Street life, it's the only life I know

Stop me if I’ve told you this, but the best thing (for me) about living in Barcelona is the ‘free furniture days’. I fear that is not the official term, I’m not sure there is an official term.

Nevertheless, it is an amazingly exciting thing. Let me bring you up to speed peops.

Every area has a day of the week when you can put out on the street any unwanted/broken pieces or furniture, or indeed anything else, for the council to come and collect. Naturally the more thrifty individuals choose these days to go ‘stuff-hunting’. I am firmly one such individual. In fact, when my flatmate told me of this phenomena, I was nearly sick and went straight out, literally eight hours too early (10pm is the optimum hour in my hood) , on the off chance that the early bird does indeed catch the worm. It didn’t. But I have honed the art, and in the style of Yardsale Bloodbath, here are some of my beauts.

A beautiful bird cage with heart motif. (Tiago quote: ‘Think of all the dead birds that once lived in there.)

Hand-painted frame with ‘gold’ leaf inlay. (I’m pretty convinced some Catalan girl was trying to have to it off me the night I found it, but I refused to let go of it whilst she was admiring it. You got to watch out for that.)

Shop display torso. (There was actually about twelve and I picked them all up screaming ‘They’re mine!’, until Harriet convinced me that one was probably enough. The jury’s still out on that.)

Three-quarters empty church candles. (These can be found by the box load round the back of the Cathedral on Thursday evenings. Damn it! I’ve spilled the beans, now everyone will be there. Tiago quote: ‘That’s other peoples’ prayers and wishes’, my quote ‘Yeah Tiago, did I mention they were free?’.)

Full length bevelled mirror. (Found at the same time as another more antiquey mirror for the bathroom, but the bathroom is too skanky for you to see. That’s the thing about mirrors, they reflect stuff.)

THE SEWING STASH. That’s right people, feast your eyes. And for the record, those reels of thread are just a fraction of what I picked up that night, which in turn was just a fraction of what was in the box. The little red things are size tabs. I have to be honest, the sewing machine is broken, but the high we achieved when we found it well out did the disapointment in discovering it didn’t work. I don’t remember EVER being that exicted in my whole life. Including the time when my dad told me we were going to a panto JUST AFTER seeing a panto piece on Blue Peter. Anyway, I’m hanging onto the machine in case I meet someone who can fix it. Maybe I’ll find one on the street!

The mini-stash of buttons and hook and eyes were found in Gotico one day when I was feeling pretty down. Like Barcelona gave me a little gift and was saying ‘Cheer up love’. Thanks Barcelona, I have.

Detections for our imminent viewing pleasure

My mother, whom, it could be argued, I unofficially employ as a cultural correspondent, keeping an eye out for interesting things whilst my attention is elsewhere, is pretty-bloody-awesome. She has just informed me of a new Coen Brothers film shortly to be released called Burn After Reading. So highly tuned are her skills, that she is able to acquire, assimilate and report such exciting and socially relevant news without even removing her fluffy slippers, and can do so on the way to putting the kettle on. Undeniably strong skills indeed. Remind me to give her a raise.

Check the poster above. How nice is that!? Viewing the artwork only further ignited my excitement. But wait.......! Those colours, that font, the mysterious silhouette. Have we not seen this somewhere before? Perhaps if we were cast our minds back into the graphic design history of the late 20th century........ Ta da!

I'm sure the graphic designer who created the Burn After Reading poster was creating a deliberate reference, and subsequently I can hardly feel smug for making the connection. Next time you see me however, ask me to tell you the true story about when Jimmy Stewart was in the back of my Grandad's taxi.... It's a good one.

The Pleasure/Pain Theory

Two months. No sewing for two months. It´s horrible. I´ve gone through the cold-turkey sweats, the anguish, the dull ache of yearning, and still the pain of loss refuses to die. Two months, people.

I try and alleviate my symptoms by sometimes checking my various favourite sewing blogs, to see what amazing stuff people have been making. It´s sado-masochistic, as the pleasure is laced with fresh pain when I see stuff like this:


This amazing African print dress was made by a girl from London using a vintage dress pattern. More on this dress can be found here.

Let me explain. It´s not just jealousy that is stirred, although I would be the first to admit that that emotion is very present. It´s like this: I love African fabric and had been using it more and more before I left for Barcelona (and temporarily left my favourite passtime). I also have a vintage pattern addiction, and have for some time thinking I should start wearing more dresses. Now I´m not saying that, given time, I would have inevitably have conjured up a similar creation, it´s just all these elements in one amazingly executed example of home sewing is just a bit more than my fragile heart can bear!

I´m heading back to the UK in a couple of weeks and have set myself the challenge of making a new creation whilst I am there. I won´t have enough time to produce a dress, but I predict the pains will cease for a while.

I heart sitting around

How good is sitting around?! Normally I´ve got heaps of stuff to do. However, my present combination of unemployment, lack of sewing machine and computer and Top Gear repeats, it being too hot and the general Barcelona social culture has meant I´ve been clocking up the sitting-around-hours with ease, both on my own and with friends. In fact, there are so many cafes and bars here that I seriously question how the economy can support them all. Subsequently, I believe frequenting my favourites ones is a duty that I cannot shy away from, for fear of them closing. This happened in Nottingham, when the K9 Cafe closed down whilst my back was turned when I was in New Zealand. I´m not letting that happen again. Not on my watch.

In the image above I am chilling with some crew in a nice cafe called Babel in the Gottico area. And yes, I did make that blouse, thanks for asking. From a one pound table cloth as a matter of fact.

Sitting on my arse has recently resulted in some major ideas generation and discussion. All sorts of creative plans and projects are subsequently afoot. However, this inspiration could also be the result of the three electric shocks I have sustained from my bathroom this week. Either way, watch this space!

Shining the light from the style-torch

Kay. For the record, I love Barcelona. But if there´s one thing that has become more special to me than Barcelona, it´s.... actually scrap that. If there´s one thing that has heightened my love of Barcelona it´s Candela Casagrande! Let me introduce you:

May I explain. My adopted Dads took us for breakfast the other day, and we were sitting in the cafe when this lady walked in, and they nearly puked with excitement. Bascially, she is apparantly some sort of bar fly that hangs out exclusively in the eating and drinking establishments around the tiny Placa Sortidor, a square in the area of Poble Sec. I believe to see her may well be some sort of lucky omen.

She is a special treat, whose image must be carefully receorded. Hence this type of image:



Let´s analyse her style. Hmmmm, DAMN GOOD is my conclusion. I totally love the fact that she is carefully dressed, coifured and made-up, despite pushing ninety. She clearly understands the value of appearance as a medium of social interaction and communication. That looking good and taking time on your style is both an expression of and a method of developement of your self esteem.

I REALLY hate it when women no longer give a crap about how they look after, and often way before, the menopause. From what I´ve seen that seems to be exactly to time for self-definition, and maybe a little re-invention. Candela is an inspiration, and has reminded me of the importance of such self-expression. I guess recently hanging out almost exclusively with cerebral-types has put my naturally visual-self slightly on the back burner. That and it´s fu****g hot so wearing small, loose clothes has been a priority this week.

In case you were wondering what such a sassy individual would rock in the colder months, let me enlighten you:


You know that´s real fur. These images are care of Isi, an individual always selflessly on the front line, putting himself out there, ready to pounce and capture such essentially imagery. He is clearly a master of covert photography. Once more for the road Brother Isi:


Oh, and there is a distinct possibility that she isn´t called Candela Casagrande, seeing as we made it up! We were sitting in the cafe trying to think what this style-icon would be called. Casagrande is the mental surname (Bighouse?!) of some surreal psychic Lee went to visit recently, who may well have changed his life by announcing he has ´latent psychic tendancies´. It seemed an appropriatly imposing surname for our subject. And Candela? That´s the Spanish word for the ´light of a candle´. And as I think you can agree, she shines!!!!!!!

Relocate and refocus

Little did the city of Barcelona know in March '08, that just four months later it would be about to suffer a further, more thorough assault of the Zoe-kind! Because people, THAT'S JUST WHAT'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN! Have they received the memo?! Because I mean business.......

As you can see from these images taken on that spring visit, I'm rocking a strong home-made garment look. Damn!

This outfit is particularly good because I made the dress, jacket AND bag! If I could make tights and shoes I would.... I've been making clothes for some time now, but it never ceases to fascinate me that I have produced something that when worn, actually fulfills it's function, by and large, as good as a purchased garment. Let alone three. All at once.

The dress was made from the cheapest fabric available in the UK,from a pattern I adapted from a Built by Wendy Simplicity pattern. The jacket pattern was adapted from a 1960's pattern purchased on ebay. (What have I told you previously? Can't leave them patterns alone. I'm always monkey-ing with them.) The fabric was 'aquired' from my previous job, with applied swallow patches. Sadly you are unable to see the AWESOME lining, which is a Vegas style print cotton featuring playing cards and chips purchased in Britex in San Francisco. I'll try and take a photo of that some time. Honestly, I'm tempted to wear it inside out!

In case you weren't sure if the jacket worked in an evening setting, let me just clarify the situation for you:

I think you'll find it works just fine! The top in this picture is also another creation from the same Built by Wendy pattern. I've leant the pattern to the lovely Michelle at the moment so can't check the pattern number. Can't wait to see her interpretations!

I fully intend to stick to my no-buying new garments pledge whilst in Barcelona. This may prove more of a challenge than previously because, at least initally, I won't have a sewing machine, fabric or equipment. I will have to rely on the things I take out ith me, and any second-hand finds to give me the new-stuff fix I often crave. I'm so committed to the pledge though, fear not.

Because my creations will probably be more infrequent, I plan to focus this blog more on the gathering and documenting of the inspiration I discover in Barcelona. Exciting times. Watch this space.....

'All is well that ends'

This is the first post I have created, possibly ever will create, where I knew the title before I started to write it. This evening I was sorting through and packing all my sewing stuff whilst half cut. (Perhaps I am one step from alcoholism, but I couldn't handle packing up my life once again without a drink to make things a bit fuzzy!)

Well, anyway. I discovered a long forgotten piece of paper that had written on it 'all is well that ends' in my hand writing. I have the vaguest memory of it, but tonight it felt a bit like an old version of me was talking to the today-me, reminding myself that this shitty time is transient, just a stage that will soon pass onto other more enjoyable times.

I don't plan to make a habit of sentimental posts, so please forgive and indulge me this one.