Ornamental

checking in, quietly

as is usually the case when i've been quiet, when i haven't posted for a bit, i've begun receiving a string of emails inquiring about my state of mind, of being.  i'm fine.  there are times when i'm hunkered down, when i don't feel like talking, when i might be so inspired and consequently  so busy with work that i don't want to stop and spend a good three hours working on a post.  still, i realize that it's an unselfish thing to check in, to share, to ponder and reflect.  this time of year is perfect for that, for the reflecting and the pondering.  cold weather has moved in; we had our first snow of the season yesterday, my first day back after spending a week in alabama with my mother, where temperatures until the last day hovered in the balmy 70's. 
i drove back on monday through torrential, relentless rain, well into the dark; it was good to walk back into a dry house that had remained intact while i was gone.  how sad it is that i now am forced to worry about this, every single time that i go away.  thanksgiving for us was a time of deep and tender poignancy this year; both of my boys had to stay where they were, due to vacation and income limitations, and this was our first major holiday without daddy there at our side.  my best friend julie made the trip with walter and me, which made things better for all of us, all the way around.  now that i'm back home, i'm eager to get back into that sweet little studio, all full of soft light and inspiration.  the snow looked lovely, falling outside the windows as i sat at the studio table for a full eight hours yesterday.  i even ate my lunch in there, so attached am i to this new space.  what is coming out of all of that upheaval and cleaning and purging is a remarkable new collection of work - a nod back to the wrap bracelets i began making a few years ago, with different twists this time around.  i'm obsessed, and this is good.  making things and strongly craving the time to spend making them encourages me more than i can say.  little drawers store the pared down remaining trinkets and findings that i chose to keep out of everything that i gave away (would the recipient, however, of the vintage measuring tape please get back to me, i sheepishly ask?  it wasn't meant to be sent on its way), and in those little compartments there are stories quietly waiting to be told.  my stories become your stories, again and again and again.  i feel as powerfully energized with what i'm making as i ever have - and after some twenty eight years of making jewelry and wearable art, this is an incredible thing.  i had no idea how deeply, how strongly i'd be affected by the act of sorting and deep cleaning what had become a true disaster in there; i had no idea that what would begin to take form afterwards would have such strength and conviction.  what an odd thing to say about an ornamental thing to wear, but honestly, it's true.  you'll see.  i'm not quite ready to show them individually, but as a collection there is a definite gravitational pull.  i learned that when i saw how my mother had recently chosen to display all of the pieces i've made for her throughout the years, together as a whole. to look at these pieces together in one (dim) photograph, i can see the progress my work has made from year to year.  and it is a bittersweet feeling to know that one day down the road these necklaces will all come back to me again.

so, for you who come to visit this place called ornamental, for all of you who've written to ask how life is treating me, here is a little sneak peek of what will be listed in my etsy shop a few days from now (patience, please, i want to actually finish the assorted designs that are swirling around in my head):

xo

nesting

  i've felt more quiet than usual, this week.  the weather has been overcast and makes daylight come later, evening fall faster.  everything has taken on a muffled, hazy look, and that's okay.  it's coming on winter, and i'm circling like an animal, i am beginning to slow down - thank goodness, i am finally to the point of slowing down, of nestling in for a while.  i had thought that once i was finished with The Studio Upheaval, once everything was out the door that needed to be, or in its right place (and already being forgotten, these right places), i'd be raring to sit down and tackle the next batch of ornamental inspiration.  it hasn't happened, thus far.  i'm feeling a little like the proverbial deer in headlights, frozen.  which way do i turn?  how to proceed?  but i'm not worried.  it is once again a quiet time for me, and for that i am forever thankful.  i find myself wandering into the studio, such a lovely little place it has become, and i am tweaking this storage or that, moving one tin box to set another in its spot, rearranging a divided drawer, writing labels for reminders so i will not too soon forget what goes here or there.  (the tintype above was a gift last year from a student and sweet friend, cori kindred.  can any of you guess why she thought of me when she saw it, why she purchased and gave it to me?)

having just unburdened myself with a tremendous amount of overflow (years' and years' worth), i did a ridiculous thing today:  there is a thrift store in the area that used to call me like sirens from the sea, and after nearly two years had passed, i parked the car at the curb and walked through the door.  i went in to see if i could find a blue one-piece jumpsuit vintage uniform for a christmas present for my son, but of course it wasn't there; i should have turned at that point and walked right back out that door.   of course, everything i bought has a good and solid purpose - vintage hooks and eyes, metallic trim, an old milk glass jar with a turquoise lid that will hold my tabletop glue;  an old tin box that is large enough to hold cans of spray paint and fuel, that will keep them in their designated spot with a little bit of rustic flair.  a wonderful old tea tin, waiting at the sink to be washed, waiting then to be filled again with loose cinnamon and orange market tea.
  gold metallic embroidered stars.  a remnant of an embroidered pillowcase (there were birds, white on white - how could i resist?).  one of those old plastic-drawered storage sets of tiny drawers that my father used to favor for errant nuts and bolts.  another tin for tea.  how could i resist?!  it is, i realize now, an addiction:  the search for what lies waiting on a shelf, hidden from the everyday eye, the find, the score.  but, this time i've brought these things home, i have put them in their place on shelves and sewing baskets and drawers, i have sworn i will not let the clutter take over again.  and by saying this to all of you, i am holding myself accountable.  do you hear?  i've struck a chord with countless readers, this much i know is true.  many of you wrote to say you were beginning this process of purging and cleaning yourselves, having read that i had declared war, had won the latest battle.  it does my heart good to hear that my own shortcomings, and the motivation to do something about them, has triggered a positive response in quite a few of you.  goodness prevails, i say.  let order win!  yesterday was another first:  teatime in the studio, actually IN the studio, at the studio table.  how novel!  and how wonderful as well.  there was room on that once-buried flat space for a tea tray, a beloved cup (a custom birthday gift from friend delila, made by another friend julie, whose lovely work i avidly collect) filled with cinnamon orange spice tea, my little square zero japan teapot (another gift, from friend kathy, who knows me oh! so well) that sits on a vintage hammered aluminum tray, bought years ago at another thrift store in beloved wisconsin.  do you know what a treat that was for me, to have tea under my little moon lights, to sit quietly and sip warm comfort, surrounded by peace and calm?  it was a first.  and i swear it will not be a last.  i wanted to close this post by giving my dear friend lesley riley a tremendous thank you for her incredible suggestion to sell boxes of things from my studio.  many of you have written to say what a marvelous idea i had, but let me assure you - it was not my idea, in the least.  lesley has been my good friend for nearly eleven years, ever since i taught my very first class so long, long, long ago.  she is still a good friend, and has now taken on the monumental task of being my creative coach.  so much of what she has to say is profound; she is helping me to realize that i'm still able to conquer fears, to accomplish major goals, to pursue big dreams.  and all of this, at the ripe age of 55.  i don't even know what else to say about this, except - goodness, lesley.  you were absolutely right on about this, and have been so right about so many other things.  you've brought sanity and calm back into my work life, and for that i will always be humbly and mightily grateful.  i can't wait to see what lies in store for me just down the road.  xo

i present to you...

  let me start off by saying how proud i am of myself.  the simple fact that you can actually see the (stained, weathered, 11 years' worth of wear and tear) table top - can see the surface, not some horrid pile of things on top of things - is a sweet and tender miracle.  if you knew me on a personal level at all, you'd know what an enormous accomplishment this one single thing is for me.  but, after two solid weeks (counting weekends) of full days spent clearing out that space, i've managed to do something for myself that brings deep, welling pride rising up out of my chest and spilling into my heart, then out onto this page for you to see.  remember how it looked fourteen days ago?  go here to have a look, if you don't recall; i just shuddered, actually shuddered, thinking back to how bad a state things for that little studio had become.  ready to see the new and improved?  i'll back up a bit.  i've been clearing out this one tiny, cramped room for such a long period of time that the change doesn't seem that obvious to me anymore.  but when i glance at the shelves to the left of my table - and see that there are no longer stacks of messy papers spilling out onto the table, when i see that the lamp is standing on its own rather than standing like a stork up in the middle of a pile of rubble, i see the progress i've made.  and within all those teeny tiny drawers, there is now order; what i had left unsorted for going on fifteen years is now either out of here and on its way to a new home or placed where i can actually get to it.  my hope is that i will be able to keep this order manageable, if i can only remember to straighten up at the end of the day.  that's easier said than done, when considering how much traveling i do - either out to the far reaches of this world to teach workshops, or to see my boys, or to visit with my mother down in alabama.  all that coming and going created layer upon layer of packing and unpacking; stacks were formed, mayhem was born.  and now?  oh, now - i can breathe again.  i actually like to walk in there and look around, i like to sit and ponder what comes next.  and that is enormous, my friends.  it is huge.  a new phase has finally begun.    i love what i see when i walk in there, when i sit down at that clean table to let things fall into place.  i have my mother's younger face there, pulled from a work of art i created for a workshop some ten or eleven years ago (hello, mama! i love this photograph of you all over again, and again); i love that i have moved closer to the work table a treasured gift from an artist friend, from just as many years back.  i remember when she gave it to me - how we had eaten tuna sandwiches with mama and the boys, how we had put potato chips inside our sandwiches and laughed as we crunched into them, sitting on the hotel room floor.  i cannot believe it's been that long.  so long.  i've moved and shifted things around and now have a new resting place for some of my beloved old art books, objects i made with love and have held on to for all this time, in spite of the fact that they are like magnets for thick dust.  they are from my heart, they were made with honest passion, they are like looking into a mirror for my naked soul.   i am not a furniture mover.  i've always said that there are two types of people:  those who are constantly rearranging their rooms, shoving their furniture from one part of the house to the next, and there are those who do not.  i've always been someone who moves into a house, who arranges things as she first settles in then becomes very cozy and contented with what is comfortably familiar.  standing in the middle of that tiny room, in my sweet little studio, i can now see more clearly into the nooks and the crannies of a magpie's place of creativity.  i recognize the alice in wonderland rubber stamp - my very first, purchased in the university district of seattle when i lived there back in the summer and fall of 1980.  i see the slabs of mica, found in the woods by the boys when first we moved to the mountains of north carolina in 1995.  i see the colored tin boxes, tarnished and rusty, i imagine how they squeak when i open their lids.  i've dusted them off, have stacked them again, have placed them with the old wooden cigar boxes because that seems the right thing to do.  what do they hold?  familiar things - tools - bits of sterling wire and chain - essential amber oils - old photographs.  comfort.  hope.  always hope.  it's there; all you have to do is open the top and there it is, spilling out.  what comes now, you might wonder, and i question that myself.  it is a time of reflection and of looking ahead, and i'm feeling a heightened sense of relief that this time of upheaval and change is more behind me than ahead.  both tables have been cleared - both of them! - and now i am ready for art work to commence again.  let it begin, i breathe out as a mantra; let all things new begin.  i am one mighty proud girl, looking out from within.  i am filled with a light that comes from giving myself some quiet breathing room; i am filled with the light of relief, and of hope for what lies ahead.   let all good things begin.  xo  ps:  a special thank you to my beloved friends lesley and julie; i thank you for your help and support!  xxoo


 

still here

  i'm still here, i really am.  sorry to be so quiet.  but after nearly two weeks of solid, very physical work in the studio - pulling out, putting into piles, sorting, sifting, boxing, shipping, pitching, culling, all of that - i'm seeing a bit of headway, but am nowhere near the point of stopping and getting back to making jewelry (and mixed media again, i've missed that so much).  i can't wait to be able to snap some "after" photographs - the here and the now - which aren't anywhere near here, just yet.  good lord.  i'm not sure why it is such a difficult thing for me to stay organized, once i've made some efforts to straighten and sort; things take over like kudzu, in that tiny little space where i create, and after a while i don't know where anything is, i am not able to find a single thing.  how sad.  but, goodness!  how rewarding all of this has been, to hear how pleased you are, those who've ordered boxes and have then taken the time to write and tell me what fun you are having discovering what i've sent on its way!  from one happy recipient:  "hi nina - not to sound too much like a nut ball.... but that box was great. it is like you knew exactly what i needed.  the metal pieces were perfect.   even words on a piece of silver , were for me. the heart with the poem.  the dictionary pages . the red silk came at a perfect time . i had just made a drawing of a moon i made into an indian chief with red feathers.   soon to be made out of fabric. i could go on and on ... what a treat.  it really makes one realize how good it is to past things on. i try to do that often but i need to do more.  again everything was perfect and wonderful.  if you are like me you are finding things you totally forgot you had.  that is the gift of cleaning."  from another:  "Hello Nina! I just wanted you to know that I received my shipment.  I am delighted with the treasures you sent! I'll make good and loving use of them.  Emptying the box was a little like visiting your blog...an intimate experience, and delightful. Thank you for all of it."  and another, "Hi Nina, I hope you are making good headway with your studio de-clutter and organization project.  I do not envy you the job but applaud anyone who takes on such an undertaking.  I received my big box o’goodies today and had a lovely half hour opening it up slowly and removing each item, looking it over, and placing it into a pile.  What pile, you ask?  I don’t know exactly, but each item was carefully placed in one of six piles.  I guess a mental health professional would be able to shed some insight into this odd behavior but I haven’t a clue.  What I do know for sure, you sent me a fabulous collection of inspiring items and I am going to have so much fun coming up with ways to use them up!  Thank you for sharing these treasures and for allowing me to “assist” you in your on-going project."  i love that term, "on-going project", so very appropo for what this is:  ongoing.  now, if only i could channel and keep the energy of organizational skills intact, on a daily basis, and remember at day's end to straighten up before i turn out the light.  today's work includes, i am thinking, a trip to asheville to the staples store there to purchase a couple of sets of decent filing cabinets (the sort that, unlike the one i have, will allow me to open the drawers with great ease, to allow actual use of the things) and some sort of surface to stretch across the cabinets for a new work table.  thanks to you, those who've ordered and paid for boxes, i can turn some of what you've sent and invest right back into an improvement for my work station.  there is no way that i'm going to let the dilapidated, sagging table from a long ago church rummage sale get filled and covered back up again.  stay posted. xo