The Life and Times of the Plume — Page 172

Cairns

February 27, 2012 by The Noisy Plume

I walk further into the wilderness

my gait is an exponential expansion my stride eats earth

the horizon is a wavering line of air and rock

these, my dalliances with wind and rain

I slip into the wild

I build my cairns of stone

those monuments of dust and grit that silently mention my heartbeat

the broadness of my palms

the echo that rests in the gaps of my soul

the space left for wind sail: we are propelled

there’s a breeze tangled in the rocks

mafic and porous

igneous and crystalline

river smoothed and tectonic sharp

I make my path

I am brought away and home again by humble beacons of tattered earth

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Cairns, markers, beacons, trails, piles of stones that lead the feet and mind into the wilderness….and sometimes, I suppose they bring us home again, though I feel lately that I move out more onto the land than ever before and I am further and further from the element of civilization. I’m in need of steady respite from the murmur and drone of city streets and the clack of high heels on concrete. I am pushed away. I set myself apart. I look up and see the stones leading me out into cumulus, tall grass whisper, the prickle of douglas fir and ponderosa pine. I feel even: tempered. I feel soul balanced. I see the fingerprint of the Creator. And then the stones lead me home. And these things remain. Until the rush becomes too thick again.

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I’ve been mulling over the concept of cairns for months now. These stacks of rocks built as landmarks are physical forms that I feel sort of…badgered by…and romanced by…so I’ve been slowly placing their shapes and their meaning into sterling (and copper) — building minimal little sculptures for ears and fingers to aid in the understanding of the ideas of: path, wilderness, the art of losing oneself and the art of finding oneself, discovery, quietude, space, homecoming. And to also bring to light the questions of: fate, destiny, purpose.

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A cairn is carefully balanced, or perfectly precarious, depending on how you want to see the matter. They are stark, undressed, unembellished, literally weathered pieces of earth set in a mound. They are roughly constructed, due to the nature of the material, and prone to dilapidation. Over time, they fall down and sometimes, they are built back up. They are a human invention and sometimes the only evidence you’ll see, when in the wilderness, of human existence outside of yourself. For this reason, when I go out, I am reminded, and I am brought back.

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A joy to make.

An elegant bauble for the hand and a stout reminder for the soul to

venture forth and venture home.

Time and time again.

In the shop later today!

Happy Monday, you fizzy little souls.

:::::EDIT:::::

Thanks so much to the ladies who gave these cairns homes.

You really rock the flock.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: cairn

Smells Like Maple Syrup

February 25, 2012 by The Noisy Plume

Suddenly, I turned a corner and there was the terminus of yet another week, just one breath away, and the week to follow was there too, humming with possibility and the soft thrum of feathers in the wind, and every other week from here to the end, standing patiently in the aisles, waiting to run their courses.

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Hello! Hello. Today is February 25th and I think I have finally come out of the cave, as my friend and I like to call it — times when we hunker down and disappear for a while to catch up with ourselves and to really sink down into our work for a bit. Just this morning I have spent hours reading and responding to most of the online correspondence that landed in my inboxes for the month of February — I am sorry that you had to wait so long and am always so thankful for your patience. It was hurly burly work, happy work! Life this month has felt so fast and whirling, I’ve felt mostly unsettled in my day to day activities. My work has been here, there and everywhere. I have opted out, time and time again, of computer work in favor of spending time in my studio space which, on especially ordinary days, has felt so terribly fruitless. But I have to hand it to myself, I kept going out there, I kept sitting down to work, I pushed through and I’m glad for that. I did manage to break through a wall this week and produced these little enameled fellows, which you have already been introduced to. These rings will likely mean more to me than they’ll ever mean to anyone else, this can be said for any finished piece of creative work, I think. When I look at these rings, I see a recent month of broken confidence, one full year of carefully letting someone go and my own eventual homecoming, in from the cold of the night, to my rightful places in the arms of so many things.

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In other news, the Airstream smells like maple syrup! Robert has officially finished sealing up all the old vents and antennae holes with riveted aluminum sheet making the entire trailer weather proof until we get around to installing the kitchen and bathroom units next fall. Just yesterday, he applied this maple leaf patch which brings a beaver shaped, luminescent tear to the corner of my sweet little Canadian eye. I think it’s the perfect touch. We have decided to also put a life-sized decal of ourselves locked in a passionate kiss on the back of this rig so that when we roll down the highway, people can really feel the love [JUST KIDDING]. I say this all the time, but it bears repeating, I feel so blessed when I look over my life. Robert and I are never afraid to dream about what we want for ourselves and our family, and then we’re equally fearless when we step out and make those dreams happen. Everything is so good, even when it isn’t. I love that about my life.

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I have been practicing reverse psychology on the weather gods. Just yesterday I told someone that we had skipped winter here and run straight from autumn into spring. I feel like winter never arrived. And most ridiculously, the roses are now putting out cheery little leaf buds which is enough to make me put away my skis forever! This said, yesterday I looked up at the heavens and exclaimed, in a most conniving tone, “My! How beautiful this lovely springtime weather is. I hope winter never comes.” Wouldn’t you know it, I woke up to hideous, cold winds — swooping down off the mountains — and a dash of fresh snow on the ground this morning. Officially, I am a weather manipulator. I’m going to see if I can bring in a hurricane this evening or perhaps a flock of flying squirrels.

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Lastly, because I was feeling sentimental and pretty yesterday morning, I made an Alabaster Bones Necklace. What a throwback! I still love the design, most thoroughly. It was such a pleasure to make and a sweet, pale petal on the tuxedo tails of the week.

I hope you had a marvelous Friday night: dancing heels, gin and tonics, red lipstick and handsome sailors just off their ships with deep pockets full of jangling change.

Post Scriptus:

On the stereo.

On the bedstand.

On my feet.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: airstream, random

The Hug

February 23, 2012 by The Noisy Plume

So, someone tried to turn your heart to stone. Here’s a place to come in and get warm.

[sterling, copper & enamel]

This is enfolding.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: enamel, new jewelry

A True But Short Story

February 22, 2012 by The Noisy Plume

First he ate them.

Then he wore them.

The End

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: german shorthaired pointer, honky tonk tater tot

A Wind To Whittle Your Bones

February 22, 2012 by The Noisy Plume

This is a wind that teases tresses into bird nests and whittles bones. The trees are sailing! The sky is a billowing high sea. All the tumbleweed has rolled into Wyoming.

After I took this little walk last night, I realized I still had much daylight to spend (for the days are growing noticeably long now) so I took the pointers running with me, up the mountain. I felt the first terrible gust of wind when I rambled around a steep corner on the edge of a draw. It hit me square on and I felt glued in place. Tater was up the side hill from me, searching for Hungarian partridge, as his instincts insist. I tried to call him in to me, but the wind repelled my voice and swept my words down the mountain. I opened my mouth to shout again and my hair blew in and caught on my teeth. Once more, I called, and most miraculously, Tater heard. To me he came, we flew down the mountain and into the quiet cleft beneath the mountain where we make our home. Robert was waiting for us. He had prepared dinner and we ate it by candle light in the Airstream. We were safe from the tornado outside, as we nibbled at our pizza and talked endlessly about our summer plans. The dogs and cat were curled in sleepy doughnuts on the Airstream floor and above us I could hear the Austrian pine snapping and bending in the hands of the wind. By the time our little dinner date was over and we had demobilized our feast, the gusts of wind had turned steady and the world felt as though it was staunchly braced and deep-root-sinking.

We lay in bed, awake for hours, listening to the house groan. I wondered about the birds and where they were resting in this raw squall. I imagined the deer bedded down on the side hills, whispering and huffing in the sagebrush. We rose in the wee hours to secure a portion of aluminum sheet that came loose from the Airstream refurbishing pile by the studio building. What a mighty rumpus was that. All night long, I barely slept, I was set on edge by wind. When I did sleep, I tried to shatter my teeth and this morning my jaw hurts. I find myself wondering, are we all so affected by our immediate environments? Today, the wind continues its screaming, the trees are moving like blades of wheat on the great plains, I feel dishevelled and gritty. I think I’m probably just silly and sensitive but I can’t shake the feeling that my soul is pressed just as hard by this wind as the land is. I step outside and I squint through my hair as it wraps across my face. Gestures seem just as lost as words in the tumult of the gale, so I cast them off like messages in glass bottles on the currents of the sea and wonder if anyone will ever find them, out there, in the great wide and unconquerable space of the glorious West.

It is only February, but I feel March is already here and has entered like a lion. I think I should batten down the hatches, gird my loins…but on the other hand, I like the adventure of letting the wind take me where it will. I’m Canadian, but sometimes I’m so ridiculously French about things. This is laissez-faire at it’s finest!

This wind. This spring weather has me wholly distracted and each time I sit down to write, some unforeseen duty draws me up and out and I sprint around like a scoundrel while running my errands and I fight with and against myself to make time for creative work. Life feels fast. Is it just this time of year? Are you moving through your days like a freight train too? I feel windswept and pared down to the basic functionalities of life. I can only think to myself, every day, thank goodness for the expanding daylight hours, I am able to squeeze more out of every day that passes and this seems to help displace the overwhelmed state of being that threatens me to my very marrow, at times! Some other portion of myself says, “Oh! Let it be! Let it be.” And so, sometimes, I do.

This all sounds so melodramatic. It’s this wind. It’s made me inwardly stormy.

At any rate, it’s Wednesday now! Half the week has already dissolved! I would lament this but I know time treats everyone the same. I hope you are all well. I hope it’s windy where you are. Braid your hair, put on a light pair of gloves, go out into the day and let it take you where it will.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: idaho, ramblings, spring