​Today I offer you the simple tale of the Dublin Bunny. I could tell you his tale and make it sound lovely and sweet, but every tale of a horned hare must contain an element of things that are not so sweet and lovely.
A horned hare? Why, yes! You may be more comfortable with the word Jackalope. Either way, he is a bunny who lives in the bramble at the edge of the wood. He has no family to speak of. His ears are tall and allow him to hear your dreams as you sleep. They float through the air and become caught in his giant ears!
Dublin was a dream himself had by an artist in her studio one late late night. She dreamed of a battle bunny to protect her wee children as she sent them out into the world.  Something soft, yet fierce. In the morning, in the light of her studio, sat a Jackalope. She called him Dublin and gave him a kiss atop of his brown fluffed head.
He sits at the edge of the bramble and waits for the wee ones to go, and he follows. Not everyone can see him all of the time. On one particular occasion, the wee ones went to the play park. New place, new children, all new…. As Dublin rounded the corner to the park he saw a boy knock one of the wee ones down. Without a second of haste, he hopped to the boy and gored him in the leg with his tiny horns.
When a mother sets a wish adrift for her children… something happens. Something soft, yet fierce.

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At my last show, I was lucky enough to meet a few collectors of my work. Bewitching Peddlers of Halloween is such a busy show that I rarely get more than a few minutes to visit. I consider myself extra lucky because I was able to meet Lindy and her granddaughter Sophia. They were 28th and 29th in line. As they rushed to the Prim Pumpkin booth, Lindy treated Sophia to a lovely little blue pumpkin.  You see, it was Sophia's first Bewitching Peddlers show and she was so excited to find a piece..... but she really had her heart set on a PINK pumpkin! 

I stopped doing commission work a few years ago, mainly because my vision for a piece sometime does not match up with my clients vision, and I stress out greatly at the prospect of disappointing someone who has trusted me to create something special for them. But, when Lindy contacted me after the show telling me what a delightful time they had  and how Sophia was set to turn 13 on January 13th, I was happy to oblige when she asked for a special work for her birthday.
This special project has been under wraps for weeks and now that her magical 13 has come and gone, I can share.

The Cats out of the bag....

The children and I began haunting our special spots for treasures. I had an idea of adding 13 tiny gifts to the couture of this piece, which I named Lucky.  The children harvested lots of tiny goods along the way as well. This was a wonderful top secret project and they were keen to be involved. 

Lindy sent me heirloom fabric to work with for the couture. It was a vintage pillowcase that Sophia's Great Grandmother had embroidered! I stitched pockets across the front, giving her a little Peddlers nod. We wrapped each gift and tucked it safely away for Sophia to discover. 

Lucky the pink pumpkin came to life just for Sophia. She has a little 13 on her cheek and some wily pumpkin in the patch put 13 little hash marks on the back of her head!

This is the lovely Sophia with Lucky, on her 13th birthday!

Sophia is pictured here with her little brother, Jack who is 10 years old. Jack told his grandmother and Sophia that 13 is your most special birthday! 
It's wonderful to me that Sophia's grandmother set out to make this birthday completely magical for her. It's something that women in my family would have done. Bigger than the gift, is the bonding that Lindy and Sophia shared. They travelled together to get to my show from out of state, sharing love and laughs and a sense of wonder at what they were about to see. Inspiring wonder is what the magic is all about for he. 
Sometimes as artists we forget the "wonder."  From time to time it slips away from the front line of what fuels us. I am grateful to Sophia and Lindy for reminding me of magic of wonder. 
Happy Lucky 13 sweet Sophia!
​xxoo 

On the darkest of days, when I feel inadequate, unloved and unworthy, I remember whose daughter I am and I straighten my crown.-
From the early breaking dawn of my artistic existence there has always been a constant and that has been the deep quest for community.  To me, community in a doll making context means a circle of people who realize that there is enough success to go around.  They lift up others and see the gems in me even when I can’t see them myself.   As a young creator I failed home economics.  I remember being in fourth grade and having my art teacher tell me, “great job, Picasso” when I muddied my watercolors on construction paper.  Ten years ago when I began doll making those fledgling heart wounds of being not good enough surfaced ever so boldly. It is in these times of radical self-doubt that without even realizing it even the slowest movements in the forward direction is giving us the permission to take one more step.  By putting one foot in front of the other we are building our creative chops and more importantly, we are learning the art of seeking.
As my work evolved, I became more aware of my surroundings.  I heard whispers of a show in Michigan akin to a fine art show for Halloween artists, it was called Ghoultide Gathering. I went to the show and I was completely enveloped by the energy that each artist brought. This was the first time I saw doll makers making a living at their art. Scott Smith was producing the show. He had hand selected the best in each genre, making a wonderfully curated show and something much more, he was creating a community.  Scott is a very humble artist and I am not sure he would take credit for fostering so many careers through this show but from the outside looking in, that’s exactly what was happening. After several years Ghoultide Gathering had become an artistic incubator of sorts.  If you are asked to be part of the show it’s much like Scott Smith giving you a nod of approval. Which, I might add, negates the home economics teacher, the art teachers, and all other critics.  When I asked Scott what he thought about the importance of finding a group of like-minded people to lift up your work he said, “Through creating an art show such as Ghoultide Gathering, we feel we've also created somewhat of a community. A gathering place for inspiration and appreciation. The effects can be felt by the artists and patrons alike. All are inspired by the amount of creativity on display and regardless if we can take home the art or not, everyone leaves with a better understanding and deeper appreciation of the commitment and efforts involved with being an artist.” 
Years had passed and I had begun making many connections via social media through my work. My Prim Pumpkin’s had a following all of their own that reached out of my little home studio in Battle Creek, MI. I had put in the work and learned my craft on a day to day basis and while doing that work, one day I opened my email to receive an invitation to Ghoultide Gathering.  You can’t even believe the joy I felt.  I called my longtime friend and dollmaker, Joyce Stahl and we has a little phone celebration! The little tribes that we form as we gather our joy are integral for our art to evolve.  I can tell you with all honesty that with the vote of confidence that came with being welcomed into this group, I could feel a physical raising of the bar in the work I was producing.  This community made me feel part of something that gave me goosebumps! “Scott creates such a magical environment for us and a philosophy of inclusion I don’t think we could ask for a better mentor or friend to the artists.  He makes me feel protected and appreciated and I feel the same for my artists’ friends.  There is a great truth to the fact that we are only as
successful as our fellow artists are, and I always try to remember and take to heart that fact.” Said Laurie Hardin from Monkey Cat’s studio who is a 9-year veteran of the Ghoultide tribe. In talking with Laurie, we share so much of the same feelings about wanting to reach out to other artists for help but not wanting to be a bother. The feeling of welcome that I have experienced with this community far over reaches the initial awkwardness. If you work by yourself in a home studio like I do, part of the creative unfurling is talking to others from your community and stretching your wings a bit.  The moments of clarity I’ve had while chatting with another artistic beings is astounding!  Laurie said this about her growth in the Ghoultide community “My phone relationships grew, as well as exchanging emails with artists I was less familiar with.  I also realized the importance in responding and encouraging others stepping into our arena just as I had been embraced years earlier. What was once a group of relationships I would classify as acquaintances has grown and deepened each year.  I feel very comfortable calling a group of artists I chat with routinely about issues involving paint, canvases, armatures, suppliers, asking for critiques of new work or sometimes just to talk to another living human being besides my spouse.”  
I’ll bet Scott Smith never realized so many years ago how important this community would be to us. He has created a circle of artists who elevate each other, a circle of enchantment that is pure Halloween magic, and a community that has changed my life. 
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2019 marks ten years of creating Prim Pumpkins! To celebrate this occasion, I thought I'd share how I make my clay for my characters.  Now, I think I found the original recipe online somewhere way back then. I really didn't like the consistency of the over the counter clays as they were way too wet.  So, I started learning about paper mache and paper mache clay. Like me, you will more than likely, begin with this recipe of ingredients and total tweak it as you  learn and grow.  When you begin, you should find a mixer to mix up your ingredients separate from your kitchen mixer. Also a zip lock bag or something air tight for keeping it.  
To begin you will take your roll of toilet paper and get it wet. You probably wont be using the same kind you buy for household use. You will want dollar store quality paper. After getting the paper wet, you gently squeeze the water back out. Then rip the paper apart and toss it in a bowl. Then add all of the other components to the bowl and mix!  If it's too wet I add cornstarch and if it's too dry I add more joint compound. Do this in teaspoon increments. 
This is air dry paper mache clay, so you have to be patient with it and work in layers.  Let each layer dry 100% before adding more clay or it will mold. 
I wish you magical bursts of creativity as  you begin! 
xxoo 
​Jennie 

Introducing... Prim Pumpkin Hedgehogs.  
Everyone knows, as the weather snaps the Tombs family seek hibernation. A long slumber, waking only when the weather is agreeable once more. It would be so cozy to just pull up the eiderdown around their hedgehoggie cheeks and nestle in. But this year when the snap happened, Mrs. Tombs and her family were in my studio, helping me prepare for a show. They missed their engraved invitation to hibernation and have decided to sprinkle their magic throughout the land…. Do you need a bit of hedgehog magic? The bristly kind, that lets you know it’s there?
Please meet Nickelton, he’s a sweet chap with a top hat and a pink tummy. He collects nickels, it’s his favorite bit of money, so if you find yourself missing one or two, look behind his ears.
Mrs. Tombs is a kitchen witch. She grows wild lavender right outside her back door and loves the fragrance it brings. She’s quite the little forager. She weaves a luscious web of enchantment where ever she goes. Mrs. Tombs loves to sit down in her favorite chair with some buttered toast and jam and dream up new spells. ​

Life is funny. You have to watch it so close.... Travel might be planned for your soul and you never knew. 

We make things for the journey that we didn't even know we were taking. 

See the whole collection in person at Bewitching Peddlers. 9/29/18 Calhoun County Fairgrounds, Marshall, MI 
​www.BewitchingPeddlers.com

To peek into my home would be to peek into a magical place filled with stories. Essentially, we are all stories. We edit, change and rewrite them as we travel. All of the books in my home have given me gifts that have become part of my adult identity. I take joy in the idea that I steeped my heart in the words of Ransom Riggs, Neil Gaiman and Roald Dahl. My Grandma used to tell us growing up, be careful of the company you keep because you become what they are… I have. I am essentially bits and piece of all the magical stories that I’ve read. Stitched together messily into a girl, who believes in the magical more than she believes in the mundane.
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This year, my collection for Bewitching Peddlers of Halloween is themed around oddity. The things that are viewed by some as odd, macabre or possibly even monstrous.   At the heart of any good story you will find someone who is a bit of a monster, but who just wants to be loved up.
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Swamp boy, who’s name is Forrest Benjamin Murkwater, woke in the dark of my studio one warm Summers night.  He opened one eye slowly and then the other. My face was the first face his eyes saw. So, he calls me Mama.   As he came to life, I could see that this one was full of rascality. He giggled at me as I tried to sew clothing for a boy with webbed hands. I can’t tell you how many times he hid his socks in the studio before I could snug them on his feets and slip on his time-worn shoes. I told him the story of Paddington Bear, Coraline and the Tales of the Peculiar Children as I worked on his heart.  His heart was the last thing to finish.  I wanted to make my little monster boy both startling and loveable.  He hates pickles but loves Swedish fish, he loves sailboats and kites but hates football. His heart is good, but it’s lonely. On an enchanted piece of old parchment, I penned this sentiment by Caitlyn Seihl. It read “When is a monster not a monster? When you love it.” I folded the paper up into a tiny bit and placed it in the open chamber of his heart. I kissed my pinky finger and pressed the chamber closed and put his heart into his chest.
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Forrest, my little Swamp boy, stood up on my work table and frowned because all at once, he felt everything. All of the things I had filled his heart with were at the surface. I had given him a heart transfusion consisting of my fears, my hurt, my sadness as well as my love, my dreams and my magic.  He was in pain and alive at the same time.
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Forrest sat on the edge of my work table and I offered him my hand. He took it.  He climbed quietly into my lap and just sat with me for a long time. Anytime an artist creates something that was not there before they are giving part of themselves to do so.  Forrest listened to me as I made him. His pieces and parts scattered on my table.  He is my tears and my laughs, he is stories of childhood mischief. He is a story of eating breakfast and then going to Grandmas, only to spin a tall tale of hunger and having a second breakfast. He is monster, enveloped in a person who is magic.
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The cathartic process of making is one that many artists take. I am not special. I am, however able to offer it up as a story, a little morsel of how I make. Just maybe my stories will become part of your story, my dear.  
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​"Being an artist means forever healing your own wounds and at the same time endlessly exposing them."  Annette Messager





































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​Creating is my life, so it's only natural that I include you in the very bitter sip of life that I am drinking. My Mom died. Quite unexpectedly she had a stroke.  Everyone dies, I know that. I can't believe she's in a better place because here was pretty wonderful and we all loved her hard. She was the very first collector of my work, when it was not very good at all. Going to her home is an odd feeling for me because she has my art dolls going back to my first ones in 2009 and creeping forward. She displayed them proudly even if they weren't my best and she always insisted on buying them instead of letting me just giving them to her. She was a very good Mom. My grief is deep and profound. 

My Mom is interwoven into the tapestry that is me. She was my first home and my first love. She inspired magic. The fairies loved her. She encouraged my children to leave bits of cake in the garden for the them. I imagine they wept for her passing because the world has a lot less Pixie Dust now. Or maybe they welcomed her to their land?  It is my hope that in the days ahead I am able to hold tight to the threads of magic my Mom inspired and  make sure my children have her woven into their tapestry. 

​The last piece I shared with my Mom was my bearded girl child, I call her Phillamane. This piece is one of my favorites as it celebrates the divine magical individuality in each of us.  

​My bearded girl child is a compilation of many elements and curiosities. I hand mixed the palette for her, concocting hues from a Victorian dream, where clouds are lavender and cotton candy tastes like violet water. Her garments are all antique and vintage textiles, which is a passion of mine. The simple juxtaposition of burlap and ancient lace feels perfectly fitting.  She will be offered at Bewitching Peddler's of Halloween in the Fall. 
xxoo 
​Jennie 

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Then along came Millie Tinker. Inspired by Jo Jo, Millie is a delicate beauty, Child of the Dog Faced Man. She is dressed in hand sewn antique garments and is completely hand sculpted. I took great care in finding just the perfect fabrics for her. She has the earthen look that is consistent with the body of my work, yet she has enveloped a certain elegance in her personality. Millie holds a broken doll, this symbolizes the brokenness in all of us. I am working on her sister as I write this.
 
​Many artisans struggle with acceptance of their person and works. When we are crafting the broken parts of our being into new work it's easy to fall into self-doubt talk that tells us the broken parts are not worthy. That our odd nature will not be welcomed. In the art world, I have quietly learned that everyone is odd. Everyone one is fractured, even if it's a slight crack or crazing. When we find ourselves in the firefly light of a success we all feel like we don't quite belong there. 
​I think much of creating is about the fractures and what you allow in, to damn them up. I am more than content allowing the whispers of a sideshow just getting into town, the smell of an antique book shop, the mysterious pull of cryptozoology, and the wonder of the witching hour to wisp into the fissures of brokenness and infuse my blood with the magic that is Prim Pumpkin. 
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