Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Cover to Tri Technologies Multi Purpose Hand Help (M.P.H.H) machinery, 1947.
Book cover to Tri Technologies series of M.P.H.H R.A.N.G.E
Monday, January 4, 2010
Wonderful world of Tri Technologies.
The following images are a selection of Tri Technologies products I created after remembering my mums Sunbeam Mix Master.
So many memories of that big kitchen toy you dare not play with. Somehow its usage always seemed like a ceremony, occasions linked to something special. Birthdays and Christmas cake, homecomings and holidays. Cabinets cleared to one side, from dark cupboard to pride of place. And then the moment of use, beaters snapped in place, precious mixtures yet unmixed, a hush, before that voice drowning sound of a motor, being sped up, and up, by the turn of its giant black control dial, brilliant white tiny lettering slowly announcing the whirring pitches destination.
Cakes, biscuits, cream and candy.
Smelling icing coated ozone, then after an age, almost hypnotized to sleep by its aircraft drone, the engines subside, and the next stage begins. Handle swept to one side, beaters released, the little nob of vanilla-white plastic on the end just asking to be bitten into.Wafer thin metal ribs, explored tentatively, thoroughly, with a flicking, licking, lizard tongue, greedily lapping through the bars at final hidden cake mix, ginger bread or butterscotch.
What a machine!
They will never die, just forgotten, replaced by the new, plastic bibs, and brittle bobs that snap and bend a thousand times a day.
So many memories of that big kitchen toy you dare not play with. Somehow its usage always seemed like a ceremony, occasions linked to something special. Birthdays and Christmas cake, homecomings and holidays. Cabinets cleared to one side, from dark cupboard to pride of place. And then the moment of use, beaters snapped in place, precious mixtures yet unmixed, a hush, before that voice drowning sound of a motor, being sped up, and up, by the turn of its giant black control dial, brilliant white tiny lettering slowly announcing the whirring pitches destination.
Cakes, biscuits, cream and candy.
Smelling icing coated ozone, then after an age, almost hypnotized to sleep by its aircraft drone, the engines subside, and the next stage begins. Handle swept to one side, beaters released, the little nob of vanilla-white plastic on the end just asking to be bitten into.Wafer thin metal ribs, explored tentatively, thoroughly, with a flicking, licking, lizard tongue, greedily lapping through the bars at final hidden cake mix, ginger bread or butterscotch.
What a machine!
They will never die, just forgotten, replaced by the new, plastic bibs, and brittle bobs that snap and bend a thousand times a day.
First blog, first internet content, feeling my way along the cool plastic corridor that leads to the net. Clickety clack, my tiny footsteps trace accross the keyboard, a trail of lettered bread crumbs, that will lead the world to my door. Knock, knock, gently, gently,fellow humans. I am jelly flesh and ego built. A product of suburbia, weak in mind and lightly schooled. Television my dog, cartoons and comics my playground.
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