Giving a Hoot

My latest mindfulness strategy is microprojects. So far they've served me pretty well, with the great Pumpkin Ladder being an early victory over outdoor living space.

Rather than anticipating pumpkin futures though, this project is a look back at the past.

My Gran passed away twenty-one years ago, and I have few material objects to remember her by, such was the nature of the Simian couple's upping sticks from the South to North Island. A bookmark, an Art Deco desk calendar, and a bookcase (which was vast and the bane of Mrs Simian, but nature and borer won in the end, and aside from a few salvaged shelves, it made a sad and warming fire for a few nights.) Add to that her plaster owl, which sat at her front doorstep for many years, slowly weathering and losing its fancied original lustre. It's travelled with us from flat to house and sat in damp garages and rooms for a long time, now, its plaster form softening with age. Restoring this is my new microproject.

I don't know what type of owl it was supposed to be (horned?), how old it is (1950s?) or from whence it came, but gingerly dusting off its efflorescing surface has uncovered some interesting details hitherto covered up by (I imagine) house paint. A feather quill lying on a small pile of books, pages picked out in shallow relief, as well as corner protectors for their covers - all of which will be picked out.

But first, a serious undercoat of protector. I don't know if old tawny will sit out in the open, but if he or she does, he or she will be well-protected. The shop assistant at the local paint shop suggested simple acrylic - maybe even from a humble test pot. But then, she didn't know my Gran. No, something fancier and harder-wearing for an undercoat, and then we can talk colours. 

And also whether it remains an outside owl or stays indoors.