silly petty
The transience of my silly putty creations amuses me to no end. The stuff is pretty damn soft: if I roll it into a ball, it will be a flattened egg in two minutes, a smoothly rounded oval in 15 minutes, and a puddle conforming to its container in an hour. This means that I have to conceive of all of the parts that go into a sculpture before I make it, as well as the relative sizes of the segments I must tear off (tearing off an appropriately-sized hunk being no mean feat). Then I have to work to shape and assemble them all before any of them melts too much -- the final product has to be well-formed and recognizable.
Once it's done, I set it on my desk and watch it droop and fall and return to its natural puddly state. srd's inadvertent suggestion of pigs has shaped my creations a bit: pigs, as it turns out, are very satisfying. Pink, easy to make and naturally squat and rounded, they're perfectly suited to the medium. Plus, when they melt, the wilted ears and squiggly tail outline ensure that the object is recognizable for a long time.
It reminds me of all the time I used to spend modeling things with fimo. I remember spending two days making a doll of my then-beau as a gift; the short curly hair and long eyelashes and shy physical aspect took a long time to get right, and the finished product had its eyes closed. I felt like I'd studied him in miniature. My mother loved it - she always thought he was a nice boy, climbing trees with me, bringing me fresh cookies when I was sick, reading to me, the works. She found me a small rectangular box and we lined it with tissue paper and when I laid him in it, gently, I actually shivered: it looked so final and grim. "Don't think that," she said, even though I hadn't told her what was on my mind. "Just don't. It's OK."
Once it's done, I set it on my desk and watch it droop and fall and return to its natural puddly state. srd's inadvertent suggestion of pigs has shaped my creations a bit: pigs, as it turns out, are very satisfying. Pink, easy to make and naturally squat and rounded, they're perfectly suited to the medium. Plus, when they melt, the wilted ears and squiggly tail outline ensure that the object is recognizable for a long time.
It reminds me of all the time I used to spend modeling things with fimo. I remember spending two days making a doll of my then-beau as a gift; the short curly hair and long eyelashes and shy physical aspect took a long time to get right, and the finished product had its eyes closed. I felt like I'd studied him in miniature. My mother loved it - she always thought he was a nice boy, climbing trees with me, bringing me fresh cookies when I was sick, reading to me, the works. She found me a small rectangular box and we lined it with tissue paper and when I laid him in it, gently, I actually shivered: it looked so final and grim. "Don't think that," she said, even though I hadn't told her what was on my mind. "Just don't. It's OK."