Body Cavity Series: The Whale & The Tundra Swan

January 28, 2011 by
A swan in the belly of a beast!
Built, from scratch, entirely!  
Crafted from sterling, fine silver, copper and enamel.

I suppose the idea here is:
I am who I am, on the outside.
On the inside, I’m even more who I am.

…or something.

For more on the notions behind this series, please click HERE.
Filed Under: body cavity series, humpback whales, New Jewelry

Swan Song

January 27, 2011 by
The Tundra Swan builds her nest of grasses and twigs
high on the Arctic tundra.
She is diligent.
She is heavy with hopes, two to seven hopes, to be exact.
 Her nest is near open water and the view is sweeping and grand.
The snow creeps back under the slanting springtime sunshine of the North.  Her breath comes in whistle song, borealis chant, woven ribbons of color winding from the licorice black of her beak.
At night, she dreams of down, the infant beeping of cygnets, the long flight to warmer weather, water plants.
 She loves her husband.  He loves her.
They only have eyes and wings for each other.
Pen and cob, together forever.
He’s busy patrolling the skies.  
If he doesn’t come home, she might die of a broken heart.
She bears a bright torch of fidelity for him, and he for her, their wings are wide.
 Tundra Swan.
A black and white moving picture.
A story of dedication, heaving wing beats, glimpses of white foxes hiding in the hummocks 
and one poetic swan song drifting North to South and South to North on the trade winds.
100% handcrafted and hand built (including the swan ingot).
It’s haunted with swan souls.
In the shop tomorrow!
xx


Filed Under: New Jewelry, swans

January 26, 2011

January 26, 2011 by




I spent the morning writing:
Last night was a hard night for me.  It was a night of realization and recognition, the understanding that some grow faster than others, in some ways, the sudden awareness that our processes and development are independent and unique — beautifully unique.

I have a sudden, deeper understanding of the wearing effect that people can have on people, like the crash and spin of wave on rock — constantly grinding salt and sand into the clefts of a coastline.

We’re all dissolving away under the experience of others.  Our faces become newly etched with each storm, with each sunny day.  Our relationships have tides pulled through the seaweed by the moon.

Despite the living power of water, the sideways slip of currents, it’s calm in the depths where there’s no motion, no sound, just faint light filtering down, shifting though the clang and clatter of the surface, to rest in slanting beams and smiles until bright fades to black and the darkness settles in a solid, infinite pool.

  All that quiet.  All that deep dark.  All around.  Numb limbs.  Numb hearts.  Numb minds.  Isolation.  Peace?  A sort of peace, I suppose, but still, despite the peace of the dark,  most of us choose to claw our way to the storms and day of the surface, to the land of the living where water mixes with sky — no matter how that space might batter us and grow us, no matter how the surface might hurt.  We don’t mind the growing pains, the slow etch of our souls, the veneer of self scrubbed away until we’re pink and squirming in fresh new being, once again.  Once again.  Over and over again.

I try.  I try to stand without caution.  Exposed and honest with only my soul wrapped around bare shoulders.  I summon the waters, watch them rise high and crash down.  I am submerged.  I am dripping.  There, a deep breath before I’m submerged again.  I feel the cascade of grit, the many hands reaching, slapping, pinching, calming, soothing.  I feel the water carve me a new face.  It’s a face that understands the former selves, the past stances, the phoenix rising new from the mud and flame; ten times, one hundred times, one thousand times again.  And still one million times more I die to old self and take up my new, silken cloak — smooth skin, fresh eyes.

Still the water comes.
I let it scrub me clean.

Why swim alone when the water calls us all to new essence, better hearts and peace?  Why wash alone when there’s so much to be learned by washing together?  Why stop the water from carving us anew?  Why hold ourselves from the experience of fellowship with each other, even if it would render life painless, even if isolation is quiet and without thorns?  We are whetted, one against another, with the blunt and fearful star spangled edges of our souls until our blades sharply sing, spark and know no defeat.  The water cuts deep.  We cut each other deep.  There’s growth here despite the fields of scars that stretch to the horizon.  We bow down.  We rise anew.

I shed my old self, time and time again.
I continue, always, to take you as my friend.
I stand strong in the cold wind keen.
That which stands as coastline has an iridescent sheen.
____________________________

I feel an acute ache for the hinterlands of Canada, 
a dull ache in my breastbone for home and North.  
My heart is jabbed by the memory of cold green 
water slapping the grey, pocked rock of Canadian shield: 
shorelines, jack pines, birch, mossy forest floors.
______________________________________

I’ve taken four days to myself now, chipping away at interwebular correspondence,  building with leather,  walking through fresh snow (three walks a day since Saturday), reading, nursing my neck with hot water bottles, holding my puppy and taking my tea with honey and milk.  This morning, first thing, I ran out to the studio and powered it up.  I’m ready to work again.  I had to shed something old to be able to take up the new.
___________________________________



Today I’m different than I was yesterday, and the day before.
There’s a constant growth here, a slow expansion of soul, ring by ring,  
xylem, phloem, cork cambium,
resolute and bending.
There is wind sail.  I withstand the storms.
Someday, someone will cut me in two, peer down at my cross section
and say:
“Here was a rainy year…”

___________________________

Let’s all go gently.
Filed Under: journal entry

Then I Saw The Ice:

January 25, 2011 by

 My sleep was thick with dreams last night.
I woke up this morning with a thousand insights to share with you on the topics of love, beauty and truth.
I spent the day up the mountain from here, thigh deep in snow and aspen groves. By the time I saw the ice and heard the mountain water, nothing really mattered anymore…
Do please pardon my silence,
but what else is there to say?
I saw the ice.
I saw the patterns of nature —
the fall of shadow on snow,
the textures therein,
the cascade of beauty in all directions.
All my efforts in this life (my small, fumbling human attempts) felt pathetic and unoriginal.
I felt filled up and overflowing.
I felt drained and free of pride.
When I enter my studio next, it will be a place of humility, a nest of grace.

I am full with soul.
I am beneath this Wing.
Filed Under: creation, idaho, nature

Button Down

January 24, 2011 by

I know there are far more important things to discuss than clothing, but let’s take a moment to talk about clothing anyway, shall we?

I’m on a button down shirt bender. 
It’s true.
These days, I’m finding myself continually drawn to clean classic lines in my wardrobe.  Tailored shirts tucked neatly into smart, well fitting pants with a pretty belt to draw the two together.
Tall boots.
Woolly socks.
Color.
Simplicity.
And most importantly, a handsome, loyal bird dog by my hip.

Am I the only one?
What are you wearing these days?
Filed Under: clothing, german shorthaired pointer, style
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