Steampunk eyeglass mask

Years ago, I took a tutorial workshop on how to make wet-shaped leather masks, and another world opened up to me.

The first step was enduring a few hours of relative stillness with straws stuck up my nose and my hair stuffed in an old pair of pantyhose, while a props-maker friend (Marine Veteran, boss photographer, kick-butt sensei and all-around standup guy, sadly now passed) slathered Alginate all over my face. Once that set and released, we poured the plaster version. If I make too many more masks to wear, I’ll either get this version poured in pewter, or buy a sturdy headform. But this one works, as long as I cover it in plastic to protect the plaster.

God, I was young when we did that.

Here’s a mask I made with this form, seven years ago. More as proof that I remembered the boiled leather workshop techniques, when another friend challenged that making Venetian style masks was too hard. I love this piece, but I can’t wear it without contact lenses. I hate contacts; for most occasions, I simply cannot wear them, and I haven’t tried in over a decade.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out what many props people already had: build the mask around the glasses. Duh. I have a pair of narrow oval frames that were old-fashioned and steampunk-ish long before steampunk and dieselpunk costuming became a Thing. I’d originally bought them with the mad idea of replacing the entire frame with sterling silver filigree shaped like a moth (from Sherri Tepper’s True Game series, for trivia’s sake). Thankfully silver prices skyrocketed and sanity reasserted itself.

I have a new hall costume I’ve been noodling with for a few years, on the rare chance that I might be at a convention where I can go a little wild (as in, away from T-shirt, jeans, and killer jewelry). It features the Vine coat, and an updated take on the hat below.

Have I mentioned that I adore masks? Nearly all of my remaining hall costumes feature masks and veils in some form.

I know there are cultural reasons to despise forcible masking of anyone’s features. But for fun occasions like a media convention where most of the other attendees are masked and garbed, I just freaking love it. I have an Edwardian/Steampunk brown and purple number that features a veiled hat cobbled together from several thrift store finds. I have a French Foreign Legion cap with attached face-veil – all in eye-searing salmon pink with Berber embroidered trim (safer not to ask why, really.)

But I wanted something even more outre. I was inspired by Inuit snow goggles. How would a stiff wood or leather form work, made to fit around narrow lenses?

So, last week I started with a paper pattern traced around the granny glasses. Note: I extended the sides and changed the eyeholes a little, but you get the idea.

I cut out some thin, vegetable-tanned tooling leather, and began lightly embellishing and texturing the surface. Once I had it to the desired level of overdone, I wet it again. Heavier leather has to be slightly boiled first, but light stuff only needs to be soaked. I draped the proto-mask over the (plastic-wrapped) headform, and laid several cloth sandbags around and over it to press the leather into place. Then I let it dry for a few days.

In our plastics, metal, and soon-to-be-graphene age, it’s easy to forget that leather, horn, cloth, ceramics, basketry, bone, ivory, lacquers, petroleum tar, and tree-sap were the high-technology materials of their day. I’m ever more amazed and humbled by what people made from found and refined raw materials, long before the advent of worked metal. Forget masks: think armor, weapons, high-strength construction glues, and vermin-proof containers. I’m currently researching Neanderthal Stone Age adhesives made from birch sap chemically altered through the precise application of timed heat: maybe the first thermoplastics. That I’m doing this research for a M/M fantasy novella about amber is somehow really funny, and perfectly in character for me.

But that’s for another post. Back to the mask. I always have a few test pieces of tooled leather around, and thought a small disc would be a great anchor for the shaped nose guard. The exposed hinges and earpieces looked fragile, so I shaped two curved guards, dried them, glued them down, and stitched them into place for extra insurance.

Some sanding, gluing, and painting happened next, including layers of teal, bronze-gold, and black-brown stain mixed with Delta Exterior Satin varnish (I live by this stuff, for book arts and masks alike: it’s waterbased, nontoxic, and dries quick, flexible, and tough).

Some drilling happened, once the leather was varnished enough to be stiff. I sealed the hole edges with more teal paint/varnish mixture, and resisted the urge to touch it until another 24 hours later.

Then I added bead dangles along the lower cheek pieces, and braided brown polyester ties.

I have seen the whole outfit in the mirror now. Between the almost insectile mask, the swing coat, and the Gatsby mesh hat, I look like a Bohemian psychic medium from an Agatha Christie novel. Or an extra from Sky Captain. Pretty much what I set out to attain. There may be photos in a couple of weeks.

And for real fun, since I tend to design in themes and colorways, I can also use my leather fan.