First I had to strip them, using very stinky stripper, called "Perfecta." Remove many layers of paint and bronzing powder, using tongue depressor and wire wool. Washing with wasing soda and water, then neutralizing with isopropyl alcohol. This process takes the entire day and I'm feeling pretty bleary from the fumes.
Second, melt rabbit skin glue, apply as first coat to stools.
Third, melt gesso from freezer, and apply five coats. Then comes "cutting back," which means getting rid of the excess which inevitably builds up, losing definition in the carved wood. This is done with dental tools, to carefully scrape out the flutes without chipping the gesso, and 320 sandpaper, "Lubrasil," to sand it till the whole thing is as smooth as a baby's bottom. I mixed up gesso paste to fill in the areas that are gashed or missing from the wood. I then put on another five layers of gesso. Then another round of cutting back. Time spent so far, not including the time for each layer to dry: 16 hours.
Fourth, I apply the layers of gold-colored clay, which is composed of clay and rabbit skin glue, carefully mixed to get the clay in suspension. I put on twelve layers of clay, each layer taking half an hour to paint on.
Fifth, extremely light sanding, and then burnishing. First I burnish it with a burnishing brush, then I use an agate burnishing tool, rubbing the surface of the clay. There is naturally-occurring graphite in the clay that burnishes up nicely. However, this step is fraught with danger: you use a lot of pressure, and the burnishing tip is pointy, so when your hand slips, the tool mars the surface, which then has to be burnished again, with risk of chipping the clay. This happens several times. You have to be very careful not to touch the clay with your hands or the burnishing tip, as any oil will make it impossible to gild.
Sixth, the water gilding begins. After many weeks of anticipation, I'm eager. This quickly gives way to a slightly leaden feeling when I see how dastardly difficult the task is to learn. First you cut the gold on a gilder's pad, with a special knife; even this step is rather difficult, as the knife grabs the gold with the tiniest mishandling. If you should happen to exhale, the gold flutters away, or folds on itself, in which case it is impossible to unfold and is officially a "spewing" (gross name) and is saved, if you can manage this, in a tiny box. The pad actually has a screen to keep drafts off the cutting area. Any little puff of air, from anywhere, and you have horrible fluttering bits everywhere. Then you apply a little gilding "liquor," so-named because, well, it's gin. There are circumstances for different kinds of liquor, however, and my liquor is actually distilled water and a gelatin capsule. The idea is to rehydrate the clay surface, which you may remember contains rabbit skin glue, and when it is just at the right level of stickiness (which may take years to recognize), you pick up a piece of gold with the tip of a special brush. The tip of the brush has to have a faint amount of grease on it to attract the gold, which you get by brushing the tip on your face. Then you touch the tip of the brush to the gold piece, ever so gently transport it to the object so as to avoid any air movement, and hovering over the rehydrated section, you lay it on. If you're lucky, it sticks.
When you have done a large area, you then brush it with a different brush, and rub it with cotton wool, and find out if you gauged the stickiness correctly. It turns out I haven't done a great job, and when I ask for help I'm pretty much told that there's a knack to it, a "feel", and I just have to figure it out for myself. Great. Then you come back and try to fill in all the areas you missed, a step called "faulting," using a minute-tipped brush, applying gold, and leave it. At this point it truly looks like hell.
Total time spent so far: 24 hours, not including drying times. There are many more hours to come: gilding the entire surface, faulting, burnishing, toning, turning button feet, cleaning textiles. I know you will be waiting eagerly to see how it turns out...!
Fifth, extremely light sanding, and then burnishing. First I burnish it with a burnishing brush, then I use an agate burnishing tool, rubbing the surface of the clay. There is naturally-occurring graphite in the clay that burnishes up nicely. However, this step is fraught with danger: you use a lot of pressure, and the burnishing tip is pointy, so when your hand slips, the tool mars the surface, which then has to be burnished again, with risk of chipping the clay. This happens several times. You have to be very careful not to touch the clay with your hands or the burnishing tip, as any oil will make it impossible to gild.
Sixth, the water gilding begins. After many weeks of anticipation, I'm eager. This quickly gives way to a slightly leaden feeling when I see how dastardly difficult the task is to learn. First you cut the gold on a gilder's pad, with a special knife; even this step is rather difficult, as the knife grabs the gold with the tiniest mishandling. If you should happen to exhale, the gold flutters away, or folds on itself, in which case it is impossible to unfold and is officially a "spewing" (gross name) and is saved, if you can manage this, in a tiny box. The pad actually has a screen to keep drafts off the cutting area. Any little puff of air, from anywhere, and you have horrible fluttering bits everywhere. Then you apply a little gilding "liquor," so-named because, well, it's gin. There are circumstances for different kinds of liquor, however, and my liquor is actually distilled water and a gelatin capsule. The idea is to rehydrate the clay surface, which you may remember contains rabbit skin glue, and when it is just at the right level of stickiness (which may take years to recognize), you pick up a piece of gold with the tip of a special brush. The tip of the brush has to have a faint amount of grease on it to attract the gold, which you get by brushing the tip on your face. Then you touch the tip of the brush to the gold piece, ever so gently transport it to the object so as to avoid any air movement, and hovering over the rehydrated section, you lay it on. If you're lucky, it sticks.
When you have done a large area, you then brush it with a different brush, and rub it with cotton wool, and find out if you gauged the stickiness correctly. It turns out I haven't done a great job, and when I ask for help I'm pretty much told that there's a knack to it, a "feel", and I just have to figure it out for myself. Great. Then you come back and try to fill in all the areas you missed, a step called "faulting," using a minute-tipped brush, applying gold, and leave it. At this point it truly looks like hell.
Total time spent so far: 24 hours, not including drying times. There are many more hours to come: gilding the entire surface, faulting, burnishing, toning, turning button feet, cleaning textiles. I know you will be waiting eagerly to see how it turns out...!
More later, Ellie
. . . and -- sure enough -- continued here.
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