Monday, May 14, 2018

THE REPAIR CAFE












I work in relative obscurity in the middle of woods.   
The wild turkeys roam and call out to me through the sun streaming upon my workbench.  It is quiet. It is serene and I have time to contemplate.  This is right for me at this time in my life. I am no longer pulled by my dreams that
wilt in daylight.

Am I lonely?  No, because I have contact: Just the right amount of contact that I choose and which I value.  I feel such gratitude now when I sit eating a sandwich at the local diner and watch the old man next to me sitting alone and staring at his gold watch.  He looks peaceful.  I can see that he’s lived a life that has been full.  I love him silently and admire him.  What were his choices and where did he stumble or astound?

My life is much smaller than it used to be and I like it that way.  I moved to my cottage in the woods almost 2 years ago and it’s taken me that long to find the moonlight on the path when it’s dusk.  It’s taken me that long to reach out and wander the perimeters of my town.  That’s when I found the Repair Café.

The Repair Café is an old concept.  It happens in many incarnations in many communities.  I remember when I was a child how I sat by my father’s elbows and watched him closely when he fixed a broken chair or metal shelving.  When he drilled through the metal and attached nuts and bolts for stability it seemed almost painful, like a stay in the hospital.  The drill through the metal screamed when it was mended. It sighed as it was sanded and repainted.  We laughed when he was stumped by an engineering challenge and we wondered why the piece didn’t repair itself.

I’ve been making jewelry for 45 years and I like to take my time.  I volunteered my time one afternoon several weeks ago at the Repair Café.  I was there to advise and do small repairs “on the spot” in a large room at the back of a church.  Volunteers were buzzing around, setting up tables and lamps.  I worked a double task of sewing and mending as well as wielding my pliers to fix that broken clasp on a long chain.

The Café had barely opened its doors when a couple of real Woodstockers walked up to my small jewelry station.  He was dapper and friendly.  She was tall and monumental in her fuscia fake fur coat and purple hair.  They were clutching a round cookie tin,

Putting the tin down, they slid it over the table to me and I opened it.  Resting in a square of red velvet was a silver and semi-precious stone pendant, one of the largest pendants I’d ever seen.  Immediately I knew it was modernist, from the 1950’s when many artists also made jewelry. It resembled a Paul Klee painting with fanciful and playful beaded silver wires sticking out randomly.  It was odd and intriguing and a little bit garish.

“Can you fix this?” he asked.  “It’s actually quite valuable, by an artist that used to live here in Woodstock:  Rolph Scarlett.” 

I examined the big pendant and saw that it was in need of a solder job because one of the jump rings on the main, hollow form had snapped.  Soldering a piece of jewelry is always a challenge when someone else has made the piece. Not to mention the care that is needed in preserving the original patina. Turning it over in my hands I could see that while it was somewhat primitive, it had been made with intention and humor.  I liked this odd piece of jewelry and was intrigued with the person who had been Rolph Scarlett.

I could fix it.  It would be a challenge and a bit scary but I knew I could do it.  Plus, I love the fantasy that I can be part of a bit of history in carrying on the tradition of artists that work in metal.

I carried the piece back to my studio and researched Rolph Scarlett.

“Scarlett was Canadian-born, came of age in the Midwest, and spent few important years in Hollywood, where he designed stage sets. His work from this early period echoes Klee’s use of color, his confidence in naïve, primitive forms, and his blend of abstraction and figuration. In its flat spatial qualities it prefigures the Indian Space painting of the 1940s by a decade. He moved to New York in 1933 and eventually found his first great patron at the Museum of Non-Objective Painting, directed by Baroness Hilla Rebay and art patron Solomon R. Guggenheim. Guggenheim would collect over 60 works by Scarlett for his collection, more than any other artist outside of Vasily Kandinsky and Rudolf Bauer.”

It turns out that Scarlett was friends with Paul Klee and admired his work greatly.  Scarlett’s paintings are beautiful and similar but he never really gained world recognition like Klee.  He lost the support of patrons when his style changed and he retired to Woodstock where he lived in “regional obscurity” to the end of his life.  He also returned to his original passion of making jewelry.

This week on a quiet day in the studio I said a prayer while I soldered the pendant.  I had taken it apart to repair it.  The patina changed when the piece was heated but I re-oxidized it back to its aged splendor.  I reassembled the pieces and imagined Rolph stamping the piece with his nod to street graffiti.  Street Graffiti affected me tremendously when I first moved to NYC in the 80’s.  Samo and Keith Haring were my contemporaries.  Rolph and I shared that fascination. I still incorporate graffiti images into my work.

The pendant needed a “bale” from which it could hang on a chain.  I chose one of my “beaded bales” that are part of my own signature.  I thought about this choice.  I knew that ethically I should choose a plain large silver oval jump ring in keeping with Rolph’s intention but I just couldn’t do it.  On the inside of the bale is my triangle signature.

When I’m old and sitting in a diner, eating my sandwich and staring at my watch, I will hold the wish that in the future someone might discover a piece of my jewelry and bring it to a Repair Cafe. I hope my signature will be recognized. If another jeweler repairs my work and adds their moniker, it will continue upon it’s journey.  I will know that in spite of my choice of relative obscurity as a career path, I’d made a mark on the path well traveled.

(Left:  Barbara Klar's Graffiti Safety Pin, 1984)






Monday, July 10, 2017

Inspiration and Synchonicity


…when jewelry has a life of its own….




Does the idea come first like a light bulb illuminating in my brain or is there something I see which triggers a familiarity upon which I can expand? I am tempted to say that things just happen: Do they roll and stand up to get attention or spring like a sprout from the fertile ground
I tread?

I was given this Labradorite Cabochon stone from a friend. As I touched it's smooth surface, I rolled it over in my hand and put it back into my stone box, I was struck by the color and luminosity it possessed in different lighting. There was an iridescent blue that reminded me of
the pink and turquoise blue of a sunset by the ocean. I had just moved and ended a disappointing relationship that was tumultuous and mean. I was alone somewhat happily yet I could only feel the fear. I was thankful that the new place came with a bed that was not only
comfortable but enabled me to lay my head upon the pillow and gaze into the treetops and see the sky. I forced myself to breathe long deep breaths even though my heart was beating in my chest and my phone was blowing up with abominable texts from my ex.

While I laid on the bed, out of the corner of my eye I saw the brown paper wrapping with string around a small painting, waiting to be unpacked and hung. I had collected so much art over the years but now most of it sat in storage. Through the years I'd become increasingly uncommitted regarding this collection. While I loved every piece of art I owned, I didn't want anything hanging on my walls anymore. I wanted my mind to be free so I could dance with my own ideas, unhindered by someone else's.

"I should hang that painting", I whispered to myself. Three months later, the package still sat by my nightstand. It had been moved endlessly around my tiny bedroom because it seemed to be constantly in the way. I loved that painting; it had been given to me by a friend on my birthday 6 years ago. I like to look at its colors because it made me feel like I could fly into its night sky and lose myself into the cobalt blue and sherbet-colored sunset. I could lay atop that small hill and watch the sun disappear over the horizon.


I hadn't been able to work since I moved because the displacement had been so abrupt and brutal. I could only cry because I felt broken and lost. I've never been unable to work in the sanctuary of my studio, not ever. The dry period was long, until September when production for
the holidays was upon me. I felt empty and dry. Coming down the stairs from my bedroom one morning I tripped on the edge of the brown paper and the painting fell down the 5 stairs with me after it. We both arrived on the landing somewhat shaken and disheveled, but all in tact. I sat
there stunned and slowly unwrapped the painting. I ran my fingers over the gilded gold frame and let the colors wash over me. I immediately hung it at the foot of my bed where I could gaze upon the tree tops through my window and then lose myself into the colors of the sunset
painting. Or was it sunrise?


I sat in front of my stone boxes and opened them one by one, wishing that inspiration would find me like water in stream rippling over the rocks with diamond reflections. The Labradorite found its way into my hand again and I wanted to catch the clouds that reflected in the streams of my memory. That beautiful stone was the painting at the foot of my bed as much as it was a cool glass of water from the well to quench my thirst. It came from the earth and it whispered to the blue in my soul while I set it into a ring.


But the journey of this ring had just begun....

from Michele Zalopany (click on her name to access her website)


Barb and I have been dear friends since we attended the Cleveland Institute of Art. We each followed our own trajectories that began at CIA. Through the following decades we both worked hard at our lifes’ work; for Barb it was jewelry, and for me, it was painting and drawing.
A few months ago, I saw the ring in a post that Barb had put on Instagram (@barbaraklar). The elaborate silver setting held a large
oval Labradorite stone. The setting was like an exaggerated contemporary version of a Victorian gothic cocktail ring. The 19c, with its confluence of colonialism, photography and Darwin has been a source of study and fascination for me. There was just something about that ring that struck me in a profound way like no piece of jewelry ever had.For years, I have been studying and researching colonialism worldwide, but Hawai’i, in particular. The earliest ethnographic photographs of Hawai’i are the foundation of my paintings. Being part native Hawaiian, I am fascinated by some of the faces of the women before miscegenation; they were a far cry from the brown-tinted, Caucasian-featured hula hula girls, used to promote the tourist industry, especially beginning in the 1920’s.


That ring reminded me, very profoundly, of Hawai’i…the sea and the
mountains.

Shortly after I purchased the ring, I attended a transcendental event with acsmall group of people. Under the guidance of a trained facilitator, various psychedelic plants are administered to each person based on their experience and intent. My intent was to be able to work through a difficult period with my partner, and to have some breakthrough in my work. After a gut-wrenching, powerful-on-many-levels night, we all got together in the morning, to talk about our experiences. The next step was to integrate our experiences with the plants, in our daily lives. This made perfect sense to me on a very rational level. Little did I know or expect some of the irrational and poignant synchronicities that would occur.

Just before the journey, I had been commissioned to make a large vertical painting for a private residence. The subject matter had been decided: two pearl divers. I had nearly finished the divers, but was having a very difficult time determining the configuration and colors of the water into which they were diving, which comprised nearly 2/3 of the entire painting.


I’ve had insomnia for a while now and wake up several times a night
completely pie-eyed. A few days after the journey, I woke up at 2:14am,
and went into the living area to have a cigarette. I had a conspicuous thought that seemingly came out of the blue…the ring, it's light and it's color would be the ground of the painting! The next day, I painted the remaining white canvas with the image of the sea, rock and sky depicted in the ring with a big brush and watercolor. It freed me up from my usual tightly controlled rendering. It offered an infinity of possibilities, and most of all, I was energized and stimulated!

I completed the commission. The client was pleased, and so was I.




*healing properties of Labradorite
A stone of transformation, Labradorite is a useful
companion through change, imparting strength and
perseverance. It balances and protects the aura, raises
consciousness and grounds spiritual energies. Excellent
for strengthening intuition - promoting psychic abilities.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Tiny is TOPS!

 

The components I use to make  jewelry are so small that I need magnifying glasses to see them clearly.  Often they will jump off my bench and fall into the void of my workspace, never to be found again or only appear when I'm searching on my hands and knees with a flashlight.

This drives me crazy at times, but I love Tiny Things.  Last week my assistant, Jen, and I were reminiscing about our love for all things tiny.  How did this start?  Surprisingly, we could both trace our fascination back to our first dollhouses. One of my earliest obsessions occurred when I accompanied my mother on her weekly grocery shopping and noticed a toy high atop a shelf on an aisle, prior to Christmas of 1959.   This was the original "Dream Kitchen" and came with a working dishwasher and a total of 176 pieces.  It included tiny steaks, plates, pots, pans and canned goods.  I repeatedly tortured my mother until it arrived that Christmas.  I began to create a secret dollhouse in a cabinet in my bedroom where I made curtains and doll clothes with my tiny crank Singer sewing machine.  I would work on my cabinet of curiosities endlessly until my mother would come in and force me to go outdoors, into the sunlight.  But I preferred my dollhouse, much as I prefer the time spent in my studio today.


This is a dollhouse to top all doll houses.  Fairy Castle was commissioned by silent movie actress Colleen Moore in 1928 and now resides in the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, Illinois.  It took many years and countless artisans to create this masterpiece:  with its 500-year-old ornaments, pure gold and diamond encrusted chandeliers, it boasts a great hall, a princess's bathroom and a well-manicured courtyard.



Here is my "Girlie Necklace".  It features all charms that reference the pin-up girl theme.  While I do not often work in non-precious or costume jewelry, I couldn't resist it when I saw these charms.  The small binoculars are viewable with a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge. There's a pink-gold plated "Playboy" locket, an expanding cellulose fan with nudie girl pictures and a small disk that rotates viewable girlie pics… The little book expands with picture postcards of Somerset.  It is made of copper with silver accents and is truly one-of-a-kind.

The wonders of a Tiny World are infinite:  zoom in and you'll see!

Friday, October 30, 2015

New Information about "The Seeker"

After Publishing this post about “The Seeker”, a dear client took it upon herself to research the image in the vintage porcelain. Thankyou, Jane Wood, for your keen detective work!
*Aloysius Gonzag: Born in the castle of Castigione, 1568; died, June 1591.



The eldest of 7 children in a wealthy family in Northern Italy, he was chosen to be trained in the military but received “the calling” to be a priest at a very young age. His family was vehemently opposed to this but when he developed persistent health issues, he was sent to a monastery and furthered his education there. In 1591, a plague broke out in Rome and the Jesuits opened a hospital for the stricken. Aloysius volunteered to work there. Six days before his 23rd Birthday, Aloysius showed the first symptoms of being infected. He recovered, but his health was left worse than ever. He had a vision that he would be dead within the year and told several people that he would die on the Octave of the feast of Corpus Christie. On that very day, he seemed well in the morning but insisted he would die before the day was over. He died just before midnight.
Owing to the manner of his death, he has always been considered a patron saint of plague victims. For his compassion and courage in the face of an incurable disease, Alysius Gonzaga has become the patron both of AIDS sufferers and their caretakers. Aloysius is the patron of Valmontone, a town not far from Rome.

In Art, St. Aloysius is shown as a young man wearing a black cassock and surplice, or as a page. His attributes are a lily, referring to innocence; a cross, referring to piety and sacrifice; a skull, referring to his early death; and a rosary, referring to his devotion.

It is curious to me that this little porcelain was crafted by me, unknowingly into something of a shrine to the testament of knowledge and healing. I, too, feel like I live in an age of many plagues. We seek to heal.

Friday, June 26, 2015

The Seeker

 
"They call me the seeker, I've been searching low and high.  I won't get to get what I'm after until the day I die."  Pete Townsend, 1971

"In Search of":   the constant quest. It is everyone's journey.  I seek the truth.

I am not religious, but I know that I am on a spiritual journey.  I believe everyone is and we seek to know.  The older I get, the less I know. I only know love and beauty are real.


I found this miniature hand-painted porcelain portrait in an antique store in Adamstown, PA in 1994.  At the time, I could barely afford it, but I bought it and tucked it away in a velveteen pouch in one of the drawers of my workbench.  Over the years I'd take it out every so often to touch it's smooth surface and marvel at what I called "the Seeker".  I loved his faint, golden halo and his quest for devotion looking down upon the crown on the table.  I developed a sense of comfort every time I gazed upon the upturned corners of his lips, a slight smile in the calm of his acceptance.

When I first studied the art of jewelry, I became fascinated by the work of Faberge I'd seen in the Cleveland Museum of Art.
I appreciated the craftsmanship and folly of these eggs made in his studio. I longed to hold one in my hands and discover its mystery as I'd peel it open like an intricately wrapped gift.  What an incredible experience  it must have been for the Russian Tsars to have received such a masterpiece from the studios of Faberge. I imagined these artifacts resting on a marble mantelpiece or on an elaborately carved desk, waiting to be touched and discovered like a magical toy.   But I would want to WEAR it and keep it with me always.

It took me almost two years to complete this portraiture locket.  It kept getting more and more complicated by my obsession with hardware and locking mechanisms.  This became a labor of love with my devotion to love and beauty.  It opens, it closes, it locks.  The pearls on the outside of the "ring of fire" are pearls of wisdom.  There is a gold halo because I'm earning mine.  There is a hollow ear because we must listen.  There are 3 golden tears with rubies because each tear we shed has an inner lesson. It is meant to be worn, hung on the wall or sitting on a desk, waiting to be explored and opened like the flower that blooms in the truth we seek.









Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Armor for the World




When I make a piece of jewelry that someone wants to wear, it feeds my passion to know that I have touched someone in a meaningful way when they choose to wear my work close to their body. It is an intimate experience and it becomes a personal talisman. I have always believed that jewelry is “armor for the world” and we all need a little protection during our travels.

I also have a passion for fashion. Even though I’m most comfortable wearing black tee shirts and jeans, I have a deep fantasy life where I wear chiffon, brocade, silk and velvet. In my mind, I dress like Brian Jones in the early Rolling Stones.
 There was a time during my life in NYC when the jewelry I made was predominantly inspired by current fashion trends. As time went on, the production schedules and fast-paced social calendars disguised as work took its toll on my spirit, mind and body. I longed for the sustenance provided by nature. Slowly I learned who I was and it became obvious that I had to return to my core and explore the art of my work. That is when I moved upstate closer to nature.  I have never looked back.

As inspiring as it is, living in the country often feels isolating yet that’s where connection comes in: modern connection. The internet is invaluable and keeps me locked into trends and conversation. Recently, on my Facebook page, I was so happy when two friends discussed my work and talent. The conversation took place between an incredible photographer who is also a client and another client who happens to be a very high-profile fashion insider. Their conversation praised my talent, but the fashion insider alluded to the fact that I should be more successful. I wasn’t successful, he hinted, because “she has her own ways of doing things”.

His words stung because it reminded me of another high-profile jewelry editor who, years ago, upon finding out that I was moving out of NYC, shook my hand, looked into my eyes and said: “Call me when you start making jewelry again“. Out of sight out of mind, apparently.

Yes, I have my own way of doing things. I think everyone does. What matters most is following your heart and your dreams. I know jewelry is not brain surgery or rocket fuel, but when we find meaning or joy in even the smallest tasks, it propels us upon our journey. I am interested in your stories and your journeys. Please take me with you. I’m delighted when you do.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Starting Over

 
Here we come, 2015, a New Year with a New Beginning. Every year at this time it feels like I’m starting over. 2014 has been a shedding year, much like brushing my dog, CoCo, when every season begins: her wooly coat thinning with each tuft of clumping hair I remove until I have a pile of red, silky angel hair that I throw into the wind. Sometimes I see birds swoop down and pick up a strand to line their nests as they prepare to usher in their offspring with the approaching season.
Once I had a sister who said she raised me until I was five years old, although I do not remember that. My mother gave birth to me at 40 and took to her bed with post-partum depression., removing herself for five years from the family. Beth was 13 years older than I and could do everything better than I could. She could paint and cook and she was quite beautiful with blue eyes that reflected the depth of the ocean. Over the years we lost touch and reconnected when I was 30. Beth had married at 18, raised 3 boys by herself, divorced, moved to California and then went on to become an IT engineer. Her house had burned down and her second marriage had ended with his addiction. During a visit with her while recounting one of her experiences, I asked her: “Don’t you ever get tired of starting over?”
Beth smiled and chuckled slightly, saying: “No, because that is what life is about. Starting over.”
Beth died of lung cancer when I was 49 and I was going through breast cancer. I never got a chance to say goodbye. We were literally calling each other on the phone and telling each other our diagnosis one minute and she was gone the next. I recovered and she did not.

Sometimes it is hard to imagine that with every shedding there is a new beginning and eventually, something to be gained. Often it is a remembrance of someone lost and their words of wisdom with a glimmer in their eyes. Sometimes it is selling all your belongings with an illusion of freedom and trusting only in love to propel you forward.
I feel the love when I look into the eyes of my partner or down at my hands that ache after a year of hard work. I look ahead at the path before me and see it strewn with CoCo’s angel hair and rocks that look like jewels. I look at the things I’ve created and the thoughts I’ve created in my mind that keep me asking questions.
Bring it on, 2015, let’s create (a dream).