The Flying Churros Mug

(Cyber conversation Madrid – London)

UX

Did you know that, there in London, getting frozen Churros home delivered is more expensive than a flight to enjoy them fresh, here in Madrid?

VIX

I choose flying for churros. What should I bring?

UX

A coffee mug. A Flying Churros Mug.

And that is how one day a beautiful hand crafted mug fled to Madrid for a Vix & Ux & Churrox breakfaxt. But in the plane, the lovely mug got an unusual Buzz Lightyear complex. Then it happened that, as soon as Madrilenian breakfast was set, the lovely mug decided to take off again and by her own means, this time from Ux hands, to infinity and beyond.

Poor flying mug, she crash-landed right between “infinity” and “beyond”, before meeting any proper churro.

The end.

MORAL:

For every flying mug, there is a super glue.

Fancy my  illustrations? Write me! If interested in my original works, digital prints or just for feedback. Let´s talk! auscola@gmail.com

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Old happy old person

Sometimes we get out from our 53 squaremeters. And we go to someone else´s 53m2 place.

Eg: this small bar in a mountain spot, “La plazuela”. The owners live in the house, selling convenient goods for the people who live around, and serving drinks and meals. We met this old lady 12 years ago. And she still spends her time helping around, reading tabloids and talking to strangers. To her.
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Big Bad Wolfs, I like them raw

Once upon a time, I was in day 2 of a home handiwork personal challenge, when the time for the orbital sander came. This is one of the objects that made me start drawing all that fits in a 53squaremeters home. How comes we keep an orbital sander in such a small place?

Mmm…

Twice upon a time. A sander is a wonder to use after plastering and before painting. If only I had the dust container, on top of having the adapter. Hold it! Maybe that dust extractor adapter can go to the vacuüm cleaner pipe? I don´t get it. Anyhow, it blows all the sand away. Which makes you think of my sander fixing a brick wall as one of the 3 little pigs, huffing and puffing himself to avoid the Big Bad Wolf coming to blow the house in.

It´s the Little Sander versus the Big Bad Wolf.

From there, I came up with the illustration. No doubt I am becoming the busy little one. The one who does as mum says:

“The way to get along in the world, is to do things as well as you can!”.

I can´t believe I just said that.

But if the little sander wins, because I might be really doing things well for once (upon a time), somehow I would end up getting the Wolf in the kettle…So. Can anyone please send a good Big Bad Wolf recipe ?

Let´s spread hippyness

It´s too late but I could not post this drawing before. Why?

I am testing myself by plastering, fixing cracks, and painting walls for 3 days time, instead of working in global, megasmart, supertop, or whatever adjective you can imagine I would give to my copywriting work projects in a public blog. I compared budgets for my job and for home repairs. And just know this plastering thing could be an option to leaving the country (recession is very motivating for skills improving).

  • After plastering, I went brave enough to try concrete mixing for another task.  And I rock. I fixed the cellar, woo oh! Well. Cellar is a hole about 80×30 centimeters where a 10 bottle rack was inserted in a such a delicate way the wall was very broken. Gago, that rack was your present, its corner is looking better now, and this drawing is for you (Por fin!). Well, once fixed the “cellar”, wet concrete was too tempting not to draw on it. So I had a bit of fun.
  • Wet concrete feels like clay, try moulding it on the wall with gloves on, it can be very relaxing. Then back to the flat. No shoddy pieces of work.
  • Mixing up fast-setting concrete in small amounts is like mixing up the ingredients of those kits for getting american style cupcakes.

And that´s what I said my neighbour I was doing in the backyard, stirring something in a bowl at the only sunny area there was. And she mentioned I seem to be a very hippy woman.

In the thrill of to frill or not to frill

Tamarinda. A german sewing machine. My Christmas present. Now living in 53m2. I had to come up with something for her.

First it was sewing frills to cover all the room, the flat, the building, the neighboorhood…the city! All covered in frills. An art intervention using a metaphor of a granny-style industrial-proportions humanization of modern megalopolis. But intellectualizing these sort of ideas for those who enjoy reading brainy descriptions is so boring that, unless someone writes all rationals for me, I won´t cover Mexico DF in frills. No, please, do not insist.

Then I thought that designing pillows with characters was more reasonable for one night fun. If fun was the word. Cause this was the idea I came up with: (please click here), and it was such a pain to produce. Tamarinda got jammed once and again in the making. And I hate reading instructions (not to mention following them). Because I secretly wish every tool worked with just one on & off button, not needing to move an eyebrow for absolutely nothing  but approving the presence in 53m2 of any new intelligent object, to make all the work for me.

Hours after uselessly trying a straight stitch, I ended up reading the complete handbook .

And it worked. So I questioned myself what would happen if I was a very poor woman with no resources but cotton production leftovers from the factory next to the bridge under which I sleep with my 7 sons. And where I found a sewing machine left by a mysterious passerby with no instructions, 10 years BZMHAM (Before Zara Mango and HM). A machine like Tamarinda. Let´s say, Tomatinda.

Rewind.

I was poor but found a sewing machine. Ah! And the passer-by is mysterious so my story sounds cooler. So. Would I learn how to use the machine just using my intuition, therefore having a tool to work in crafted clothing goods, using leftovers from the factory, getting myself  out of poverty, starting up an empire of cloth crafts, and years later getting a Nobel Prize in Economy?

Or would I get so fucking desperate with the machine getting jammed all the time that I would prefer to stay poor but sane? Well. You guessed. But being positive, this is how I realized I can use my lack of patience as an excuse not to be rich, famous and laureate.