80s and 90s Kids' Arts and Crafts Part II

Welcome back to another edition of 80s and 90s’ kids’ arts and crafts. For those of you in the States, I hope you had a nice long holiday weekend. To my international readers, I’m sorry you have to continually endure the assumptions that you care about the United States’ independence. My condolences.

Before we get to the good stuff, a quick note: You may notice the posts here at Children of the 90s becoming a bit more intermittent over the next couple of weeks. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. Well, actually the previous statement is completely false: I am going somewhere, though the move will take place in the real physical world instead of the virtual one. I’m in the midst of a housing to move to parts as of yet unknown and am thus fully consumed by the arduous task of hauling furniture and packing up boxes.

I’ve never been much for manual labor, so the inevitable strain on my delicate self is taking up valuable blogging time. For the next few weeks, I appreciate your understanding of our temporary on-again, off-again relationship. Believe you, it’s not you, it’s me. And my incredibly overstuffed apartment.

For now, though, let’s resume our stroll down memory lane into the world of 80s and 90s arts and crafts. Believe me, I would rather be doing any of these things--no matter how ultimately tedious--than packing up a few years worth of accumulated stuff. If I had a velvet poster to color in or a spin-art wheel to operate, you’d bet my progress would be slowed significantly. Not to mention my belongings would be far more paint-splattered, though be fair it would be in an artfully random pattern.

Based on your much-appreciated write-in suggestions, here are a few more of the vaguely arts and crafts-related activities that held our attention as children. There’s still a part 3 likely coming your way, so feel free to add additional suggestions to the comments section or by email at childrenofthe90s@gmail.com.


Scratch Art


For those of us lucky enough to have parents willing to spring $4.99 or so for a packet of pre-made scratch sheets, we enjoyed the hassle free scraping of surprisingly colorful designs from a black background. Others among us didn’t fare quite as well, opting to create our own scratch boards from, well, scratch.

Doing so involved the arduous task of filling a full page with random colored patches and using an entire black Crayola crayon to do you color-cover bidding. Your hand and arm would be incredibly exhausted from the whole ordeal, but at least you were able to reap the reward of some sweet vibrant etching.


Velvet Coloring Posters


I passed one of these at CVS the other day and found myself fighting the urge to purchase it and customize my very own velvet portrait of a unicorn galloping whimsically across a full arch rainbow. Despite my knowledge as a grownup that these posters are extremely tacky, there’s something so tempting about embarking on an endless and time-consuming velvet poster coloring project. Plus they’re velvet. Velvet! That stuff comes across as pretty classy to a seven-year old.


Ironable Perler Beads


We spent many, many hours in my house tediously placing plastic beads a millimeter in diameter each onto flat bumpy molds. Whoever thought these up was either a genius or incredibly sadistic, depending on your views on occupying a child with a mindless task for multiple hours at a time.

The molds came in different shapes and could produce different designs using the multicolored beads. Simply cover, iron, and ta-da! A piece of useless junk. But hey, it was your piece of useless junk. There’s a difference.


Spin Art


Just in case you were looking for a way to make painting messier and more airborne, you’re in luck: someone else has already come up with it and mass-marketed it. There actually used to be a professional Spin-Art center at our local mall, but I’m guessing the availability of allegedly easy-to-use at-home kits put them out of business.

The process was simple but undeniably attractive to mess-hungry children. You put a piece of paper on the spinner, activated the motion, and squirted various paint colors in its general vicinity as it spun. It was like a maxed-out version of the Spirograph: no skill required, guaranteed to create interesting artful symmetry.


Friendship Bracelets
I recently caught an episode of How It’s Made featuring the hammock-making process that led me to believe I could someday take on a lucrative career as a hammock craftswoman. The reason? The countless hours I spent weaving embroidery floss into masterfully crafted bracelets and anklets. How else can we children of the 90s put to use our skill at creating patterns like tornado, chevron, and candy stripe?

If you have a solution, feel free to let me know--I’m actually in the market for a new career. I don’t have Friendship Bracelet Making as its own category on my resume, but I’m willing to work it in for the right professional macrame post. Really, let me know.

80s and 90s Kids’ Arts and Crafts Part 1

Upon further examination, it seems like I should have titled this feature “Craft Aids for the Talent-Impaired Child Artist.” Parents of young children in the 80s and 90s were coming around to the self-esteem movement--meaning they had to pretend everything we did was pure gold in in an effort to not damage our allegedly fragile child egos. It’s the reason we all think we’re so good at everything. Gen Xers may have been better off with their cynicism--by the time Gen Y rolled around, our every breath was an action worthy of praise.

Whatever the reason, an overwhelming number of art-themed items from our 80s and 90s childhoods required relatively little skill or talent of any kind. Whether through creativity-eliminating drawing guides or mistake-erasable drawing tablets, these crafts held very low expectations for our artistic ability. That’s either very kind or very depressing, depending on how you look at it.

There’s no chance I could sum up all of the nostalgic arts and crafts items I’ve come up with--I just spent about forty minutes oohing and aahing over memory-jogging Google images. This is destined to be a multi-part series, so feel free to reminisce about your own favorites in the comments section. If your memories are convincing enough, who knows? They might just end up in Part II. You can only hope.


Fashion Plates/Light-Up Tracing Desk


Here is the ultimate in talent-free artistic expression: simply rub over or, as technology improves, trace some mix-and-match designs onto your very own piece of paper. You could switch out the different plates to change outfits, faces, and shoes. Inspired by the plates used by actual fashion designers, these more primitive versions were marketed to children. I had the later update light-up desk, which yielded a similar result with the added bonus of some technology: a little lightbulb.


Spirograph

Introduced in the mid-60s, the Spirograph has long been a favorite of geometrically-minded children. Using some mysterious principle described by lengthy equations and assorted Greek letters in the Spirograph Wikipedia entry, the circular gears produce various patterns and symmetrical shapes when poked with a pen or pencil. Growing up, our local science museum had a giant Spirograph that held some half-hearted intention to teach us some math, but unsurprisingly most child patrons were only interested in taking home their personal tear-sheet drawing.



Etch-a-Sketch/Magnadoodle/Magic Memo Pad



These devices seem lumpable into a single category on the basis of their underlying theme of immediately disposable, mess-free art. It’s clear why these toys appealed to our parents--no muss, no fuss, no ugly pictures they felt obligated to display on the fridge with forced pride. Simply swipe, shake, or peel, and start again--endless renewable art fun.



Kid Pix

For the tech-savvy among us, the computer became a veritable playground of virtual painting. I was not actually lucky enough to own Kid Pix, but I did occasionally have the chance to observe its awesomeness with its stamping and sound effects at a friend’s house. On my own, I was relegated to playing with the gradient function on our ClarisWorks, but I spent most of my allotted computer time fuming about my lack of Kid Pix.



Paint by Numbers/Paint With Water



Paint-by-number sets were a popular and highly tedious exercise in futility. It took great resolve and concentration--attributes children do not generally possess--to get through one of these pictures. Once you get all the way up to matching all of the tiny little 14 spots to the number 14 color, several hours have elapsed. Bummer.

The Paint With Water Sets were far simpler, though they held a much greater novelty factor. Simply wet the colored part of the paper and it becomes drippy and messy and allegedly paintable. I actually had a several minutes-long discussion with my boyfriend regarding whether these mysterious sets actually existed or if I pulled the notion from the far expanses of my overactive imagination. Grueling Google searches conclude that they do in fact exist and thus I did not dream up a Muppet Babies-themed wonder featuring built in paper paint. Score one, me.

Liquid Timers

If there was ever a piece of compelling evidence that children are incredibly easily amused by visual stimuli, liquid timers would be it. All it takes it some oily liquid and few drops of fluorescent food coloring and we as kids were rapt with attention for hours. A paperweight with limited functionality may not seem like an attractive toy for a child, but any parent who ever brought a kid into a science museum gift shop or Discovery Channel mall store realized liquid timers held a mesmerizing appeal. Standard kitchen egg timers may not have given us palpitations, but place a colorful liquid timer in front of us and we were set to stare for a solid 20 minutes.

Liquid timers came in a wide variety of shapes, sizes, and permutations, providing children with a vast spectrum of semi-scientific objects by which to be captivated. While other toys relied on highly interactive features and endless manipulable amusements, the various producers of liquid timers knew parents were far more interested in a toy that made their child sit quiet and still than one that allowed them frantic movement.

I’m not a parent, but if I had the choice of something like a pogo ball or a liquid timer, you can bet I would go for the colorful dripping paperweight. Not only is the chance of skinned knees far less likely, but your child will likely be so entranced by the dripping timer that they may unknowingly commit to vacuuming or doing the dishes.


The fact that these desktop toys were sold primarily in science-themed stores is fairly laughable; sure, there’s some science behind the dripping mechanism, but it’s unlikely a child ever actually learned anything from one of these timers. They rarely came with a detailed “How It’s Made!” guide, leaving kids to speculate on the vaguely scientific and educational nature of the equivalent of a colorful leaky faucet. It may have been on the shelf at the Discovery Channel store, but there was relatively few discoveries to be made. You turned it, it dripped, the end.

The fancier models may have incorporated some mysterious chamber changing and reverse direction technology, but it never made any effort to educate us on why or how. Granted, liquid timers were marginally more educational than the usual crap that occupied our playtime, a fact that was probably more than enough to appease the parents shelling out for these useless space occupiers.

A brief research investigation (read: Google search) of liquid timers was by far the most educational interaction I’ve had with them so far. A potentially credible site taught me that the timers are filled with liquids of varying densities that have an oil-and-water type relationship: one liquid passes through the other by means of chemically variant and non-combinable properties. That sounds accurate, right? I tried to science it up a bit with my limited relevant vocabulary, but the basic principle seems like a valid explanation. Thanks, Google.

That same Google search, however, yielded another interesting tidbit of information: manufacturers of liquid timers do NOT (capitalized, underlined, bolded, and italicized: these sites mean business) recommend these items for children. Apparently some curious children saw fit to try to break open their hypnotically soothing toys for a taste of the undoubtedly delicious colored liquid inside. Kid deductive reasoning concludes that if it looks like grape juice and drips like grape juice, it’s probably grape juice--a foolproof formula.

Despite its potential toxicity, it’s obvious why our parents gave into our demands for liquid timer ownership: these overpriced paperweights were a much-welcome distraction. Admittedly they didn’t do anything, but in an age before kids were incessantly preoccupied with technology that wasn’t necessarily such a bad thing. We could only hope to recapture the whimsy and effortless amusement of our younger years. While now it takes at least four forms of technological entertainment to hold our attention for any period of time, it could do us all some good to spend some time gazing aimlessly into the liquid timer-filled abyss. If you don’t have an abyss on hand, your desk is probably also a suitable alternative--just make sure you’re gazing aimlessly for the full liquid timer effect.