever since the Holy Spirit went
A thousand kisses deep.

(So what about this Inner Light
That´s boundless and unique?
I´m slouching through another night
A thousand kisses deep.)

I´m turning tricks; I´m getting fixed,
I´m back on Boogie Street.
I tried to quit the business –
Hey, I´m lazy and I´m weak.
But sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go
A thousand kisses deep.

(And fragrant is the thought of you,
The file on you complete –
Except what we forgot to do
A thousand kisses deep.)

The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it´s done –
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it´s real
A thousand kisses deep.

(I jammed with Diz and Dante –
I did not have their sweep –
But once or twice, they let me play
A thousand kisses deep.)

And I´m still working with the wine,
Still dancing cheek to cheek.
The band is playing “Auld Lang Syne” –
The heart will not retreat.
And maybe I had miles to drive,
And promises to keep –
You ditch it all to stay alive
A thousand kisses deep.

And now you are the Angel Death
And now the Paraclete;
And now you are the Savior’s Breath
And now the Belsen heap.
No turning from the threat of love,
No transcendental leap –
As witnessed here in time and blood
A thousand kisses deep.

– By Leonard Cohen

*SIGH*

I went to see Leonard Cohen last night as part of his current world tour. It was my first time. Despite going in already a devout fan, aware of his  genius, his skill, his influence, the show was everything and still a thousand times more than I expected.

I’m still in this insular phase where I just want to exist within the concert. Remember. Ponder. Think. Absorb. Learn. But not discuss. Nor share. (Unless you were there too). It’s impact was so I feel like sharing will steal some of the memories from me.

Yeah, I get like weird that over things, anything, that really imprints on me. Which isn’t as frequent as I would like.

But one thing, one piece from the night hit me more than most, that I do want to share: the original poem version of “A Thousand Kisses Deep”, performed by Leonard in spoken word.

Maybe it was because I’ve spent a lot of time recently reading others and thinking about creating my own poetry (note the word thinking and NOT actually doing) that this spoken piece hit me as much as anything else performed as a song.

Yet, to be honest, it was probably just the beautiful words in Cohen’s, crisp, low, sultry voice that swooned the hell out me…

A PROPOSITION…

Hey you.

Run away with me

To Iceland

We’ll hunt out Bjork

And make her come play

We’ll get some Coke (diet)

And Whiskey (top shelf)

And have a party

Then

Afterwards

We will sleep

For three days straight

I ask  for nothing in return

Just

Please don’t roll your eyes

When I play the Arctic Monkeys

For the seventh time that day

Otherwise

We’ll be just fine

So?

Gloomy Northern (snow) Men…

Remember how I said I was going to learn lots of poetry? 

HA!

Yeah, that’s a work in progress. I’m a busy lass. 

But I have still been reading (and listening to) a lot of poetry. I especially love the work of Roger McGough. I think this comes back to my affinity with gloomy men from Northern England. I have an army of them (Cocker, Morrissey and Bennett to name a few). 

This army may not win for me any physical turf wars, but they possess words of steel, and if all else fails they can moan and depress enemies to their death. And they all wear bloody great blazers. 

It snowed here in Chch, a teeny tiny bit yesterday. So why don’t you inhale this nice / bleak poem about a Snowman?   

The Trouble with Snowmen

‘The trouble with snowmen,’
Said my father one year
‘They are no sooner made
than they just disappear.

I’ll build you a snowman
And I’ll build it to last
Add sand and cement
And then have it cast.

And so every winter,’
He went on to explain
‘You shall have a snowman
Be it sunshine or rain.’

And that snowman still stands
Though my father is gone
Out there in the garden
Like an unmarked gravestone.

Staring up at the house
Gross and misshapen
As if waiting for something
Bad to happen.

For as the years pass
And I grow older
When summers seem short
And winters colder.

The snowmen I envy
As I watch children play
Are the ones that are made
And then fade away. 

Roger McGough

 

 

 

Be good xox

The Reason I Write…

If you ever go away anywhere with me (i.e whisk me away on some global city mini break (open to invites, people…I hear Copenhagen is nice this time of year)) and we get lost from each other, your best bet is to check the nearest dusty second hand bookshops. You will probably find me there, behind a stack of dusty That’s Life Magazine’s, and the frowny book shop man who is doing something mysterious involving string and a pencil to the spine of a 1983 Dog Breed Encyclopedia.

I just got back from Wellington, and in tow, I brought back a nice wee stack of delicious smelling poetry books.

Including a very sweet Leonard Cohen collection:

I am at that awkward soul searching stage of my late 20’s where I feel the need to be a wanker who has the ability to wistfully recite poems at 3am during some deep, hush toned conversation involving whiskey, high backed armchairs arranged around an open fire and a harmonica. You know, those nights that occur ALL OF THE TIME (never).

So I supppose I’d better start learning some motherfucking poetry, hadn’t I?

…I am starting with this one (not only beacuse it is romantic, but also if I am being honest, becasue it is short):

“The Reason I Write”

by Leonard Cohen

The reason I write
is to make something
as beautiful as you are

When I’m with you
I want to be the kind of hero
I wanted to be
when I was seven years old
a perfect man

who kills

xx