In my life, there is no more passionate, painful or productive relationship than the one that I have with with my hot glue gun. While I have a content and happy marriage with a human male, my glue gun and I are drawn together and fight one another like Buttercup and Westley. While I have never entered into a sham marriage with superglue or PVA, there are certainly times that I would be happy to throw the smoking gun off a cliff!
While the use of hot glue is almost limitless and provides immense creative freedom, the hoodoo that makes it work seems to be contingent on me providing a sacrifice of seared flesh. For days after gluing anything, my fingers and hands seem to be covered in bandaids - which reinforces the sensible nature of the ‘hot glue gun licence’ that is available for year three students at my school. It would seem that while I am legally allowed to drive a ton of speeding metal on the state’s roads, art teachers universally suggest I am not up to the demands of adhesive licencing that other people achieving when they are 8.
One of the productive aspects of burning my lower arms and is below. It is a flour tin made to avoid the use of the boring plastic containers from the supermarket or their cousin the [invariably explosive when dropped] glass cannisters. It was made from a big coffee tin scavenged from work, hessian strapping and some cross stitched cotton floss.
Stitchpoint has a clever text cross stitch generator.
Radical Cross Stitch is my favourite cross stitch blog!