I don't believe anyone has ever called me patient, least of all, myself. I admit to having a rather short fuse. But when I'm working on my dolls, I'm less apt to loose my cool. They are, after all, small, delicate and the solid, three dimensional version of my imagination. But last night, I lost it.
After about the fourth attempt to sculpt a tiny, pointed ear, I had it close enough that I knew a little sanding would fix it once it was dry. I carefully laid the doll aside to allow the new ear to dry and went on to make a hand. It was getting late. My feet and ankles were swollen, my back ached and my fuzzy vision eye was getting even fuzzier. When I set the new hand aside to dry, I noticed that the new ear had been mashed. HOW? I had been so careful!!
I grabbed up my armless, one eared little doll and marched back to the kitchen, dabbed the mashed ear with water to soften the nearly dry clay and tried to gently pry it off. It wasn't happening. More water didn't help. In my frustration, I grabbed my clay knife and gave the base of the ear a viscious slice - and sent her entire head flying across the kitchen.
I can only say that because of the way I build my dolls, the damage was - not minimal, but repairable. Her delicate jaw and happy smile came off the gourd in one cupped piece, looking like an egg shell. I've glued her head back on, and a layer of clay to cover the cracks. But the delicate sanding must be done all over again. My punishment for having a tantrum.
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