Ornamental

glimpses

my little cozy house is in complete and utter disarray.  poor, neglected table at the window:  see the sad blue flowers, long spent and past presentable state?  see the petals scattered there across the table (the table with the cloth that has not been changed in weeks, perhaps a month)?  what can i say?  i'm busy.  dear firefly house, i do not mean to ignore you, i truly don't.  but work calls me into the studio, errands pull me into town (and into the side of someone's car the other day as i backed out of my parking spot), chores mount up and fall against one another like so many dusty dominos.  i am, in essence, the eccentric reclusive artist who walks around stacks and piles of papers, who notices not the need for vacuuming.  what i notice, though, is the day that waits outside these windows, the sunny morning that drew me out onto the deck to photograph the way the sun was falling through the screen and onto the wicker chairs.

i noticed, then, the distressing fuss of the resident firefly crows, whose voices and actions i've grown to know in intimate form since moving here to the countryside some three short years ago:  they screamed and cried in unison, not the call of busy-ness but more the frantic shout of threat to other crows to be on immediate alert.  the culprit?  expecting to see the now familiar redtailed hawk in the sky or perched nearby on a tree, i glanced up from my camera and spotted a coyote casually loping (and if you've ever seen one moving, you'll understand precisely what i mean by loping) down the dirt driveway that divides my property from the meadow next door.  a coyote.  right there, moving along as if he had a precise destination and mission in mind.  and me, standing there with mouth hanging open, camera idle at my side.  magic.   utter magic.  and with that, he or she crossed the road, headed down to the stream, and disappeared.  thank you, spirit behind the wonders of this universe, i thank you for pulling me out onto that deck at a moment i needed to be there.  and i realize now, as i've realized so many times before, that magic lies not in looking through the eye of the camera but in the ability to be right there in the beauty of the moment as it wraps itself around me, then is gone.  poof.  just like that. 

well.  it was magnificent, if fleeting.  and i wonder just how many moments like that i or you have missed just because we were huddled inside, looking down at the keyboard or into the gaping eye of the computer, rather than stepping out the door to heed a sudden call?

so.  back inside i go.  suitcases stand at silent attention, waiting to be filled (and this i put off as long as possible, to avoid aspen's inevitable anxiety).  projects lie half completed on the studio table, amidst a flurry of papers and cloth and jewels all mixed up into one big nina mess.  i spend hours at my working station digging through piles that are not in any random order, cursing under my breath (or right out loud) when i can't find that one smooth stick, the strand of teal freshwater pearls, the square of beaded silk from so many years ago.  want to see a few glimpses of what my hands have been creating on and off this week?

i've been having a lot of fun, doing what i do:  creating, breathing, observing, touching, wrapping my arms around my life and holding it as closely as i can.    this next journey i'm taking will carry me to faraway lands, new grounds to me - but waiting there will be ones i've grown to know and love, and that will make it seem like a place i've always been.  do come with me; let's share this adventure together.  xo

busy-ness

days here are splendid:  relaxed (but full and busy) pace, crisp blue skies with fluffy white clouds that look as if they were painted there, songs of birds back home again after being away all winter, butterflies covering my billowy plum tree, day after day after beautiful day.  the to-do list is long, and never seems to shorten, no matter how many items i check off the top.  what you see here, i did for a collaboration that came my way while i was off in washington and alabama.  other entries (eight or so) were all executed in cigar boxes, but for some reason, i found the larger size daunting and finally pulled out a tiny, brittle little wooden thing i unearthed in a wisconsin antique shed one blistering summer day two years ago.  the wood splintered, in spite of my efforts to pre-drill, and i finally decided that split wood merely contributed to the aged look of the piece.  right?!  i wish i could keep this little thing; its minimum size charmed me upon completion, and it makes me think of all things good, simply because it was created in the midst of such beautiful, seasonal splendor.  but keep it i won't, and will be packaging it up to send along its way with other, bigger boxes later today.

i continue to be transfixed by the simple shape and feel of these beautiful pieces of worn beach glass i gathered in port townsend, remembering each time i pick them up and finger them the lovely day, the walk, the feel in the air, the bonds of friendship and love.  it was a magical day, and these feel like stones of magic.

i decided yesterday that i wanted - i needed - to make for myself an ornamental piece of jewelry to carry with me on my next grand journey, a talisman of sorts to anchor me to the the places that have become so much a part of who and what i am; in the afternoon, then, i found myself standing out on the deck shuffling through a tray of favored glass from the last trip, picking up shapes that seemed to beckon.  i won't show you the whole thing, as i'm thinking it will be one of my artfest classes for next year, but i wanted you to see that i've incorporated quite a few of the trinkets that my students so lovingly shared with me.

what you see here (click for detail) is a mixed media piece i constructed for lynne perrella's lovely new book, Art Making, Collections, and Obsessions; you'll have to pardon the photograph of a photograph, but morning light was dim and i did want to share.  i don't usually like to announce when something of mine is in print, nor do i have a list of books anywhere in ornamental; but this book of lynne's is truly spectacular, and yes - i am a part.  two years ago, a student sent me an antique photo album from her family and said she'd love to see what i was moved to create.  as you can see, i managed to work in all of my usual fare - sticks, mica, twisted wire, barkcloth, hand imagery, hearts of stone.  it was a work of love, and whenever that is the case, the piece seems to speak back to me when complete.  and speak, it does.  be sure you get a copy of the book - there are 35 amazing, incredibly talented artists included within its hardbound pages.  and - i thank you, lynne, always, for thinking of me.  it was, it is, an honor.

i meant to do my work today

I meant to do my work today,
But a brown bird sang in the apple tree,
And a butterfly flitted across the field,
And all the leaves were calling me.
And the wind went sighing over the land,
Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand,
So what could I do but laugh and go?

                            - Richard LeGallienne

heads up

it's a lonely sort of quiet sunday afternoon, when the sun is both out and in and the temperature just a bit too cool for me to be out on the deck soaking up the air of spring.  i've fluctuated between having windows flung open, to quickly pulled back down again because the breeze is far too cool.  i'm now beginning the arduous task of planning and packing for an overseas trip that will take me to both australia and new zealand, that will keep me away from my home land for the whole of may.  i find it incredible to think that i'll be away for that long; the last time i left familiar surroundings for more than just over two weeks was when the boys' dad and i travelled across europe by train for two months and then another three by bicycle and tent way back in 1983.  that was a lifetime ago; i was young and brave and strong, then, and ready to take on the world.  i continue to take on that world, i think, but many times from the comfort and familiarity of this chair and this computer.

all of that being said, i began pulling together the jewelry pieces that i wanted to carry with me to sell while away.  there is more of a collection than usual - i've been particularly busy - but i'm here to tell you that those little dolls and pearls and antique optician lens pieces backed with images and sterling are downright heavy, and i'm wondering now if i really want to carry as much as i had originally planned.  i dare not pack it in checked luggage (my new luggage, of which i am most proud) which means lugging it myself through the airports of montgomery, atlanta, los angeles, brisbane, perth, melbourne, and auckland.  seven.  seven airports, before i turn around and make the trek back home!  so today i've been pulling trinkets back out of their baggies and photo- graphing them to list on etsy.  i've not enough time to drive into town this afternoon before the little cafe closes, but first thing tomorrow i'll do just that, and wanted to give you all a heads up in case you want to purchase something this week.  by friday, though, whatever is there in the shop will once again be pulled, and carried - perhaps - on my shoulder.

life is good.  i've been able to wander around the house and grounds at a gingerly pace this week, stopping to finger tiny green tendrils of leaves as they pop out on what was once bare brown twigs; i've padded about out on the deck in bare feet, absorbing the warmth from the sun through my soles and propping the screen door open so aspen could come and go as his old dog self pleased.  it brings a pang to my heart to think that i'll be away from him, as well, for four weeks; he'll be in tender hands, though, down in alabama with my folks, no doubt getting tidbits from my father, tasty dinners from my mother, and all the unconditional loving an old dog deserves.  while i am gone, both boys leave may 15 with their dad and his family for two weeks in france; then after the family has headed back home, the boys will continue on as a wandering pair, tromping from one spot in europe to the next for another four weeks.  this means that i won't be seeing either of my sons until the beginning of july. july.  i try not to think about that, as the inevitable lump tightens in my throat.

this time around, i'm carrying my laptop, my camera, an art journal, assorted pens and pencils, glue sticks, ribbon, myself.  my hands.  i want very much to document this trip as best i can, and to continue to be in touch with my ornamental readers by blogging whenever possible.  i don't think i could go an entire month without being in touch, i really don't.  you need to be there for me as well, would you, while i go from here to there and back to here again?  cheering me on?  will you promise me, please?

i leave a week from today, headed first with aspen to my parents' house in alabama for a few days, and then off and up into the embrace of blue sky on the first of may:  may day.  who will have an imaginary basket of flowers for me, as i wave and wave goodbye?

book of trees

yesterday, the magical day, i pulled out what seems to me like an ancient piece of my artwork, called The Book of Trees, to photograph in detail its myriad of accordian fold pages.  when i took the dusty piece down from its shelf to closer inspect (through layers of dust, i'll have you know), i was startled at the attention to detail that i incorporated into its design.  good grief.  when did i have the time for this much work in a single piece of artwork?!

but execute the book of trees, i did, and i'm pleased to announce that for the first time ever, i'm spending a week in western australia teaching a workshop based on its design.  back again is my work with copper mesh, with wiring and chains, old papers and photographs, leather book covers, hearts of river glass.   holding it felt like holding an old friend, an extension of the me i used to be.   here is a photo of the dusty cover (click for closer detail), all based on my love for trees and around a poem i once wrote about the ancient southern and african tradition of the bottle tree.

i'm creating a photo album in the lefthand column of this work of art, so that you'll be able to see it close up and in a decent light.  it was published, years ago (i created it in 2002) in a book with a title which alludes me at present (i'm not home to pull it off of my bookshelf, alas).  there was a rather small photo that did not highlight the intricate workings of the piece.  australian students, have a good time looking at what will be coming your way!!