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.

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).

Opting Out

I wish there was an easy button for opting out because I would click it.  I live for those moments in life when I choose invisibility from everyday occurrences in order to dream.

Life has become so complicated  and access oriented which can be contrary to a peaceful existence.  The influx of constant information gives me sensory overload.

When I traveled to California last February, I was struck by those little moments of peace while gazing upon the snow-capped mountains in a vast desert.  As I looked upon flowers that bloom on the tips of large cacti, I was struck by the instinct of natural survival and peace.

During my visit to Palm Springs, CA I casually walked into the Crystal Palace, a crystal and healing store.  At that moment there was a "Psychic Fair" being held in the store and I chanced upon Patrick Harrington, a medium who looked quite familiar. One glance at him with his bright blue eyes, sitting at his table and I knew I had to jump on this moment and have a reading with him.  Many of the things he told me no one could have known.  I asked him about opting out and he informed me there was not 'opt out' button.  I had to 'opt in" and be more visible As a creator the process comes from within and balancing that with external output is often contradictory. 

Now, I am back on the East Coast and enveloped in a slow warming of the winter frigidity.

I adore connecting to the world, and, even though finding the balance is often elusive,  seasons change and I am ready to bloom once again as winter melts away. 

Sometimes you just have to opt out in order to opt in again.  Time for Spring's rebirthing, everyone!

A Charmed Life

 

Do You Lead A Charmed Life? Answering that question myself, I would say sometimes yes, sometimes no. One thing I WOULD say for sure, is that it’s been memorable. OH! The memories!

As a young girl I loved shiny pretty things. My first memories of jewelry were limited to investigating my mother’s jewelry box. She wasn’t a huge jewelry fan, but had collected a small array of interesting pieces over the years which included a pink gold Benrus watch and various hand-made pins and earrings that were purchased during her 13 years living abroad in Brazil. I would line these pieces up and inspect them closely: the clasps, the stones, and the color and texture of the metal. And then there was the shoebox full of gumball machine charms, which Sherry Carr kept under her bed. She lived across the street from me and I coveted those plastic charms with a passion that wasn’t quite admirable. These early obsessions merged with Saturday trips to the hardware store accompanying my father where I developed a fascination with hinges, nuts and bolts and how everything fit together architecturally.

Lately I’ve found myself revisiting lots of memories of people and places lost. Images that will awaken me from a sound sleep or shadows that I seem to see out of the corner of my eye as I shuffle around my studio. Often I will hear a whisper in my ear with sounds and voices unspoken that will jolt me from reality.

Seemingly “on trend” it appears that you, my friends, have been following the same path because I’ve been getting a lot of requests and packages to update your memories with your collectibles and charms. I’ve been adding charms on your bracelets, earrings and necklaces.

I’ve always loved charms: charms with moveable or secret compartments. Charms with enamel and colored accents. Gumball charms. Silver charms. Gold charms. They are so fascinating, so CHARMING, and they all mean something. Our personal lives are reflected in these tiny mementos. They have meaning and a life of their own. Truly, this is a charmed life.

The Master's Work

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Isn’t it odd that just when you are feeling really good about the work that you do, someone else comes along and does it way so much better? Crushing, isn’t it? That is the point where I pick myself off the floor and repeat my mantra: “There is a market for EVERYTHING”, (including what I do).

 

Over the last several weeks, various people kept saying to me, “you should see the show at the NYC Museum of Art & Design”. People were really taken with Daniel Brush and his work. When another friend sent me a link to a NY Times article about his show, I read the article and was blown away. His work is both sculptural and jewel-like and is produced solely by himself, a self-taught goldsmith. This guy taught himself to do granulation, for god’s sake. The pictures of him in his studio with ancient, Victorian machinery that he single-handedly restored was awesome. Also, the article stated that he rarely leaves his studio on 23^rd St. and doesn’t sell his work through any store, gallery or agent. He just works: Quietly and for many years on a single piece. And did I mention the pieces he creates? Jars of steel with high-karat gold inlay. Granulation. Pave-set 17^th century rose-cut diamonds in “drawings” made of steel. Bake-lite whimsical jewelry with beautiful and precious pave elements. Some pieces are not jewelry at all but feature layers of blued steel with high-karat gold and granulated tiny butterflies or bees. These pieces are more like follies because they incorporate tiny magnets for an interactive puzzle of re-arrangement possibilities.

Several days prior to the show’s closing, I found myself in the midst of his massive show at the museum. Each piece was more detailed and beautiful than the next. There was a room full of his sculptural “jewelry”, a room full of shadowbox “sculpture” and a room full of textural line drawings. I have no idea how he made any of it.

Upon turning a corner of the show, I heard and noticed a small cluster of people around a small man who was gesticulating and speaking with a voice like Tom Waits. I listened closely and yes, it was Daniel Brush himself! This was indeed serendipitous and I tried to position myself inconspicuously to hear his golden words of wisdom. He was so approachable that I loomed bravely in his shadow until everyone else had fallen away. How did he work, I asked him? He is a late riser. Eats the same thing every day: Cheerios for breakfast and pea soup for lunch. Sweeps the studio floor for two hours. Works from 2pm to 5 in the morning. Talks to no one. Doesn’t make work to sell, but makes work to challenge and interest himself. If a piece takes three years to make, how does he price it and whom does he sell it to? He wouldn’t answer my pricing question but seemed more intent on WHO bought the piece, that it would go to a good home, that they would love and care for it because it was so hard for him to let go of his work. He prefers to sell on a handshake.

It was also interesting to note that his wife was there. She was a smallish woman with long blond hair and very sad eyes. I noticed that she he had her left wrist in a cast when she slipped quietly away from the crowd. I wondered what her experience was like, living with a partner who worked incessantly and apparently took himself incredibly seriously and had enormous pride that one could interpret as monumental ego.

My experience speaking with Daniel Brush was that of a true admirer. I was impressed with his IQ and tenacity. I was inspired by the manifestation of work so beautiful that it belonged (and is) in the Smithsonian. He mentioned that he has about 10 collectors who purchase his work and this is what has kept him afloat for these past 30 years.

I could not help but question the inherent rights of the male sex, however. The love of a good woman, keeping him afloat in lean times and mostly running a home while the genius creates. The unnecessary “burden of proof” that accompanies the god-given trust-worthy and capable male species. Talent is not random, it is perfected. But luck and support CAN be quite random.

Oh well, back to the studio and the drawing board. I need to create my own little masterpieces of genius. I just wish I had three years to work uninterruptedly on a single piece and not worry about when I last ate, or how to pay the mortgage. Time to sweep the floor, or get up off of it.

Some Things Change

 

2013: Here comes another year, and we’ve never been here before. Are you ready for the next journey? 

Sometimes I am and sometimes I’m not because change, for me, is really hard. Once I dig in and attach, it’s so difficult for me to release from these attachments. I want things to stay the same. For me, 2012 was a lesson in letting go of so many things: People, places and things that are, ultimately, impermanent. Permanence is an illusion, I know, but this rocks my core and it challenges my ability to stabilize in the instability of life.

Losing a loved one is destabilizing. Devastating. You can touch them one minute and the next minute all you have are the memories. I’ve always been fascinated with mourning art and jewelry. Pieces of a loved one’s hair that are encapsulated under glass or inside a devotional locket. I see these creations as human attempts to rationalize and maintain contact in a spiritual dimension. When Buddy died it was too soon. This wall and desk locket was an act of my love representing her love, because she loved Buddy so deeply. He found her and protected her on her journey of loss and transformation. Buddy was always there, shielding and looking inside with those piercing brown eyes. Like hers. He was there for her daily walks around the lake, bouncing and running with joy. I grew to love Buddy too. And then all too quickly he was gone.

 In August of 2012 I was at a street fair in Delhi, NY and came upon a young woman whose specialty is pet portraiture. Her little portraits were painted on wooden plaques no bigger than two inches in diameter. When I saw the beautiful detail of her work, I knew what I had to do, so I commissioned Lilybeth Cressman to create a small portrait of Buddy as a puppy. I wanted to make a locket as a memorial to this superb creature. I cut an oval of copper and gave it to Beth for the painting, along with a photo of Buddy as a Puppy. From there, the locket took on a life of its own as I bought several hundred vintage watch crystals. At the same time, I found about 50 vintage chasing tools that had been created individually by a master craftsman. These were all truly one-of-a-kind. Note the little flower and leaf stamps around the perimeter of the portrait and the small wing on the back of the frame. When Buddy was buried, I delicately cut a bit of hair off the end of his tail. Under the crystal part of the locket, remains Buddy’s tail with a silver cap. It can be removed and worn, if desired. Buddy loved bones. Now he’s in Doggy Heaven, eating all the bones he could possible want.

As we head into 2013, I wish you all a protected journey and the courage to transform!

To Dream is to Live

 

As many of you, I have been trying to make sense of a senseless tragedy and to make understandable a world that is predominantly nonsensical. I have felt listless, hopeless and irrelevant. How can I let this experience destroy celebration and cloud hope?

Where are our leaders and our mentors? Hourly, I ask myself how can I be relevant in my daily rituals in the face of such monumental tragedy and a world that might end on friday?

But here I am again with my fingers tender, cut and bruised. I struggle to make something beautiful the way a weed finds a ray of light through the crack in the sidewalk and moves  towards the sun.

In the light I want to render that beauty, the only common recipe in a stew of chaos among all people.

Beauty surely represents all that is good.  If you create: a sound, an image, or a moment of laughter, the hope shall win and exist in all eternity.

That is the dream for which I live. As we dream, we live.  DREAM ON!