Anna Branford

a little bit crestfallen…

So, on Tuesday, to celebrate various secret things, I bought myself something I have been wanting for a few weeks now which is this beautiful book:

I flicked through it and I was thinking thoughts to myself along the lines of: even though I am clearly something of a natural at needle felting (to the point that I have felt quite at liberty to reflect on the metaphysical dimensions of this unique artform) I suppose I will do this properly and begin with something nice and easy. Like the rabbit. Which is laid out in a seductively simple – and illustrated – sequence of steps, taking the budding needle felter slowly and strategically from a ball of fluff to a rather sweet and slightly rustic looking rabbit.

I imagined myself, well within a single hour, photographing a new creation for my blog with a humble, self-effacing tagline such as ‘my first tangled attempt at a needle felted animal’. And I imagined you, gentle reader, being astonished by its absolute perfection and thinking, good heavens, is that really her first attempt? She is a natural! Gosh, I would be delighted if I, on my own first attempt, could produce such a dear little rabbit. Is there anything that woman cannot do? Etc etc.

Then, having so quickly mastered the basics of a four legged animal, I envisaged myself abandoning the book altogether to needlefelt freestyle, creating my own patterns for increasingly complex animals – reindeer, stag beetles, orangutans. Needle felters the world over, I supposed, would follow my blog religiously, awed by my capacities to replicate the animal kingdom in such astonishingly life-like detail.

So anyway, four hours and several rather bloody fingers later, I had this…

…a sort of unspecified marsupial. Possibly roadkill. Bearing some kind of relationship to Winnie-the-Pooh’s friend Piglet. And also Winnie-the-Pooh’s friend Eeyore.

But no relationship whatsoever to Winnie-the-Pooh’s (or anybody else’s) friend Rabbit.

So I am a little bit crestfallen.