Little Brother, Big Talent

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In this blog I chronicle my search for something – an activity, an idea – that I am passionate about.  Recently I have been thinking about what I will do when I find this illusive interest.  Will I devote myself to this newfound passion full time?  I would like to be able to say yes with confidence, but knowing my personality, I am not certain I can.

But if I want a role model for following one’s passion in life I need look no further than my brother, Daniel.  Dan is an incredibly talented artist.  It is his passion.  He is an inspiration in how and why it is critical to follow your heart.  A few years ago he quit his job to devote himself to art full time.  He is currently studying under the great American portrait artist Nelson Shanks at Studio Incamminati in Philadelphia.

A self portrait

Last Friday his first solo exhibition “Deconstructing Forms” opened at the Banana Factory in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.  It is a retrospective of his pen and ink collection.  I admit that I am completely biased, but they are incredible.  From a distance they look as if they could be photographs, but close-up you can see the amazing detail of every tiny pen stroke. The judge in one art competition compared his technique to that of the French Impressionist George Seurat.

One of the artist’s models, our Dad

It was such a pleasure to be able to see his body of work hanging on the walls and to watch others examine the pieces.  Each time a stranger took a few steps back to get a different perspective on a particular piece, my smile grew wider.  I am so proud of my little brother, both for his talent and the bravery it took to devote himself to a “job” that has no guarantee of success no matter how talented you are, and certainly no guarantee of a steady income.  I am not sure I would be able to do the same thing.

“Uyghur Man”
The artist

The highlight of the night for me was to see Dan — surrounded by his work — greeting friends, family and admirers and receiving the accolades that he so richly deserves.  It was such a wonderful evening and it will continue to inspire me and remind me why I set out on this journey of mine.

A very proud sister

“Deconstructing Forms” runs though March 18, 2012.  To see more of Daniel Mahlman’s work please visit his website. You can see more pictures from the opening on my Facebook page.

I Have a Secret

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I will just come right out and say it: I took a pole dancing class. Yes that’s right, pole dancing.  No need to scroll down, you will find no pictures here!

Now that I have regained your attention…I went to this pole dancing…I mean “Pole Fitness” class and I thought I would feature it in this blog, but I got cold feet.  I was worried what people would think.  I didn’t have this feeling before I tended bar, or before I learned to arrange flowers.  I was worried I would look back at the post and be embarrassed, but I didn’t have this fear when I hung upside-down with my butt in the air struggling with a trapeze.  Why was this shiny pole any different?

Of course, it is obvious why it was different, but should that matter? As the wise Haitian philosopher Wyclef Jean so eloquently put it, “Just ‘cause she dance the go-go, don’t make her a ho, no.”

I was worried that people, that you who read this blog, would think badly of me for trying pole dancing. I now realize, that a) I shouldn’t care so much what people think of me (although I do want you all to be entertained and invested in my journey) and that b) I created this blog because I was exhausted by always doing the “right” thing, so why take a step back now? Heck, if I want to quit my job tomorrow and get a job at Centerfolds then gosh darn it, I should do that!

What I realized while at the class was that it takes a lot of work, and a lot of strength to pole dance.  These ladies can hold themselves in the air vertically, with the pole clenched between their thighs. They were not dressed like floosies, they were dress the same as me in tank tops and yoga pants, although their pants were a foot or so shorter than mine.

My instructor must have been an athlete at some point in her life, although when I asked her how she learned to dance she offered the suspicious answer of “I just picked it up.”  No matter, she was truly amazing and elegant and at the end of class showed us some tricks…not those kinds of tricks…get your mind out of the gutter!

I was not a good pole dancer; I don’t have the strength.  I landed on my knees with loud thuds and I had bruises for weeks.  When I was a child (and let’s be honest, I still hear it to this day) my mother would often console me by saying, “You can’t be good at everything, Emily,” and I take that to heart now.

I walk away from this experience with the resolution not to hold back on these pages, to trust myself enough to try anything, and trust you, my readers, not to judge.

I took my class at Pole Fitness Boston, and I highly recommend it if you are interested in giving it a try.  I was not compensated in any way for this post. 

Back At It

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Those of you have been reading this blog for a while know that one of my first endeavors was upholstery, and I really fell in love!  I may have actually found my passion on one of my first tries!  It combines the physical challenge of breaking down a chair to build it back up, with the creative challenge of choosing fabric, piping and just how cushiony you want your chair (A very important questions as I have discovered). It is the ultimate form of recycling: giving a tied old chair with great bones, a brand new look and a new life.
This chair has great bones, but this fabric is terrible
After bringing one of my grandmother’s piano benches, and an ottoman back to life, I have begun my next class at the Eliot School of Art with a very challenging project: a wing chair.  I found the wing chair on ebay for $99 for a set of two (amazing deal), and I found some gorgeous Hinson & Company fabric at Griswold’s fabric outlet (a treasure trove of designer fabric at deep discount) and hauled it all to Jamaica Plain this past week.
It took over three hours to break down this chair and it was not easy (I have cuts all over my hands to prove it). I pulled out hundreds of stables, yanked the ugly, worn, peachy fabric to shreds and battled some very old, rusty springs.  At one point I was standing on the naked frame of my soon-to-be-beautiful chair pulling at a tiny strip of fabric as if a mugger just stole my purse.
Hinson & Company Fabric
My teacher tells me that it could take me several months’ worth of classes to finish this chair, and I will have to get very comfortable with a sewing machine.  As a result, you won’t get as many updates this time around, and I won’t get the sort of instant gratification that I received from my smaller projects last spring.  But I promise to post tons of pictures of the final product!
My naked chair
Until then I will be hard at work creating my dream chair! And those of you who have asked if I take custom orders, this project should get me to a level where I can reupholster your furniture without losing any limbs (both mine and your chairs’)!

Just Put Your Lips Together and Blow

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Humphrey Bogart made it sound so easy.

I have never been able to whistle, and I had only slightly more luck blowing glass. My motivation for visiting the Diablo Glass School was simple: I needed a great Christmas gift!  I really like to give thoughtful, preferably, homemade gifts. I have already knitted gifts for everyone I possibly can, and I needed to take it up a notch.  So when a friend suggested we try glass blowing I jumped at the idea!

We arrived at the glass school — which resembled a large unfinished basement with large old furnaces –and the warmth from the ovens chased away my winter chill.  But I was suddenly overwhelmed with the long list of rules I was told I needed to abide by so that I would not get burned. The glass can get as hot as 2,000 degrees, which would not only chase away any chill, but would most likely melt away my skin as well.
Our teacher said he would be with me every step of the way, but I wanted to make sure he would literally be next to me, in case I forgot and handled the metal blow pipe too far down where it is still still conducting heat.
Rolling my uber-hot glass blob in color

To blow glass you need the aforementioned long metal pipe called a blow pipe.  It is hollow so that when you have a dollop of melting glass on its end, you can blow into the pipe and inflate your glassy blob.  I grabbed my pipe and stuck it into a furnace and collected an Anjou pear-size serving of glass.  This is when the tough part starts.  The glass is so hot and malleable that you must continuously spin the pipe to keep the glass centered on the end of the wand, and prevent it from dripping off the end of the pipe like molasses.  Then you add color to your blob by rolling it in piles of what resembles colored kitty litter.  The chromatic morsels are in fact glass, and once they are heated along with my blob ‘o glass their color bleeds to create a beautiful speckled affect.

Once you have colored your blob the really difficult – and I felt totally embarrassing—part of the process begins: blowing the glass.  The name really does say it all, you blow into the opposite end of the blow pipe as your glass blob and the air you exhale inflates the glass.  The problem was not that I didn’t know what to do, our teacher gave very clear instructions, but it was those instructions and my inability to follow them that made for a few ridiculous moments.
Attempting to blow

“Blow harder.”  “Blow softer.”  “Blow as if you were whispering.”
Those were the directions I was given as the teacher rolled the blow pipe over his knees to keep the glass centered on the pipe.  First off, his directions were making me laugh making it difficult to sustain a long exhale into the pipe.  Secondly, the rolling of the pipe mean I had to move my mouth side-to-side with the pipe, while blowing and simultaneously attempting to stifle laughter.  Lastly, no matter if I was blowing hard or soft I saw no effect on my glass.  I imagined it would be like blowing up a balloon, but no, nothing.  My glass did no inflate. I felt ridiculous. In my defense the two friends I was with were also laughing.  One even had to put her head inside her turtleneck collar to prevent a full-blown belly laugh at my expense.
An even more flattering angle

Thankfully Diablo makes this process fool-proof (emphasis on the “fool”).  Once I did as much as I could (I was blowing really hard with no noticeable effect on my glass) my teacher made some adjustments to my work so that it did eventually resemble an ornament.  He took my glass ball off the blow pipe, used some hot glass to create a hook for hanging the popped it in an over to slowly bring down the ornaments temperature.  (If you let it sit out at room temperature the glass would crack).

I am certainly not Chihuly I don’t think blowing glass is my next passion, but I have a beautiful blue and green ornament that will look amazing on a tree and will always make me giggle and dream of a day that I can talk about blowing and not lose it!
My beautiful ornament.

I’m Baaaack…

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But not in a Freddie Kruger way, I swear.  I have to apologize and explain my long absence from this blog.  As you may have noticed, up until this point I have not identified myself clearly nor posted head-on pictures of me.  Now, you can clearly see what I look like, and the “emm” has been replaced with “Emily.”  That’s right, my name is Emily, and I’m proud of it!

Why the secrecy?  Well, I previous held a job that I feared would be compromised by my adventures.  Well, not exactly compromised, but I was worried the Boston Herald would splash a “State Agency Spokes Finds Her Passion in a Back Bay Bar” headline across its cover or something salacious like that.  Although, I am sure a lot of Bostonians have found passion in the dark corner of a bar…so maybe that would have won me more fans…

At the end of the summer I changed jobs and now my employer not only allows, but would likely applaud me for having a blog.  From their perspective the fact that over 1,000 of you have read (and hopefully enjoyed) my blog over the past year is actually a plus!  I am slowly adjusting to this new “creative work environment:” I bought my first pair of skinny jeans, albeit at Target seeing I am not confident in my embrace of this trend.  I now say things like “totes” and “OMG” out loud and in email.  And, best of all, I am getting back into writing and will be picking back up my search for my passion!
I have actually tried a few new things during my hiatus, including glass blowing and pole dancing …yes, pole dancing (look what this creative work environment has done to me!) that I will be sharing with you over the next few weeks.  In addition, I am now taking requests as well!  If you would like me to try your passion on for size or would like to suggest something to set me up for total embarrassment, bring it on!  I have veto power, of course, but it may be tough to say no to my first request.  So comment below and read what happens!
Thank you for reading! It feels fantastic to be back. This is going to be totes amaz!

And I Call My Activities “Adventures?”

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I have been following the updates of two friends who have set off on a huge adventure, and it has made me second-guess my use of that word in this blog.
Camilla and Ali in Vail
Through pictures, videos, and a fun and fabulous blog Camilla Bradley and Ali Pearson have been documenting their cross-country adventure.  Camilla is the founder — and namesake — of CK Bradley, a line of colorful dresses, bags and accessories that I have loved for years.  She has now moved on to more wintry wear: Après by CK Bradley.  She packed up the preppy prints in favor of pom-poms.  She has launched a collection of retro-inspired ski apparel for women that’s sure to turn helmets on the slopes.  And launching a new venture in a still-troubled economy isn’t even the adventurous part of the story.  She packed a Suburban and an Airstream with Après goodies, two dogs and Ali and set off on a three month road trip to spread the word about Après at mountains across the country.  
The idea behind Apres had been brewing in Camilla’s head for a few years.  Last year she worn a sample — inspired by her mom’s ski suit from the ’70s – while in Jackson Hole.  “People would stop me on the chair lift, on the slopes, on the street to give me their emails for the upcoming ski line,” she says.  “It was the same enthusiasm I felt when I first started making belts for friends at Trinity a decade ago.”

But a road trip across the country in an airstream with a friend and two dogs?  “The road trip had more to do with what I wanted to do than what the business should do.  The idea of hitting the road and amazing destinations for work rather than vacation was a dream come true.  I mean, who doesn’t want to go from mountain to mountain wearing ski apparel that makes everyone smile or comment while living in an Airstream with a good friend, your dog and no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow?!”

In Ali, Camilla found the perfect wing woman.  “I have a hard time sitting still,” explains Ali.  “I love the open road, and am always up for an adventure, so when Camilla asked me to join her on the road, I didn’t blink an eye.  I’m not sure either of us had a clue what we were getting ourselves into, but I have loved every minute of it.  I feel alive.” 

Apres in Action
“Launching Apres has really defined living for me,” Camilla explains.  “Every day brings a new adventure — be it stranded on the side of the road or meeting ski legends on the slopes — and I’m excited to see what next month, let alone next year brings.”
The response to Apres – and the road trip — has been overwhelming.  “One of the most surprising things is hearing that we are really living a lot of peoples’ dream right now,” says Camilla.  “We meet so many people who look at us and say, ‘Do you realize you have the best job in the world?’  We, of course, realized that this was a dream come true for us, but not that so many other people dreamed of such an adventure as well.  What’s more, we have been overwhelmed by how welcoming the ski community is.  People we have never met are constantly offering their houses to us (AND our two dogs!) or trying to figure out how else they may be able to help.  We have found that everywhere we go, people want to help.  Whether they are lending their driveway, their shower, their press connections or their expertise in changing tires, everyone offers a helping hand.  We are so grateful to each and every person we’ve met.” 
How can you resist?
Camilla and Ali’s three-month-long adventure makes my afternoon as a circus performer seem down right boring. In this way the Après gals have inspired me to take it up a notch, take a bigger risk. Stay tuned!  And while you wait for me to pull something exciting out of my blogger’s hat, why don’t you order yourself some chic ski wear for that last ski weekend of the season: www.apresck.com

Ready, Set…Let Go

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To be honest, (and why lie in a self-indulgent blog read only by a gaggle fabulous friends) my decision to go to trapeze school was a little superficial.  I thought it would be dramatic, provide ridiculous pictures…but I admit it was a gimicie “adventure.”  I never for a second thought I might actually become a trapeze artist or any other type of circus performer no matter how quickly I took to trapeze.  I am not particularly afraid of heights, so I wouldn’t be overcoming a life-long fear.  I was actually more nervous about wearing yoga pants in public than flying through the air two stories above the ground.  But it surprisingly turned out to be a tremendous learning experience for me.

I won’t mince words: I am terrible at the trapeze.  Ter-ri-ble.  Probably the worst person to ever attempt this airborne apparatus.

I showed up for class at the Trapeze School New York in Reading, Massachusetts with two friends: one who was taking the class with me, another to document my attempt to fly through the air with the greatest of ease.  As it turns out nothing I did on the trapeze that day came easily.
Getting ready to fly
The instructors talked us through what we would be doing: swinging on the trapeze with our hands hip width apart, then at the precisely right point we would hook our legs around the bar then let go!  We would then swing upside-down with our arms extended, then grab the bar again, unhook our legs while continuing to swing.  Finally we would dismount by doing a back flip and land on the padded net below.  Easy, right?  Well, they said it would be, if we listened to them and did what they told us to do when they told us to do it.  I asked a barrage of questions about timing and the impact of one’s body weight and flexibility (or in my case the lack there of).  The instructors dutifully answered all my questions, but kept reminding me, “You just have to listen to us.”  When I responded that I was a good listener so that would not be a problem, one of the teachers was skeptical.  He had seen a lot of different personalities here, he explained to me, and I struck him as someone who thinks too much. Of course, he was totally right.  I always believe I can figure out a better way to do something, and I was doing that as I prepared to take on the trapeze.
One by one we climbed up two stories to a platform where we were hooked onto safety lines.  Very quickly (I assume so we did not chicken out) we were instructed to stand with our toes on the edge of the deck.  “Ready?”  I bent my legs.  “Hup?” I hopped off the platform and was flying through the air. I should have known that jumping off the platform wouldn’t be the hard part.
Attempting to “hook my legs”
I was moving too fast to focus on anything.  I know the instructor on the ground must have said, “Hook your legs,” but I didn’t hear a thing.  I did attempt to hoist my legs up over the bar, but I was told afterward that I did it before I was told to.  I could not get my legs up over the bar.  I swung back and forth trying in vain to lift them up. Nothing.  I dismounted — no back flip for me — by flopping to the mat.  I needed to stop thinking and just listen I was told.  I went back up to the top and tried swinging again. “The first swing is for fear, the second swing is for fun,” they said.  I was actually more terrified the second time.  I knew what to expect this time around.  My hands burned from hanging on to the bar for dear life and I had a funny feeling in my stomach…something between nervousness and nausea.
My private trapeze tutorial not going very well
Again I tried to lift my legs and hook them over the trapeze bar.  Again…nothing.  My hands burned so much I was worried I was going to lose my grip.  After this swing, my friend and I  (she had not yet hooked her leg either – thank goodness I was not the only one) were taken to a practice area on the ground with a bar that was about five feet above the ground.  It felt like trapeze Special Ed.  Here I got some one-on-one assistance, and even then I could not hook my legs.  My instructor said that maybe I should try a different technique to get my legs up and over the bar.  Instead of having my arms shoulder width apart on the bar and bringing my legs up, and between my torso and the bar, I would swing with my hands right next to each other on the bar, I would bring my legs around the bar (spread eagle) then hook them over the bar outside of my arms.  This, they called “hocks style.”  I was the only one using this technique and every time I swung, the instructor would yell “Hocks,” because I really needed even more attention drawn to the fact that I was the worst trapeze student ever.
Hocks Style
After a few swings attempting hock style I still had not been able to hook my legs.  My friend had gracefully mastered hooking her legs and I was the only member of the class (which included children) who had yet to do it.  I was extremely frustrated, but then I actually resigned myself to the fact that I would not be able to do it.  I am not particularly good at being bad at things, but I was impressed with my ability to rationalize the fact that if the flying trapeze was one of the things in my life that I am not good at, that was ok.  I started to think that maybe I would sit out the rest of the class and spare myself the embarrassment of squirming mid-air above spectators.  I figured that the lesson I would take away from this adventure would be that I am not going to excel at everything I attempt…and that is just fine.
I climbed up the stairs to the platform one last time, comfortable with the fact that I was not going to hook my legs.  As I approached the edge of the platform for what I thought would be my final swing, Jen one of the instructor said, “Just stop thinking.  Let go.  Listen to him (him being the instructor who was giving me commands during my swing from the ground).”  I repeated her manta to myself a few times before I jumped off the platform. “Just let go.  Just let go.”  This time as I flew through the air I could actually hear the instructions “hook your legs” and I did!  It was not easy, fast or graceful but somehow I managed to get my legs around the bar and hook them over.  I released my grip on the bar when told and flew upside down with my arms extended.  Then I heard “hands on,” which meant I should grab the bar once again, unhook my legs and prepare to dismount.  I grabbed the bar again, but when I tried to unhook my legs I realized that a corner of my yoga pants was wedged between my palm and the bar.  I started to wiggle my grip in an attempt to free my pants.  This seemed to go on for quite a while.  In reality I am hoping no one noticed, but judging from the applause coming from my classmates and two friends below everyone noticed.  When I finally got my feet back on solid ground I realized that my instructors were right: it didn’t take that much strength or flexibility to hook my legs.  What it took was for me to relax…let go…and listen to the experts.  I had to surrender in order to succeed.

I managed to hook my legs for a second time on my next swing.  The rest of the class was moving on to “catching” when another person on a second trapeze grabs them by their outstretched arms and their legs slide off the bar.  I was feeling pretty proud of myself, satisfied with the experience and comfortable with the skills I had acquired, so I skipped the catching part.  I thought I should end on a high note…and not press my luck.

Thanks go to Laura and Cori for coming with me.  Two familiar smiles in the face if total humiliation and unexpected success made all the difference.  I’d also like to thank all the instructors at Trapeze School New York for their help and their patience.  They believed in me when I did not believe in myself.  They also taught me a very valuable lesson, one that I will continue to work on: Relax…let go.  Its amazing what you can accomplish when you stop stressing.

Click here to see more pictures from my trapeze adventure.  While I took my class at Trapeze School New York, I was not compensated in any way for this post.

The Sweet Smell of Success

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My first upholstery project is complete!  I finished on Tuesday and I really am busting at the seams over how good I think it looks: the fabulous fabric…the dark shiny wood…the tight pleats on the corners of the cushion.  I love it!  It fits perfectly in a little nook in my bedroom by a window. In fact, it has created the perfect window seat for me to perch and look out on to Worcester Square (although in the cold, dark land known as New England in Winter there’s not too much too watch – except for snow melting). 
I was practically giddy throughout this week’s class because I finally got to work with the beautiful fabric I had bought weeks ago: a modified ikat print in several shades of blue.  It’s from the Iman – yes as in David Bowie’s wife — collection from Calico Corners.  I was so excited to finish the bench that I nearly ruined it by not making sure the fabric was situated just right on the bench.  The center of the almost egg-like design had to be in the exact center of the bench.  I figured with an abstract print it didn’t really matter, but my teacher Paul was adamant that I would regret it if I didn’t “measure twice and cut once,” as my father would say.
As I left the small wood-framed school house that is the Eliot School of Fine and Applied Arts — nearly tripping up the stairs with my bench awkwardly balanced on my back — I was more proud of myself then I have been in a very long time.  I was really very blasé when I was nominated for an Emmy as part of the production team of “Rules of Engagement,” and it wasn’t about feigning false modesty.  I was over it at that point, “it” being news, New York, TV, everything that had been so central to my previous life.  The weekend the Emmys were handed out (not to us) I was packing up to drive to Boston and into my new life (remember I have a flare for the dramatics). 
Completing this little bench, and having it look so good left a bigger grin on my face than that Emmy nod. I realized this on my bench and mine walk to my car. I initially thought I should have my head examined.  But then it dawned on me that this was one of the surest signs yet that I made the right decision by making a big change in my life.  The sense of satisfaction I got from finishing this silly little bench was a beacon for me to see where this new life of mine — not to mention this blog — takes me!

Mental Block

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 @font-face { font-family: “Times New Roman”;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; I have been hunting for my next upholstery project and the bold fabric that will become its second skin.  Conveniently, this month’s House Beautiful is devoted to the celebration of pink.  While I like to use pink as an accent color in my wardrobe, I had never thought about using it on a chair.  It just has always seemed like too much, until I saw it in action.  The layouts got my colorful creative juices flowing and I started to daydream about starting my own business like my upholstery hero (yes, I have an upholstery hero) Molly Andrews, the woman behind Chairloom.  I imagined all the old chairs I could rehab and give a second, colorful life.  I imagined a tiny brightly painted storefront tucked into a corner of a cobblestone-lined street. 

I quickly pulled myself out of the fantasy with a mental quip dripping with self-condescension, “way to waste that brain of yours.”  Upholstering is creative and physically challenging, but not a heavy mental workout.  But does it have to be?  I have spent years of my life giving my synapses reason to fire.  What’s wrong with giving them a break to do something fulfilling in an entirely different way?  I have always felt the need to push myself intellectually, but now it seems that I have boxed myself into a mindset that requires any vocational pursuit to be an intellectual one; that anything worth doing demands analytical thinking, or demonstrates analytical thinking.  Now, I am not a member of Mensa, so my occupation shouldn’t require me to prove my intellectual capacity. Am I closing myself off to exciting, new, creative possibilities just because that little type-A monster is rearing her strawberry blond head again?
This quandary won’t be solved in a single self-run therapy session, but as I continue upholstering (as well as my future adventures) I’m going to have to try to come to terms with the idea that my passion may not validate my intelligence — and that’s not a tragedy.  That’s life.

Hitting the Nail on the Head

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I have made some serious progress on my little bench!  I didn’t post after last week’s class because I had a run-in with a can of wood stain and had no pictures to share.  Let me catch you up: I sanded my bench to get rid of all the little nicks and scrapes it has suffered through over the last 60 some odd years. I learned how to use a power sander, which provides a work-out that I would imagine to be close to that of a shake weight (note: I have no experience with the latter). Then I started re-staining it…and that’s where the trouble began.  My teacher, Paul, gave me clear plastic gloves to keep my hands clean as I applied the stain to the bench with a large wad of cotton (this raw, fluffy cotton is used to cushion pieces of furniture).  I took the gloves off in between staining and wiping the excess stain off.  But when I put the gloved back on I put them on inside out…so stain was caked in every cranny and crevice of my hands.  Hence no pictures.

After a good scrubbing with paint thinner (followed by a great deal of moisturizer) I was back in action last night getting acquainted with some new (or at least new to me) tools.  I did a lot of work with a magnetic hammer (in an effort to get the cushion on my seat in place and ready for fabric) and I now feel that ALL hammers should be magnetic.  Seriously, no one would ever hit their finger again.  My teacher had quite a technique, and kids, don’t try this at home, he put at least 10 #4 tacks in his mouth and when he was ready for a new one would stick a tack half way out of his lips, bring the hammer close to it so it would magnetically stick to the hammer then he would drive it into the base of the bench that will support my cushion.  He was really like a squirrel with nuts, except his nuts were sharp and dangerous.  He said he has swallowed three in his upholstery career. I tried this technique once, but got nervous and spontaneously gagged and nearly swallowed the tack.  I decided to leave the stunts to the experts.  Paul even told me that upholstery tacks are sanitized because experienced upholsterers always use their mouth as a staging ground.  

So this week I got the seat of the bench prepped with foam, cotton and next week will be fabric time!  I am also looking for my next project…a chair that has springs, but that is not so complicated that it will take a year for me to upholster.  If you have a chair with a medium amount of upholstered surfaces that you would like to become my next masterpiece send me a picture!