I’m somewhat sad to see 2022 draw to a close. In the grand scheme of things, there’s no difference between being in my studio in December 2022 and being in my studio in January 2023 except for the time stamp — the work in there will still be quiet or accompanied by music or a podcast and my files will still sound raspy as they rub against precious metals and my hammers will still do their tapping and my torch will still light with a hiss-and-poof. Sure. But there’s a conclusive feeling to December as I wind work down for the year and create the final pieces of jewelry and tie up loose ends. I wish I had another month or two to dawdle in there. I can sniff the changes that are coming on the breeze and I know these last few weeks will be my last purely selfish studio days of my life (maybe…probably) and I guess I’m little pre-nostalgic for these years of my life that I’ve had to freely squander hours and hours of my days, weeks and months in my creative space. I don’t mind things changing — I think we are built to crave change. We need it for growth, mental and emotional maturation and it’s probably in the tousled aftermath of change that seeds of wisdom are planted and all of these things are worthy of anticipation. I look forward to seeing how being a mum changes my work. I’m not afraid of the changes that are coming.
My last big scheduled shop update of the year will happen on
December 8th @ 5PM MST.
I’ll probably continue to tinker in my studio between now and Christmas, mostly working on some prototyping for springtime designs and exploring a couple tools and ideas, but I need to slow down now and rest now. It’s been a huge year for us between my studio work and our farm developments and we’re relishing these long dark nights in a big way. We earned the quiet and the rest, the fires in the wood stove, the hot apple crisps after dinner, the relaxing herbal teas, the epsom salt soaks, the wool blankets, the books, the favorite movies and a little hibernation. Some nights I do nothing at all except lay beside Robbie on the sofa with my head on his chest, listening to the quiet thump of his heart and soaking up his warmth, letting all my strong little muscles relax while he reads a book…doing absolutely nothing at all.
This, to me, is the most moving post you’ve shared. It really got to me – down to my bare bones. It’s such a complete “thought” – I couldn’t possibly add anything smart but to hug you tightly. I’m super proud of you. And I truly love you with all my heart. xoxo oh my goodness all that beautiful labradorite. Have a sweet Christmas. I’ll be thinking of you…
I’ll take that hug! Thank you, friend.
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I think the most shocking and difficult part of becoming a mother was the realization that I could never be alone (for a long time). As a creative introvert I struggled a lot with that. I was also 35 – one week away from 36 – and had spent a good long time being settled in my own ways. A bit of postpartum depression didn’t help, either. By the time my second arrived at 37, I was in the groove and it was so much easier. All my hard selfish edges had been filed down, if you will. Motherhood is a continual dying to self. It is sanctifying.
I look forward to watching the evolution of your work in the years ahead! Have a wonderful Christmas, and I wish you so much joy on your upcoming gift!
Thank you, Erin!
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