Month: February 2013

Rondeau: “From Cupid’s bow”

Poetry

From Cupid’s bow there flies a dart,
And where it lands shall romance start:
Eternal lovers, strong and true,
Or passion’s pawns, thrust deep into
The storm tossed sea without a chart.

Yet paramours are seldom smart;
They drive the horse behind the cart
And later curse each shaft that flew
From Cupid’s bow.

Love is not science, but an art;
Not every hind will find her hart.
The arrows miss, or strike askew,
And when they fail it falls to you
To seek out other ways apart
From Cupid’s bow.

Triolet: I Lost My Way

Poetry

I saw the path; the signs were clear,
And then, O Lord, I lost my way.
With victory sure, the prize was near.
I saw the path; the signs were clear.
A heartless man who rules with fear
Is ever sure to win the day.
I saw the path; the signs were clear,
And then, O Lord, I lost my way.

Rondeau: “The things we want”

Poetry

The things we want are tempting bait
That lure us to participate
At tourney field or concert hall,
To run the race or scale the wall,
That we may thus accumulate.

Yet base desire may turn to hate
As we are crushed beneath the weight,
Hemmed in on every side by all
The things we want.

The wise among us contemplate
What we should choose to venerate:
Ignore the worldly goods that call
Like Atalanta’s golden ball;
Let charity and love dictate
The things we want.

Signet Ring: Casting and Engraving

Casting

When we last saw the mold for this project, it had just come out of the oven, firm but squishy in the middle. At this point I still needed to carve a sprue so I could pour the metal in. If I had done this when the dough was still wet, it probably would have worked fine. If I had waited until everything was bone dry, it probably would have worked fine. Instead, I had a dry shell with a doughy inside, which was not at all inclined to cut smoothly. I tore out a vaguely funnel shaped chunk and hoped for the best. Things were not looking good for the home team. The inside of the sprue looked awfully moist still, and I knew that moisture and hot metal did not go well together. How would I dry things out in there? Propane torch? Sure, why not?

So now I had a somewhat drier, charred mold that still was awfully squishy. Still no clue if it would work at all. I melted some pewter, put the spacer dowel into the cavity, held it together with a gloved hand and poured. All the metal poured right out the bottom. On the down side, things were clearly not lining up properly. On the up side, nothing had exploded!

Since the mold was still squishy, I figured I could squish the two halves together harder and close up the gap that was letting the metal run out. I clamped it between two pieces f wood and tried again. A little metal stayed in, but most of it still ran out the bottom. Clearly, the bottom of the mold was the problem area, so I moved the clamp down to the bottom edge of my boards:

Success! The metal stayed in and filled up my horrible excuse for a sprue. All I had to do now was pop the two halves apart and take out the first of many lovely castings.

Honestly, considering the utter lack of care and patience I put into this, I’m surprised things went this well. The mold was destroyed, but I had a vaguely ring-shaped lump of metal clinging to the dowel like a robotic kraken. Would I be able to salvage anything from it? I only had one chance to make something out of all this mess.

I clipped the tentacles off the mass of metal until I could knock the dowel free of its grip. Some time with the belt sander and various Dremel attachments allowed me to whittle it down into something fairly ring shaped. The face of the ring was sculpted as a circle, so you can see how much the mold had gotten squished during the casting process.

As I said earlier, I had never really done any sort of engraving. After all this work, I was hesitant to dive right in without any proper tools or clue what I was doing. I tinkered around with my made-from-a-screw graver, an awl, and a dental pick on the back of another stray casting to see how the tools worked. Unreliably, but well enough to give it a try. I scratched and scraped, buffed and polished, and started to see something like my monogram appearing. I ended up getting out one of the Dremel engraving burrs to get the etching deeper, then dragged the dental pick through the grooves again to give a less mechanical effect. I was just about happy with what I had until I realized that this was a seal matrix; the letters were supposed to be in reverse!

The belt sander made short work of my first attempt, and I used what I had learned the first time to make a second, larger rendition of the same design. A bit of punching with an awl around the border, and I had something passable:

So, would I try this mold method again? Maybe not for something this big. A smaller, thinner piece – especially one with a single sided mold – would probably work better, and dry faster. For a ring like this sand casting is probably a better option. As experiments go, though, this was not too bad. I ended up with a functional (if not perfect) piece, and learned a few things. Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep tonight without being woken up by any other bright ideas.

Signet Ring: Making the Mold

Casting

I’ve been wanting a signet ring for a long time. I was daunted by the idea of engraving (since all the extant signets I can find were engraved), so I’ve been putting it off. At 1:00 this morning, my brain decided that it was time to start this project, and so I did, if only so I could tell my brain to shut up and go back to sleep.

Part of the impetus for finally starting this project was Margherita Battistina‘s idea of making molds out of salt dough. Cheap, easy, reusable; what’s not to like? I figured it was worth a shot. After all, all I needed was a vaguely ring-shaped object that I could grind down to the shape I wanted.

I made my dough with 2c flour, 1c table salt, 1 c water, and about 1T lime juice. I mixed it and kneaded it until it was nice and smooth. I built a frame out of a couple strips of mat board and some tape.

I squished a chunk of dough into the frame and smoothed it down. So far, so good.

The ring master was made of Sculpey wrapped around a piece of the only suitably sized dowel I could lay my hands on in the wee hours of the morning. Fortunately, it was exactly the size of my pinky. I baked the Sculpey and it was good to go.

Here is where we begin to see the perils of impatience. Ideally, I would make the impression of my master in the bottom half of the mold, let it dry completely, perhaps sand it flat, and then make the second half of the mold to match. Instead, I coated the first half of the mold with oil, popped the master in, and…

Smashed another chunk of dough right on top. I tamped it down as best I could (with a peanut butter jar) to try to get a good impression of my master. Did it work?

Looks like it did! Now, both halves of the mold were pretty flexible at this point, and I didn’t want them to get misaligned, so…

I put the two halves back together (with the master tucked inside), separated by a piece of plastic wrap. I set this sandwich on a wire rack so the bottom could dry as well.

Now, what I probably should have done at this point was let the mold air dry by leaving it alone for a very long time. I did not do this. I went back to sleep, got up and went to work, came home and popped both halves into a 300 degree oven. The  outside faces of the two halves were pretty dry at this point, so I wasn’t as worried about them getting misaligned. Unfortunately, this dough is basically very unappetizing bread. Despite being unleavened, the mold halves started rising slightly, which I knew would make a mess of my casting. The dough was dry on the outside now (more or less), but still squishable in the middle. I decided I would go ahead and give it a shot before things went any further afield.

How did it turn out? Tune in next time…

Terza Rima: Elisenda’s Stand

Poetry

Between three seas triskelions shine bright
Upon the crown and banners overhead,
But in times past those flags were black and white;
Meridies once ruled those lands. It’s said
That borders are but lines drawn with a pen,
And for ambition some will seek to tread
Across frontiers laid out by ancient men.
Dire news came that Trimaris moved to war;
She sought to take our southern lands and then
Redraw the maps that had been made before.
The knights cried out and bade King Thomas ride
To meet the threat that could not be ignored.
The Sovereign rode, he would not be defied;
His Consort followed closely at his side.

The morning light crept out across the field
Where flags argent and sable were displayed.
Across the plain an army was revealed:
The legions vast in shining steel arrayed.
Flags blue and white like flocks of seagulls flew
O’er soldiers who were keen to ply their trade.
The King was grim; his own knights were too few
To match the force he saw and win the day.
He needed counsel wise, so he withdrew
Back to the tent where his fair Queen still lay.
“What shall we do?” he asked his waking bride,
“If ordered forth my armies will obey,
But fortune has it I should be denied
My good sword arm by wounds from wars of old.”
He shook his head and, woefully, he sighed.
Fair Elisenda, Queen as bright as gold,
Took up a shining sword forged for her hand.
“Fret not, my love; this story’s not yet told.
In your place I will gladly take command
And guard the southern borders of our land.”

The host went forth, a lightness in each heart,
For at their head strode their beloved Queen.
Each soldier eager for the battle’s start,
Undaunted by the many foes they’d seen,
Knew glory lay ahead for them to claim.
Her Majesty, determined and serene,
Was guarded close by men she knew by name.
Hand picked for courage and for martial skill,
They wore her badge for love, and not for fame.
The armies soon stood in the Autumn chill,
Two walls of shields with blade and spear held high,
Brought to this place by fate and Royal will.
The calm was shattered by a general’s cry
To start the charge and let the arrows fly.

A hundred men against a thousand fought
And carved their names with valor into stone.
With every life another breath was bought
For Elisenda till she stood alone.
Her guards strove on until they gave their last;
Each took ten lives before they lost their own.
A voice called for the soldiers to hold fast,
And so they backed away and held their blows.
A man came forth – all kneeled as he walked past –
And stood before the Queen in regal pose.
“Krotuas, I presume,” she said with cheer,
As though she were not hemmed about with foes,
And gave a nod of greeting to her peer.
“Your Majesty,” replied the towering King,
“I am a bit surprised to see you here
With shield in hand and sword still poised to swing.
Lay down your arms and we will keep you whole
Til money’s raised to fund your ransoming.”
She laughed at this, and said “I’ll not be sold
Like apples in the market by the pound –
Your coffers I deny Meridian gold.”
The King drew forth his blade – a wicked sound –
And held it forth, his own expression grim.
“I ask once more to put your arms to ground.”
“I’ll never yield!” she cried, then came at him.
They traded blows, bold King and Queen so brave.
Her leg stepped out; his swift sword struck the limb.
Upon her knees, she knew her wound was grave,
But still she held her guard in ready stance.
The King stepped back. “Your life may still be saved!
Lay down your sword; I’ll give you one last chance.”
She shook her head, then gave him her reply:
“Meridies, through history’s great expanse,
Has ever had Queens not afraid to die.
By knife or poison, plague or treachery
They faced their end, and there, by God, go I.”
Her words had struck, that much was plain to see:
The great King could not swing the killing blow.
Yet war is war; he could not let her be.
“Seal her fate,” he said with head hung low.
The men advanced; their King had turned to go.

A dozen soldiers bore her body home;
As sorrowful as those who’d seen the fall
Of all the greatest emperors of Rome.
The honor guard, great knights and nobles all,
Returned the Queen held high upon a shield,
With flowing silk upon her as a pall:
A hero felled in valor on the field.
The shroud upon her body bore in gold
A rampant lion with teeth and claws revealed.
They laid her at her husband’s feet and told
Of how she stood so firm before the sword,
Resolved that naught but death would make her fold.
The men withdrew, and then her Royal lord
Fell to his knees and wept upon her breast.
He spoke to her of how much he adored
The gallant lady he had loved the best.
He felt a stir, then pulled his head away
To see a subtle rising of her chest.
“My lord, if you so kindly bid me stay,”
She said, “Then I shall die another day.”

This was written for Lord Cianan Carmichael’s bardic challenge in honor of HRM Elisenda’s battlefield prowess, and performed at Midwinter A&S in the Barony of South Downs, February 2, 2013.