Update

Well, I haven't been sculpting in a while because homework has been taking up most of my time, hopefully I can get Fleance started soon though. Till then, Fleance will have to sit around in his primordial form for some time.
Cheers.

No More Fleas for Fleance, Please

Since this seems to be a blog of firsts, such as, first old man, first chair, first painted pattern, first hoop skirt, first faerie, etc. why not try another first? I have never made anyone really young before, so I thought I would try Fleance from Macbeth. Not really an exciting choice I know, but it will be a challenge. I just had a thought--why not have Fleance recoiling in horror from a rat trying to climb on him? The rat could be symbolic of Macbeth's murderous intentions toward him, one of the weird sisters, or Fleance's innocent role in triggering once again the bloody thoughts of Macbeth. Hmm...thoughts, thoughts...wait, is that a dagger I see before me?

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Fairy: Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon's sphere;

And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be:

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours,

In those freckles live their savours:

I must go seek some dewdrops here

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:

Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

This is Titania, queen of the faeries. It was very difficult to make her face just right, I don't know how many times I sculpted her mouth, or tweaked her chin. Her cloak was difficult also in that it took me about two hours to paint; it is pretty much the only part of her that displays her rank in the faerie fold, so it had to be fancy looking enough. I don't know if it can be noticed in the picture, but her eyes are violet colored, and her hair is in a triangular cut out hair net, to add a sort of "netting" element to the sculpture ever so slightly reminiscent of spider webs. She has no wings, but that is because wings seemed such an unnatural element to add to her, I don't know why- most faerie sculptures I see have wings. She looks to me like she just snapped out of a dream, and is about to ask what visions she has seen. Or at least, slightly curious and wondering. She turned out better than I could have ever dared to hope.

Waiting...

As soon as I get more wire, its sculpt away! Hopefully, anyway. I'm thinking about making a faerie from A Midsummer Night's Dream, but somehow faeries just never turn out for me. *sigh*

Timon of Athens

Finally I am doing a Tragedy. This fellow is Timon of Athens, and yes, he is wearing a flowery wreath. You see, Timon has been rather addled since he found the world to be so unjust and unforgiving. Of course, one would not expect a classic misanthrope to wear flowers, but he is, after all, insane, living in a cave, and eating roots. I got the idea of a flower crown from watching Ian McKellan's King Lear, where Lear, the once king, being mad, runs around with a flower crown instead of a gold one. I thought it was a interesting and thoughtful touch, so I applied to my mad Timon. Alas, poor Timon, the flatterers ruined him.
SCENE III. Woods and cave, near the seashore.

Enter TIMON, from the cave
O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
Rotten humidity; below thy sister's orb
Infect the air! Twinn'd brothers of one womb,
Whose procreation, residence, and birth,
Scarce is dividant, touch them with several fortunes;
The greater scorns the lesser: not nature,
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune,
But by contempt of nature.
Raise me this beggar, and deny 't that lord;
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary,
The beggar native honour.
It is the pasture lards the rother's sides,
The want that makes him lean. Who dares, who dares,
In purity of manhood stand upright,
And say 'This man's a flatterer?' if one be,
So are they all; for every grise of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below: the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool: all is oblique;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villany. Therefore, be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men!
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains:
Destruction fang mankind! Earth, yield me roots!

Digging

Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
With thy most operant poison! What is here?
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
I am no idle votarist: roots, you clear heavens!
Thus much of this will make black white, foul fair,
Wrong right, base noble, old young, coward valiant.
Ha, you gods! why this? what this, you gods? Why, this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides,
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads:
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions, bless the accursed,
Make the hoar leprosy adored, place thieves
And give them title, knee and approbation
With senators on the bench: this is it
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the spital-house and ulcerous sores
Would cast the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that put'st odds
Among the route of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature.