Today, I Made Something New

Why do I make jewelry?  

I write poetry to deal with grief, sadness, bewilderment, loss, death.  My poetry vibrates with raw emotion; even years later, it makes me cry to read it.

I make jewelry for life, for happiness, for joy.  I make jewelry because it isn't necessary or useful.  It is only beautiful, or sparkly, or colorful, or fashionable.  It requires a happy spirit to wear - and to make.  

I am finally happy.  I am settled in my spirit, grateful for what I have, loving and beloved, calm and - mostly! - serene.  I am finally free to move from writing poetry to making jewelry.  This feat is no small victory for my soul, my spirit, my self.

Today I took another step in my journey as an artist....I finished a bracelet that I made from scratch, with my own hands holding metal shears, hammers, files, pliers and awls, a micro-torch and a Dremel.  

It is not a piece that connects the beauty of gemstones with bone and crystal and horn and pearl through a thin woven wire, although I love to make those juxtapositions sing with their own unique harmony.

Rather, it is a more elemental thing, much like that of starting with a blank sheet of paper and letting it become an essay or a poem, a medium that allows us to share written thoughts and, hopefully, express something of meaning, of value, of beauty.  Making metal jewelry also starts with only an idea and a blank sheet of metal that becomes the medium for sharing design and beauty, the ephemeral turned real.  

So, today, I began with the beginning:  a blank sheet of copper that I cut and embossed, filed and smoothed, drilled and flamed to turn that blank sheet of copper into the jewelry artists version of a poem.  I connected the pieces and bent wire to make a clasp.  I held my vision of what I wanted before me through the whole process, far more in control than when emotion transmutes itself into poetry.  

And, finally, I put on my creation, so different from its beginnings, so thrilling to me as evidence of the skills I am learning and the new type of poetry I am creating in metal.  Unlike my written poems, which are riven with sadness, my metal poem reflects, I hope, the happiness and joy that I felt when I was bringing it to life.  It gleams softly, its shape is pleasing to the eye; it is lagniappe in a time when utility makes more sense, it is hope transmuted into a bracelet.  

It is proof that, while I am growing old, I am still open to new things, still becoming, still hopeful.  What a gift.  I am blessed. 

Cooking with Memories

In my kitchen I have a colander that has seen long use and better days.  One of its 3 legs is wonky, a large dent mars its rounded shape and a small crease has a bit of rust.  It has the feel of age, its design a repeating pattern of small holes that is definitely not au courant.  

It has a companion:  a sparkly bright modern large-holed colander with a solid round base...no legs to wobble.

I use my Mom's every time.  Its dents and wonky leg go unnoticed.  Using something of hers in the kitchen makes me happy.  I feel the connection to her and to all those times we spent in the kitchen together.  

One of my first cooking memories is of a cold  and snowy Thanksgiving in our walk-up flat in Chicago.  

It is the day before Thanksgiving and I am 4 years old.  I am sitting on the floor, my legs straight out in front of me, white socks and lace up shoes on my feet, a red and black plaid pleated skirt covering my legs.  I hold our large dutch oven on my lap and I am picking the homemade loaf of bread into pieces for the next day's stuffing.  My mom is busy at the stove.  I am happy.

The colander reminds me of this memory and many others; it is a welcome connection to the past.  My Mom taught my sister and I to cook, her feet up after a hard day, instructing us on how to prepare yet another of her magical 150+ ways to turn hamburger into something...from her porcupine meatballs to empanadas to mystery casserole.  

The colander was always there, perhaps hidden in the back of the crowded cupboards, but definitely a star when needed, just as it is today.  I cherish it, I cherish the memories it brings, I still cherish my Mom, gone these many years.  When I hold the colander, it is a tiny bit like holding her.

My Dad was a dreamer; my Mom did not have that luxury.  She was the practical one, the one who made the budget and kept to it, the one who darned socks, made our clothes, kept our house clean, made the hard times seem easy. 

I learned many lessons from my Dad, the dreamy ones about being an archaeologist or a musician or buying a hard-scrabble place in the middle of nowhere and fleeing the city life.  From my Mom, I learned to cook and sew and clean and budget, to stick to a task, to finish what I start, to keep the worn and wonky if you can still use it.

The colander, worn and wonky, still works.  I still use it.  

Thank you, Mom.  Welcome to my kitchen.

Journeys with Stones

All my life, I have loved the feel, the look, the heft of stones.  From the smallest pebble to the jagged stone of mountains:  I have felt a connection to them all.  In these, my later years, my love of stone has finally found an outlet in making jewelry.  There, in my hobby gone wild, I can savor the feel, the look and the mood of stones and remember their connection to small joys from past times.

In my family, I shared this love with my father.  He loved rocks too.  When he had to move from his beloved Texas to Washington D.C. for business, the movers complained that "This box is so heavy...what's in it?  Rocks?"  To which my father replied simply:  "Yes".  The practical side of my Mother was horrified at the expense of moving a box of rocks; her love for my Dad labelled the box "Dave's Rocks - Handle with Care".

He took those rocks, his favorites from a lifetime of collecting, with him.  These were not stones of distinction; in fact they were generally nondescript.  But they were markers of memory and a paean to his love of stones.  He took an Edwards limestone with a large hole as well, to ground him in his new place and to remind him that they would return to San Antonio.

He and Mom spent too many years in the purgatory he considered Washington to be.  But in the end he came home with all of these rocks - and a few more to mark the time spent there.

The limestone rock with the hole once again sat on their patio in San Antonio and all was right with the world.

Those patio rocks had many companions, including the three rocks he always carried in his pocket.  Plain rocks, picked up who knows where, these stones took on a soft sheen, as though they had been tumbled.  Through the years, they had....in his pocket as he lived his life.

For me, stones are a reminder of my connection to the earth, to God and to my Dad.  I love them in all forms and I never met one I didn't want to pick up, an obsession that has made many suitcases inordinately heavy on journeys back home.

Now I make jewelry, a creative process grounded in my love of rock and stone.  Making jewelry gives me immense satisfaction, not just from the creative process, but from these deep connections I feel in my soul.

There is a Hindu proverb that I have never forgotten:  "God sleeps in stone, breathes in plants, dreams in animals and awakens in man."

What better expression of that thought than to create beauty in jewelry with the beauty found in stone?  That is my current journey.

My father still has his three stones.  I placed them in his pocket as he lay in his casket.  Now they roam the heavens with him and I sometimes dream of his journey as I work in my studio.  One day I will share it, but for now, his love of stone has a new legacy in my jewelry.

Gift Collections from ArtFire

Here are the links to 2 collections of gift items from ArtFire.  It is always wonderful to look at and share other artisans work....so, enjoy!

Many Thanks to RoxAndThings for putting these collections together.  You can find her shop at:  RoxAndThings ArtFire Studio.  Her work is beautiful and her shop is well worth a visit.

From RoxAndThings Studio on ArtFire


Here are the collections.  Enjoy!

Unique Gift Guide on ArtFire









From Windy'sDesigns studio on ArtFire


Unique Gifts for Her on ArtFire - 2

From Patchtique Studio on ArtFire




SarahZoe

Silence is....Silent

The door is open.  Outside, a small breeze moves the leaves.  The moonlight plays on the pasture and the world is suffused in a soft silver glow.

I hear a quick rustle as the raccoon scuttles away, all soft edges and silvery gray in the moonlight.  Deer are near the feeder, wanting its bounty of corn.  The night is so quiet that you can hear the sound as they chew.

The moon is a bright crescent, on its path to fullness.  The stars are bright in the clarity of the night sky.  In the East, Orion is starting the hunt, his right knee poised on the horizon, his shoulders rising high.  The Pleiades twinkle in harmony.

The Milky Way is distinct, a bright path of stars from the westerly sky high into the night.  the distant hills wink with the soft red flashes of the cell towers that march across the heights around our town.

The soft curves of the road are lit silver threads through the trees and the grass. The inside of the house is filled with the soft gleam of moonlight on mirror and on glass, on stone and on the tile floors, cool beneath my bare feet.

The night is mild, a relief from the punishing heat of this summer.  In the softness of a moonlit night, the world is full of depth and hope; blessed, normal.

The world is beautiful; the moonlight is beautiful.

The moonlight is kind.

The moonlight is, above all, kind for what it does not show.

For with the light of day, what is softly lit by the moon is revealed in the bright glare of the sun:  the grass is dead, the trees are dying.

The green of summer, faded even in a normal August, is a thing of memory.  My eyes see yellowing leaves, falling leaves, dead leaves.  Whole cedar breaks turn brown overnight.  Cedars, trees most do not love, are dying - and everyone will miss them.

I am filled with sadness and fear.

Drought has a stranglehold on our beloved Hill Country.

The Blackbuck and Axis herds move in small swirls of dust as their hooves strike the ground.  The mostly nocturnal whitetail deer are showing their ribs and engaging in a desperate hunt for food and water in the heat of the day.

The birds search for food and each week there are fewer searching.  The Hummingbirds fight for the few remaining flowers and engage in aerial combat around the feeders.

The water tank, which must be filled every day now in the blistering heat, is a popular respite.

I am grateful for the night, for in the night I can pretend that all is well.  The damage is hidden, unseen even in the moonlight, and I am grateful.

Yet, something is missing, something profound.  And then it hits me once again.

It is quiet.  Very quiet.  I am hearing only silence.

The soft coos of the quail, the hoot of the owl, the quiet sound of a bat's wings whispering in the air - they are all missing.  And the night is suddenly loud with the absence of the quintessential music of the summer night - the trilling, raspy, insistent sound of the insects.

The night is loud with silence and the silence is not golden.  It is merely silent.

My heart breaks and I close the door.  It is too painful to hear the silence.

Maybe it will rain tomorrow.

Musings on Becoming a Pearl

Do you ever wonder how something so beautiful, so sensuous and so enticing as a pearl could be born from irritation?

Imagine the birth of a pearl...a tiny piece of sand or shell enters an oyster and it irritates, just as a mote of dust under your contact lens.  You take the lens out; the oyster deposits a thin layer of nacre over the tiny intruder.  As time goes by, the layers of nacre deepen and a pearl is formed.

The iridescence of pearls is the allure; light passing through the nacre seems then to return in a coat of soft color, making the pearl seem to glow from within.  The pearl may be round and perfect; it may be baroque and freeform; it may be small or large; it may be a pure white or a dusty peacock gray.  But, to me, it is always beautiful.  It always glows.

A pearl transcends its beginnings.  It grows and gains beauty as the tiny intruder is coated with layer upon layer of transparent nacre that, when it enters the light, is transformed into sheen and glow and beauty.

To me, pearls have the serenity that only people who are calm and sure of their true place in the universe possess.  I remember seeing Pope John Paul II in the riotous tumult of St. Peter's basilica, teeming with people just after mass.  His serenity was a beacon, a tangible presence, a sanctity that surrounded him like an aura.  He was a pearl in his own setting.

I would love to be such a pearl, filled with the humble surety of God's grace and able to glow with that certainty.

Would that my irritation, whether to the vagaries of daily life or to the long-held anger at an insult, could flower into something as beautiful as a pearl.  But my irritations never end like that.  they end up as little stamps in a book, gathering strength as they are saved and hoarded until one day I throw the book at an unsuspecting victim.

But, I am learning.  My irritations often now are just a cause for laughter at my own clumsiness or the intransigence of inanimate objects.  The stamps in the book are fewer, the books smaller, the victims dealt only a glancing blow.

My hope is to learn and grow so that I too glow from within and share serenity and joy with those I love.  I hope to make pearls from irritation and make gifts of them to my family and friends.

As I make jewelry, I create beauty from my imagination and from the gifts of the earth and the sea.  I handle stones and pearls and they calm my soul as they ground me in the certainty of a power beyond myself.

I can take a pearl, or many, and create a piece of jewelry.

I cannot create a pearl.

And therein lies the difference.

SarahZoe

http://www.dreamstonesbysarahzoe.artfire.com

Inspiration: Marvelous Metal Jewelry

Making jewelry has become my passion.  I love the feel of the stones, the marriage of different elements, the joy of making something beautiful for someone to wear and enjoy.

There are so many creative avenues open to the jewelry artist from stringing beads to wire wrapping, from weaving to metalsmithing.  My goal is to learn the art of metalsmithing and the collection at right - Marvelous Metals - is a showcase of talent that is an inspiration to me every single day.

Marvelous Metal

"Jewelry featuring the creativity and skill of metalworking artists on ArtFire. Their work shows that metal is, indeed, marvelous!"

The pieces in this collection lure and entice me.  Look at the sinuous curves and soft sheen of the silver pieces, the warm glow of steel and copper.  Look at the forms - from smooth and angular to flowing curves.  These pieces are not only beautiful, they demonstrate a wide range of technique and an amazing display of creativity and skill.

For me, they are inspiration.  I have started small, but am learning.  With these pieces as inspiration, someday one of my pieces may make a collection titled "Marvelous Metal".

But for now, I am happily  weaving gold wire on copper, "embroidering" a spider web of wire on natural copper and hammering hardware store washers.  Someday............