I was born into a family of artists and raised in a beach house on the shore of the San Francisco Bay. Both grandmothers were painters (one was award-winning), my uncle a fine woodworker and my aunt a playwright. My dad could do anything. My mother would say something like, “Frank, I think we should take out this wall,” and he’d say, “OK, Betty.”
My father made molds for garden statuary, and he made us leather sandals and worked in stained glass. My mom was a ceramist, costumer and hatmaker for the local playhouse, and eventually had her own line of unique handmade clothes that sold at the local boutique. She also started a co-op gallery with other local women called Village Arts.
My parents were also known for their dinner parties. My mother loved to entertain, and it showed. Their guests were from all walks of life: a Bay Area food critic, a famous psychiatrist, a judge, a tugboat captain, an art critic, an activist, a beatnik performance artist, a dentist named Dr. Pain (who wore a kilt), musicians and artists. Everyone would drink and eat and, later in the evening, they would smoke something that smelled awful, and my father would sing or do funny lip-syncing to Stan Freberg albums.
So not surprisingly, all my art endeavors were encouraged. My first painting was a finger painting I did in oil paint when I was 5. Nana was painting on the patio and to keep me occupied she had me dip my fingers into the paint on her palette and smear them on a piece of Masonite. My uncle bought it from me for 50 cents and framed it in an over-the-top frame with burgundy velvet.
In 1970, my sister went to Europe for the summer and my mother was worried I’d miss her terribly, so she bought me a Rapidograph pen. I loved it, and right away I was drawing kooky home interiors and lots of frogs.
My mom fixed up some thrift-store frames and started framing my work. The local antiques store started selling them for me. For Christmas, my parents would give me a membership to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Then, when she thought there was a show or lecture I’d especially like, my mom would steal me out of school and we’d go into the city to see it. Sometimes we’d have lunch.
Photo by Daniel Fox.
Enter color on steroids: My first family trip to Mexico was in 1964. Color and lots of it. My eyes were dazzled by huge paper flowers and colorful woven blankets in the markets — and the birds! One place we stayed had macaws just hanging out on the patio. Whenever my folks could afford it, we’d be off to Mexico, and eventually moved there, where my father had a job managing a resort on the Sea of Cortez. Every week brought new guests. Harold Paris (who came up with the panties with the days of the week on them) taught sculpture at the University of California, Berkeley. Teachers from ArtCenter College of Design were also guests.
In 1980, I got married and this afforded me the ability to pursue various mediums because I didn’t have to work. A friend of the family taught me how to hook rugs and I nearly lost my mind — I was in heaven. Repurposing wool skirts from thrift stores was grand but then I wanted to have control over the colors, so I took a weeklong class in fabric dying at the Mendocino Art Center. This was a game changer. Learning about color and dying my own wool allotted me a broader palette to create from and my rugs really popped.
Later, I would get divorced and move to Seattle to be near my sister. I wanted to show my rugs, but they didn’t get any attention from gallery owners. I had one show in a coffee shop and that was because I used their coffee-bean sacks as backing for my rugs.
I ended up buying a little house and was then able to get messy because it was mine and I had a yard. Mosaic became my new passion. Finding color-saturated crockery and breaking it into little pieces was fun, but I was naive. It snows in Seattle some- times and I hadn’t given any thought to that. The glaze on the ceramic pieces popped off when it froze.
Next, I took up painting with oil sticks. What a gas that was. I painted for seven years, more or less. I remarried and we had a daughter. I’d stay up until 3 a.m. painting, then sleep while she was in school.
I had shows anywhere I could — coffee shops, taverns, group shows in churches and libraries, it didn’t matter. I painted so much I blew out my shoulder and had to have surgery on it.
Photo by Daniel Fox
Then one day in 2007, I was at the Columbia City Gallery and saw the tin artwork of William Herberholz. I fell in love with his work and called friends to tell them about his show. I was struck not only by the color, but by the nostalgia of the tin. A good friend ended up buying one of his pieces.
Sometime later, this same friend sent me an email to say William was going to be teaching a two-day workshop at Pratt, where he was also the janitor. I couldn’t believe it and was thrilled I was able to get signed up.
Photo by Daniel Fox
Since that workshop, I’ve been working in tin and loving every minute. I started finding and hearing about other artists who work in tin and started a secret group on Facebook. There are over 30 of us now. One artist is in South Africa, another is in the U.K., along with men and women across the U.S. We show our work or ask questions about tools or techniques. It’s a wonderful bunch of artists (you can see their work in the links section of my website).
Creating tin work is endlessly fascinating for me and I’m constantly teaching myself new things. Last year the Northwest Designer Craftartists, of which I am a member, had a call for a show called Fantasy Footwear. What a fun idea! I went to the thrift store and bought two pairs of shoes. The first round bombed miserably, the next worked out fine. I drilled holes in them and pop riveted tin flowers all over them.
The first metal cake I made was for the Tacoma Art Museum over 14 years ago. I knew someday I’d make more, but there was still so much to do with working on the 2D work … and, of course, it’s less challenging and more straightforward. The cakes are fun for me because I feel they’re celebratory.
All my favorite events in life involve cake, so why not make fun cakes as an ode to happiness? And the tin itself is so compelling: Hunting for it, finding it and not knowing its history is a mystery I’ll never solve, but I can give it a new life as art.
I have recently moved my studio out of our converted single-car garage to an art studio building. It’s dreamy. It’s on the top floor with good light and fresh air. I call it the penthouse. I knew a few artists when I moved in, but I’m meeting new artists nearly every day. It’s my hope to be there until my hands give out with age. I love the camaraderie. It’s so fun in the afternoon when the artist across the hall comes through the door with a beverage and a bag of pret- zels and we talk about what we’re working on or the progress we’ve made. Being at my home studio, while convenient, was just too isolated for me. I love the energy of being surrounded by other artists!
Ten years ago I nearly died. I was allergic to our cat and made the dumb mistake of sharing a butter- scotch sucker with him. After he licked it, I put it in my mouth. Within a few minutes my throat began to close. Paramedics were able to do a tracheotomy in our dining room and I spent 11 days in the trauma ward. The firemen called the hospital the next day to see if I had “made it.” This brush with death caused me to re-prioritize my life.
I made a list of everything I wanted to accomplish with my art:
Public art ✔
Solo show at 4Culture ✔
Be on TV ✔
Be in the newspaper ✔
Be in a national magazine CHECK!
Now I need to start a new list.
SUPPLY LIST
Tins, gelatin molds, old tin toy, footed metal candy dish
Can opener
Tin snips
Drill,1∕8″and3⁄16″drill bits
Pop rivet gun, 1∕8″ pop rivets and steel or aluminum 1∕8″ rivet washers
Wing nut and locking nut, both 3⁄16″
Big rubber mallet
3⁄16″steel-threaded rod, and something to cut it with (I use an angle grinder)
Earth magnets
Other tools that are nice to have but not mentioned are: a Whitney punch, a metal punch, drill press and bonsai shears. Watch my YouTube channel to learn more about working with tin.
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Collect some pretty tea tins and gelatin molds. Thrift stores are usually a good source. Two different size molds with flat bottoms work best. You can use the ones with the holes in the middle, but I think it’s better to start small. It gets a little more complicated the larger you go. Also, find a tin toy for the topper (one you can cut the bottom open to place over the wing nut).
2. You will need to drill 1/8″ holes in your molds wherever you want the flowers to go. On the bottom, you’ll need to drill a 3/16″ hole for the threaded rod. If you’re not familiar with using a drill, please find someone who is able to help you.
Flatten the tins by removing the bottom with a can opener, then cut it open down the side with tin snips and flatten with a big rubber mallet. Before I had a mallet I’d back over the tin with my car. Cut out three concentric circles for each flower, cut petals and leaves or bunting and drill a 1/8″ hole in the middle of each flower. For the leaves, drill a hole near the bottom, and for the bunting, make a hole at each end.
3. Using a 1/8″ round and a 3/4″ rivet pin, “string” your circles, beginning with the smallest one with the unpainted side facing the rivet head. String the next two with the pretty side facing the head, and add your leaves or bunting. Stick the rivet in the outside hole you made and put a pop rivet washer on the inside. Using a rivet gun, pop the rivet. (I use a battery-powered pop rivet gun, but the manual ones can be purchased for around $20.)
Now you can arrange the petals. The first round can be pulled up and smooched together to hide the rivet head and the pretty part will show.
4. Now that you have your “layers” decorated, cut a length of a steel threaded rod to the size you need — maybe 3 inches. On one end, screw on a locking nut, then thread the rest through the other mold and secure with the wing nut. Put an earth magnet on each wing of the nut and slip your tin toy over it. Or you can always make a big flower to cover the wing nut. Then set on a footed metal candy dish.
I was born into a family of artists and raised in a beach house on the shore of the San Francisco Bay. Both grandmothers were painters (one was award-winning), my uncle a fine woodworker and my aunt a playwright. My dad could do anything. My mother would say something like, “Frank, I think we should take out this wall,” and he’d say, “OK, Betty.”
My father made molds for garden statuary, and he made us leather sandals and worked in stained glass. My mom was a ceramist, costumer and hatmaker for the local playhouse, and eventually had her own line of unique handmade clothes that sold at the local boutique. She also started a co-op gallery with other local women called Village Arts.
My parents were also known for their dinner parties. My mother loved to entertain, and it showed. Their guests were from all walks of life: a Bay Area food critic, a famous psychiatrist, a judge, a tugboat captain, an art critic, an activist, a beatnik performance artist, a dentist named Dr. Pain (who wore a kilt), musicians and artists. Everyone would drink and eat and, later in the evening, they would smoke something that smelled awful, and my father would sing or do funny lip-syncing to Stan Freberg albums.
So not surprisingly, all my art endeavors were encouraged. My first painting was a finger painting I did in oil paint when I was 5. Nana was painting on the patio and to keep me occupied she had me dip my fingers into the paint on her palette and smear them on a piece of Masonite. My uncle bought it from me for 50 cents and framed it in an over-the-top frame with burgundy velvet.
In 1970, my sister went to Europe for the summer and my mother was worried I’d miss her terribly, so she bought me a Rapidograph pen. I loved it, and right away I was drawing kooky home interiors and lots of frogs.
My mom fixed up some thrift-store frames and started framing my work. The local antiques store started selling them for me. For Christmas, my parents would give me a membership to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Then, when she thought there was a show or lecture I’d especially like, my mom would steal me out of school and we’d go into the city to see it. Sometimes we’d have lunch.
Photo by Daniel Fox.
Enter color on steroids: My first family trip to Mexico was in 1964. Color and lots of it. My eyes were dazzled by huge paper flowers and colorful woven blankets in the markets — and the birds! One place we stayed had macaws just hanging out on the patio. Whenever my folks could afford it, we’d be off to Mexico, and eventually moved there, where my father had a job managing a resort on the Sea of Cortez. Every week brought new guests. Harold Paris (who came up with the panties with the days of the week on them) taught sculpture at the University of California, Berkeley. Teachers from ArtCenter College of Design were also guests.
In 1980, I got married and this afforded me the ability to pursue various mediums because I didn’t have to work. A friend of the family taught me how to hook rugs and I nearly lost my mind — I was in heaven. Repurposing wool skirts from thrift stores was grand but then I wanted to have control over the colors, so I took a weeklong class in fabric dying at the Mendocino Art Center. This was a game changer. Learning about color and dying my own wool allotted me a broader palette to create from and my rugs really popped.
Later, I would get divorced and move to Seattle to be near my sister. I wanted to show my rugs, but they didn’t get any attention from gallery owners. I had one show in a coffee shop and that was because I used their coffee-bean sacks as backing for my rugs.
I ended up buying a little house and was then able to get messy because it was mine and I had a yard. Mosaic became my new passion. Finding color-saturated crockery and breaking it into little pieces was fun, but I was naive. It snows in Seattle some- times and I hadn’t given any thought to that. The glaze on the ceramic pieces popped off when it froze.
Next, I took up painting with oil sticks. What a gas that was. I painted for seven years, more or less. I remarried and we had a daughter. I’d stay up until 3 a.m. painting, then sleep while she was in school.
I had shows anywhere I could — coffee shops, taverns, group shows in churches and libraries, it didn’t matter. I painted so much I blew out my shoulder and had to have surgery on it.
Photo by Daniel Fox
Then one day in 2007, I was at the Columbia City Gallery and saw the tin artwork of William Herberholz. I fell in love with his work and called friends to tell them about his show. I was struck not only by the color, but by the nostalgia of the tin. A good friend ended up buying one of his pieces.
Sometime later, this same friend sent me an email to say William was going to be teaching a two-day workshop at Pratt, where he was also the janitor. I couldn’t believe it and was thrilled I was able to get signed up.
Photo by Daniel Fox
Since that workshop, I’ve been working in tin and loving every minute. I started finding and hearing about other artists who work in tin and started a secret group on Facebook. There are over 30 of us now. One artist is in South Africa, another is in the U.K., along with men and women across the U.S. We show our work or ask questions about tools or techniques. It’s a wonderful bunch of artists (you can see their work in the links section of my website).
Creating tin work is endlessly fascinating for me and I’m constantly teaching myself new things. Last year the Northwest Designer Craftartists, of which I am a member, had a call for a show called Fantasy Footwear. What a fun idea! I went to the thrift store and bought two pairs of shoes. The first round bombed miserably, the next worked out fine. I drilled holes in them and pop riveted tin flowers all over them.
The first metal cake I made was for the Tacoma Art Museum over 14 years ago. I knew someday I’d make more, but there was still so much to do with working on the 2D work … and, of course, it’s less challenging and more straightforward. The cakes are fun for me because I feel they’re celebratory.
All my favorite events in life involve cake, so why not make fun cakes as an ode to happiness? And the tin itself is so compelling: Hunting for it, finding it and not knowing its history is a mystery I’ll never solve, but I can give it a new life as art.
I have recently moved my studio out of our converted single-car garage to an art studio building. It’s dreamy. It’s on the top floor with good light and fresh air. I call it the penthouse. I knew a few artists when I moved in, but I’m meeting new artists nearly every day. It’s my hope to be there until my hands give out with age. I love the camaraderie. It’s so fun in the afternoon when the artist across the hall comes through the door with a beverage and a bag of pret- zels and we talk about what we’re working on or the progress we’ve made. Being at my home studio, while convenient, was just too isolated for me. I love the energy of being surrounded by other artists!
Ten years ago I nearly died. I was allergic to our cat and made the dumb mistake of sharing a butter- scotch sucker with him. After he licked it, I put it in my mouth. Within a few minutes my throat began to close. Paramedics were able to do a tracheotomy in our dining room and I spent 11 days in the trauma ward. The firemen called the hospital the next day to see if I had “made it.” This brush with death caused me to re-prioritize my life.
I made a list of everything I wanted to accomplish with my art:
Public art ✔
Solo show at 4Culture ✔
Be on TV ✔
Be in the newspaper ✔
Be in a national magazine CHECK!
Now I need to start a new list.
SUPPLY LIST
Tins, gelatin molds, old tin toy, footed metal candy dish
Can opener
Tin snips
Drill,1∕8″and3⁄16″drill bits
Pop rivet gun, 1∕8″ pop rivets and steel or aluminum 1∕8″ rivet washers
Wing nut and locking nut, both 3⁄16″
Big rubber mallet
3⁄16″steel-threaded rod, and something to cut it with (I use an angle grinder)
Earth magnets
Other tools that are nice to have but not mentioned are: a Whitney punch, a metal punch, drill press and bonsai shears. Watch my YouTube channel to learn more about working with tin.
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Collect some pretty tea tins and gelatin molds. Thrift stores are usually a good source. Two different size molds with flat bottoms work best. You can use the ones with the holes in the middle, but I think it’s better to start small. It gets a little more complicated the larger you go. Also, find a tin toy for the topper (one you can cut the bottom open to place over the wing nut).
2. You will need to drill 1/8″ holes in your molds wherever you want the flowers to go. On the bottom, you’ll need to drill a 3/16″ hole for the threaded rod. If you’re not familiar with using a drill, please find someone who is able to help you.
Flatten the tins by removing the bottom with a can opener, then cut it open down the side with tin snips and flatten with a big rubber mallet. Before I had a mallet I’d back over the tin with my car. Cut out three concentric circles for each flower, cut petals and leaves or bunting and drill a 1/8″ hole in the middle of each flower. For the leaves, drill a hole near the bottom, and for the bunting, make a hole at each end.
3. Using a 1/8″ round and a 3/4″ rivet pin, “string” your circles, beginning with the smallest one with the unpainted side facing the rivet head. String the next two with the pretty side facing the head, and add your leaves or bunting. Stick the rivet in the outside hole you made and put a pop rivet washer on the inside. Using a rivet gun, pop the rivet. (I use a battery-powered pop rivet gun, but the manual ones can be purchased for around $20.)
Now you can arrange the petals. The first round can be pulled up and smooched together to hide the rivet head and the pretty part will show.
4. Now that you have your “layers” decorated, cut a length of a steel threaded rod to the size you need — maybe 3 inches. On one end, screw on a locking nut, then thread the rest through the other mold and secure with the wing nut. Put an earth magnet on each wing of the nut and slip your tin toy over it. Or you can always make a big flower to cover the wing nut. Then set on a footed metal candy dish.
Related Stories
I was born into a family of artists and raised in a beach house on the shore of the San Francisco Bay. Both grandmothers were painters (one was award-winning), my uncle a fine woodworker and my aunt a playwright. My dad could do anything. My mother would say something like, “Frank, I think we should take out this wall,” and he’d say, “OK, Betty.”
My father made molds for garden statuary, and he made us leather sandals and worked in stained glass. My mom was a ceramist, costumer and hatmaker for the local playhouse, and eventually had her own line of unique handmade clothes that sold at the local boutique. She also started a co-op gallery with other local women called Village Arts.
My parents were also known for their dinner parties. My mother loved to entertain, and it showed. Their guests were from all walks of life: a Bay Area food critic, a famous psychiatrist, a judge, a tugboat captain, an art critic, an activist, a beatnik performance artist, a dentist named Dr. Pain (who wore a kilt), musicians and artists. Everyone would drink and eat and, later in the evening, they would smoke something that smelled awful, and my father would sing or do funny lip-syncing to Stan Freberg albums.
So not surprisingly, all my art endeavors were encouraged. My first painting was a finger painting I did in oil paint when I was 5. Nana was painting on the patio and to keep me occupied she had me dip my fingers into the paint on her palette and smear them on a piece of Masonite. My uncle bought it from me for 50 cents and framed it in an over-the-top frame with burgundy velvet.
In 1970, my sister went to Europe for the summer and my mother was worried I’d miss her terribly, so she bought me a Rapidograph pen. I loved it, and right away I was drawing kooky home interiors and lots of frogs.
My mom fixed up some thrift-store frames and started framing my work. The local antiques store started selling them for me. For Christmas, my parents would give me a membership to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Then, when she thought there was a show or lecture I’d especially like, my mom would steal me out of school and we’d go into the city to see it. Sometimes we’d have lunch.
Photo by Daniel Fox.
Enter color on steroids: My first family trip to Mexico was in 1964. Color and lots of it. My eyes were dazzled by huge paper flowers and colorful woven blankets in the markets — and the birds! One place we stayed had macaws just hanging out on the patio. Whenever my folks could afford it, we’d be off to Mexico, and eventually moved there, where my father had a job managing a resort on the Sea of Cortez. Every week brought new guests. Harold Paris (who came up with the panties with the days of the week on them) taught sculpture at the University of California, Berkeley. Teachers from ArtCenter College of Design were also guests.
In 1980, I got married and this afforded me the ability to pursue various mediums because I didn’t have to work. A friend of the family taught me how to hook rugs and I nearly lost my mind — I was in heaven. Repurposing wool skirts from thrift stores was grand but then I wanted to have control over the colors, so I took a weeklong class in fabric dying at the Mendocino Art Center. This was a game changer. Learning about color and dying my own wool allotted me a broader palette to create from and my rugs really popped.
Later, I would get divorced and move to Seattle to be near my sister. I wanted to show my rugs, but they didn’t get any attention from gallery owners. I had one show in a coffee shop and that was because I used their coffee-bean sacks as backing for my rugs.
I ended up buying a little house and was then able to get messy because it was mine and I had a yard. Mosaic became my new passion. Finding color-saturated crockery and breaking it into little pieces was fun, but I was naive. It snows in Seattle some- times and I hadn’t given any thought to that. The glaze on the ceramic pieces popped off when it froze.
Next, I took up painting with oil sticks. What a gas that was. I painted for seven years, more or less. I remarried and we had a daughter. I’d stay up until 3 a.m. painting, then sleep while she was in school.
I had shows anywhere I could — coffee shops, taverns, group shows in churches and libraries, it didn’t matter. I painted so much I blew out my shoulder and had to have surgery on it.
Photo by Daniel Fox
Then one day in 2007, I was at the Columbia City Gallery and saw the tin artwork of William Herberholz. I fell in love with his work and called friends to tell them about his show. I was struck not only by the color, but by the nostalgia of the tin. A good friend ended up buying one of his pieces.
Sometime later, this same friend sent me an email to say William was going to be teaching a two-day workshop at Pratt, where he was also the janitor. I couldn’t believe it and was thrilled I was able to get signed up.
Photo by Daniel Fox
Since that workshop, I’ve been working in tin and loving every minute. I started finding and hearing about other artists who work in tin and started a secret group on Facebook. There are over 30 of us now. One artist is in South Africa, another is in the U.K., along with men and women across the U.S. We show our work or ask questions about tools or techniques. It’s a wonderful bunch of artists (you can see their work in the links section of my website).
Creating tin work is endlessly fascinating for me and I’m constantly teaching myself new things. Last year the Northwest Designer Craftartists, of which I am a member, had a call for a show called Fantasy Footwear. What a fun idea! I went to the thrift store and bought two pairs of shoes. The first round bombed miserably, the next worked out fine. I drilled holes in them and pop riveted tin flowers all over them.
The first metal cake I made was for the Tacoma Art Museum over 14 years ago. I knew someday I’d make more, but there was still so much to do with working on the 2D work … and, of course, it’s less challenging and more straightforward. The cakes are fun for me because I feel they’re celebratory.
All my favorite events in life involve cake, so why not make fun cakes as an ode to happiness? And the tin itself is so compelling: Hunting for it, finding it and not knowing its history is a mystery I’ll never solve, but I can give it a new life as art.
I have recently moved my studio out of our converted single-car garage to an art studio building. It’s dreamy. It’s on the top floor with good light and fresh air. I call it the penthouse. I knew a few artists when I moved in, but I’m meeting new artists nearly every day. It’s my hope to be there until my hands give out with age. I love the camaraderie. It’s so fun in the afternoon when the artist across the hall comes through the door with a beverage and a bag of pret- zels and we talk about what we’re working on or the progress we’ve made. Being at my home studio, while convenient, was just too isolated for me. I love the energy of being surrounded by other artists!
Ten years ago I nearly died. I was allergic to our cat and made the dumb mistake of sharing a butter- scotch sucker with him. After he licked it, I put it in my mouth. Within a few minutes my throat began to close. Paramedics were able to do a tracheotomy in our dining room and I spent 11 days in the trauma ward. The firemen called the hospital the next day to see if I had “made it.” This brush with death caused me to re-prioritize my life.
I made a list of everything I wanted to accomplish with my art:
Public art ✔
Solo show at 4Culture ✔
Be on TV ✔
Be in the newspaper ✔
Be in a national magazine CHECK!
Now I need to start a new list.
SUPPLY LIST
Tins, gelatin molds, old tin toy, footed metal candy dish
Can opener
Tin snips
Drill,1∕8″and3⁄16″drill bits
Pop rivet gun, 1∕8″ pop rivets and steel or aluminum 1∕8″ rivet washers
Wing nut and locking nut, both 3⁄16″
Big rubber mallet
3⁄16″steel-threaded rod, and something to cut it with (I use an angle grinder)
Earth magnets
Other tools that are nice to have but not mentioned are: a Whitney punch, a metal punch, drill press and bonsai shears. Watch my YouTube channel to learn more about working with tin.
INSTRUCTIONS
1. Collect some pretty tea tins and gelatin molds. Thrift stores are usually a good source. Two different size molds with flat bottoms work best. You can use the ones with the holes in the middle, but I think it’s better to start small. It gets a little more complicated the larger you go. Also, find a tin toy for the topper (one you can cut the bottom open to place over the wing nut).
2. You will need to drill 1/8″ holes in your molds wherever you want the flowers to go. On the bottom, you’ll need to drill a 3/16″ hole for the threaded rod. If you’re not familiar with using a drill, please find someone who is able to help you.
Flatten the tins by removing the bottom with a can opener, then cut it open down the side with tin snips and flatten with a big rubber mallet. Before I had a mallet I’d back over the tin with my car. Cut out three concentric circles for each flower, cut petals and leaves or bunting and drill a 1/8″ hole in the middle of each flower. For the leaves, drill a hole near the bottom, and for the bunting, make a hole at each end.
3. Using a 1/8″ round and a 3/4″ rivet pin, “string” your circles, beginning with the smallest one with the unpainted side facing the rivet head. String the next two with the pretty side facing the head, and add your leaves or bunting. Stick the rivet in the outside hole you made and put a pop rivet washer on the inside. Using a rivet gun, pop the rivet. (I use a battery-powered pop rivet gun, but the manual ones can be purchased for around $20.)
Now you can arrange the petals. The first round can be pulled up and smooched together to hide the rivet head and the pretty part will show.
4. Now that you have your “layers” decorated, cut a length of a steel threaded rod to the size you need — maybe 3 inches. On one end, screw on a locking nut, then thread the rest through the other mold and secure with the wing nut. Put an earth magnet on each wing of the nut and slip your tin toy over it. Or you can always make a big flower to cover the wing nut. Then set on a footed metal candy dish.
The Women Create Foundation is a catalyst for small but significant strides to empower women creators through grants that help bring projects to life and foster innovation.
