Better Health, One Tiny Room at a Time
I've been sick lately, and the mini authors' inn has languished while I've made smaller things and waited for some trim to arrive and worked on, yes, book parts rather than house parts.
I've been making a memorial box for my beloved Rosie, the soulmate cat who died in May, much too young and in a horrible way because of what Covid-19 has done to vet care around here. The bedroom was her personal territory, and I decided to make a replica of our bed using copper wire and a soldering gun.
The results were so bad I never even took a picture. But I did ask my favorite mini-iron-bed people if they had a design close to this one ... and they looked at the picture and copied the bed for me! It is amazingly "real"-looking. I, at least, made the bedding, using one of Greg's dress shirts for the sheet, my mother's silk scarf for the red duvet, and a bit of silk velvet for the white fuzzy blanket that Rosie loved. Rosie is the tiny dark cat in this photo. The other cat is one I bought in order to paint; I have never had a cat who looked like that, but I felt the appreciation photo for Tiny Iron (the bed maker) needed more than one cat.
Most people who move through the miniature world have made at least one room box to commemorate something happy or sad. I asked some of my favorite miniaturists about that and about how their art helps them cope with serious health problems, from PTSD to encephalitis and glaucoma.
An article about miniatures and good health appeared in Folks a few weeks ago. I cannot figure out how to make the link live, so if you'd like to read it, you should cut and paste the old-fashioned way:
I may have found some kind of niche.
And sadly, Tiny Iron has just announced they're going out of business. If you want an astonishingly real mini bed, you have about a month in which to order one from their Etsy shop.