Creative Neck Tie conversions to Bow Ties

I've had a great time seeing the variety of neck ties that people send me to convert into bow ties.  The order that I popped into the mail today was by far the most interesting (and difficult) batch of ties that I converted yet.  I can tell that the gentleman that owned these ties has used and loved them dearly and it makes me so happy that he'll be able to wear them again!  He sent me 5 ties to be converted: Squirrels, Cheetas, and Swans belted together (one of his wife's favorites), Bunnies in hats and a vintage J.Press Paisley tie.

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I felt like I was putting together a puzzle working around all of the love on these ties.  When I finished them up this afternoon, I felt pretty proud of myself.  I even was able to salvage the vintage label and sew it back into the bow (his request).  I wish I would have taken better pictures, but here's what I've got.  Maybe I'll see if he can send me some shots of himself wearing them.

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Also on the agenda for this evening: a frog tie and a bear tie.  I have such a fun job.

If you have an interest in having your ties converted, know that the charge is $23 for each tie.  You can e-mail me at for more information.




1 Comment


November 08, 2009

Humbly, I tie a converted tie, the rabbits flying out of their hats, not today challenged by the cheetahs, the Swanns (in love) bound: true love’s the gift which God has given to man alone beneath the heaven, the silken tie which heart to heart and mind to mind in body and soul can bind.

See below:

MORNING SONG OF SENLIN (from “Senlin, A Biography”) by: Conrad Aiken (1889-1973) It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my fathers learned to do. Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet Stand before a glass and tie my tie. Vine leaves tap my window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chips in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones. It is morning. I stand by the mirror And tie my tie once more. While waves far off in a pale rose twilight Crash on a white sand shore. I stand by a mirror and comb my hair: How small and white my face!— The green earth tilts through a sphere of air And bathes in a flame of space. There are houses hanging above the stars And stars hung under a sea. . . And a sun far off in a shell of silence Dapples my walls for me. . . It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning Should I not pause in the light to remember God? Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable, He is immense and lonely as a cloud. I will dedicate this moment before my mirror To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair. Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence! I will think of you as I descend the stair. Vine leaves tap my window, The snail-track shines on the stones, Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree Repeating two clear tones. It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence, Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep. The walls are about me still as in the evening, I am the same, and the same name still I keep. The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion, The stars pale silently in a coral sky. In a whistling void I stand before my mirror, Unconcerned, I tie my tie. There are horses neighing on far-off hills Tossing their long white manes, And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk, Their shoulders black with rains. . . It is morning. I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more; The blue air rushes above my ceiling, There are suns beneath my floor. . . . . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness And depart on the winds of space for I know not where, My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket, And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair. There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven, And a god among the stars; and I will go Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak And humming a tune I know. . . Vine-leaves tap at the window, Dew-drops sing to the garden stones, The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree Repeating three clear tones.

thank you very much for your work

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