Ornamental

someone wishes

 someone is looking at you. someone is wondering what is outside his grandmother's door. someone is looking for excitement, mischief, and the ever hopeful wish for a little conjured distraction. someone is sending you candy cane wishes for a warm and cozy holiday, wherever you are, wherever you go, wherever you stay.
 someone hopes you will get to be with those you love, someone hopes that you will hold tight in your heart the spirits and memories and love of those who've slipped away.  
be safe.  be kind.  be yourselves.  be loved, be cherished, be true.  these things, we wish and hope for you, and you, and you.

 xo

shop sale

  it's another rainy morning here on firefly road, and i'm trying to figure out a balance between cleaning/ working/ baking/ wrapping/ errand running, in no particular order.  so far i'm coming up awfully short:  i'm still in pajamas, the house is a wreck, nothing has been accomplished thus far except one fine cup of cappuccino and and a crinkly photograph or two.  i've decided to have a little sale for my ornamental readers over in my etsy shop; the sale is for 30% off of anything in the shop from now until sunday evening; come monday, the shop will be closed until after the new year.  it's time, i think, to focus instead on the things around the house that need to be done before heading back down to my mother's for the christmas holiday.  coupon code is NINAKRINGLE; there is a slot in the shopping cart that says something like "apply shop coupon code"; once you apply, the discount will appear.    shopping to me is a difficult task, something i really don't like to spend hours doing in a day; doing things online makes life simpler for this gal who lives out in the middle of nowhere and does not have the variety or selection at hand as do those who live in a more urban setting.  not to complain, believe me - from the one or two excursions i've had into city life these past few weeks, i do not envy the rush, the frenzy, the stress.  instead of the crowds and the cars and the shops, here, with a little help, is what i see outside of my windows today:

 

xo

                                                     

trimmings

                                                           xo

coming on christmas

  i live in a place so incredibly beautiful that sometimes i actually say out loud to none other than my own two ears, you live here.  yes you do.    it is a magical place throughout the year - the greens of spring and summer, the riotous amber/red/yellow colors of fall - but i think that the most beautiful time of all here must be in the throes of barren winter, when the bones of the land are more evident to the eyes, when the throngs of tourists have all gone home, when i can walk the river trail with walter and take my time poking around on pebble beaches without having to run into anyone other than the rare fly fisherman who stands out in the middle of frigid water.  i don't stand out in that water this time of year; it's nice to see someone else, though, quietly fishing the slow and easy and ballet-like way, waving a line out over the ripples and the stones, back and forth, back and forth, looping and swishing and finally landing on a ripply surface before the fisherman moves on down the middle of the river.  i don't mind seeing that, i don't mind the quiet of that.  not at all.  i hope they don't mind seeing a woman and her dog, walking by.

i can't stop myself from using my phone for a quick photograph, or from pushing a little button a few times to make what i've captured look like i have stepped back into a gentler time.  my own time is gentle, and i don't need a special feature to tell me that, but the ease is irresistable.  i cannot help myself.  this looks like how i feel:  quiet.  toned down.  reflective.  the winter girl, in quiet soft repose. when i come home from our walks at the river, a walk that takes us through the woods and down to an old log structure past a crooked fence, then back along the river's roots, back under the white pine trees, back to the car that carries us down beautiful roads again, i'm in a better place, always.  things are clearer, then.  they are.  i can't more highly recommend a walk to do that for one's soul.  and right now, those muted tones of oncoming winter are drawing me deeper into the gathered antique laces and trimmings of the studio baskets and drawers, into the blue colors that come seeping through when afternoon is quickly beginning to fade. 
i haven't had the inclination to pull out christmas decorations here, this year; i won't have anyone coming to firefly to celebrate the season, as the boys will be traveling briefly straight to alabama before winging their way back to jobs, to new lives they've carved out so many hundreds and thousands of miles away.  but, two nights ago i went down to the basement and pulled out my silly little silver tinsel tabletop tree, bunched some of that antique lace up under those shiny boughs for some sort of snowy skirt, and this morning i made for myself from scratch a cup of salted caramel latte.  why not?  it was a treat to sit with the little tree and watch the light slowly spread across the table as the sun peeked up above the eastern ridge.  

  (lovely cup by my friend julie whitmore)

i have in the last few days been working on the designs for a limited edition line of my watch fob clasp pendants - pretty little hand engraved sterling things in teal blue and cream, strung with a bit of antique tatting, rhinestones and faceted czech glass for sparkle, some soft cream batting on the back with dangling aged brass Xs and Os for good measure.  i think they make lovely ornaments for either one's neck or for a christmas tree, a door knob, tied to a bigger gift.  there are a number of them - they all say "love" - and when they're gone, they're gone.  picture them hooked to your favorite string of cut glass or pearls, or threaded onto a length of sepia tatting.  they'd look lovely connected to one of my watch fob chains, as well.
the watch fob at top swivels;  when these are worn, the pattern is different for front and for back - a nice little touch, i think.  i spent hours and hours trying to come up with the final touches, and the Xs and Os came to me yesterday afternoon at the river.  both the sterling floral discs (cast all the way back in 1996) and the brass letters are things that surfaced again when the studio was turned upside down and rightside up again.  i'll always remember how the final touches of these came about:  love with water, and walking, and walter, and sticks and stones and that beautiful, beautiful river.
so then, a blue christmas.  i am reminded here, in writing this, in looking over my photographs, of one of my favorite songs.  this time it is sung anew by a man for whom i've always felt a little patter.  listen to him singing, and look at the photograph below.  and then you'll know what is in my heart and in my memories today.  and your heart can break along with mine from all that tender beauty.
sigh.  xo

pendants are available for a limited time in my etsy shop, here.

at last

yesterday was a long, drawn out practice in frustration, a lesson for the grace of patience.  i spent the entire morning photographing eight or nine intricate pieces of jewelry, stopped at lunch to walk at the river with walter, resumed work at 1:30 then did not stop until well past 8pm.  once i had decided to begin listing the work in my etsy shop, the connection died.  completely.  nothing would work, and my poor mother - who calls every evening at 8:20 or so - had to quietly listen while i had a downward melt of poor poor me.  as if she didn't have enough worries of her own, without my unloading my own litany on her.  ah well.  thank you, friend, for talking me through a computer revamp first thing this morning, thank you for also being patient with my insecurities.  the life of an artist is not an easy one, to be sure.  the life of a single artist, eeking out an existence on her own, is that much more fraught with twists and bumps in the road.  someone whose husband just passed away wrote me that my life is beautiful, and i have to agree, as sorry for myself as i have felt at times:  i can slam down the laptop screen and walk out of here to head for the river, if i want to turn the world off for a bit, and i can crawl into bed at 8:30 with the end of a wonderful book, without having to worry about intruding on anyone else's evening agendas. 
 i am surrounded by beauty, i revel in its depths, i see what i see and am able to turn these visions into my own interpretations of the world that surrounds little old me, right here on firefly road.  amazing stuff, usually - but not when i am dependent on a quick computer connection, when i am trying to earn a living through a little shop that floats around out in the ethernet.  but, such is life.  this morning, the sun is brightly shining, the connection is back up and running, and i have places to go, miles to walk, jewelry to sell.  life is full, it always seems to be overflowing with goodness and oddness and everything in between.
life is a treasure, i say.  i don't know, maybe i'm deeply confused:  last night i was in the midst of great angst, spewing to my sweet mother over the phone that i am tired of always worrying, tired of being the only one to take care of business, tired of endlessly having to pay this bill or that (i promise, i apologized and said i knew she of all people would understand from her own experience).  now here i am this morning, sitting in cloud and star and blue sky patterned flannel before a sunny window, grateful for the simplest of things that being alive does bring:  the sighting of an enormous hawk perched high above the roaring river (or maybe an eagle, i don't know, the creature was huge), a cup of cinnamon spiced tea in late afternoon, a worn pebble in my pocket on the way back from our walk.  a call from my mother, like clockwork.  texts from sweet friends.  letters from treasured connections that were lost for years, for lifetimes past.  a dream of an enormous bouquet of colored helium balloons.  these things are all good, they are all what keep us going when swerves in the road are sharp and unexpected.  these things are the beauties that wait for us to recall at the end of the day, once darkness has fallen and we draw deep into ourselves. 
"i walk in my body like a queen" - words from the end of one of my all time favorite novels, and i hold those words deep in my heart.  maybe you do, as well;  i hope so, anyway. 

i'll begin listing these treasures this morning, as soon as i can get out of pajamas and into something fit for the rest of a queenly day.  old jeans will be just fine. 

editor's note:  all current pieces have now been listed in my shop - whew!

xo

ornamental garlands

  ah, to settle into a routine - how lovely that is, how sweet.  i know at other times in my life, those routines have seemed mundane, predictable, droll.  not now.  i am savoring the chance for long, uninterrupted days in my little studio, tinkering away from morning until well after dusk has fallen.  it comes so early, these winter days, and i was beginning to feel like someone sitting in a shop window, exposed for all to see.  granted, i live on a road where cars seldom pass, but having been the subject of multiple break ins and robberies, the exposure was a bit unsettling.  the recent solution?  a trip to asheville provided a vintage u.s. postal bag, secured to a dowel rod with binder's clips.  as day draws to a close, i can now very simply remove the rod and "curtain" from its daytime spot and move it over to cup hooks i've placed in the window.  the number 3 reminds me of a memorable four days spent with book artist nick bantock, of griffin and sabine fame, in the home of montreal studio owner carol segal.  we laughed, we laughed and laughed, we shared stories over breakfast tea, over dinners at restaurants on the cobbled streets of the old part of that town.  the number was designated as mine, and into my art journal he drew a page that centered on a great big 3.  memories.  that was a long, long time ago, another lifetime ago, and far - so far - away.  it has been raining and raining here on firefly road - and it feels like it surely must be raining wherever you are.  no?  but here, the bare tree branches are all laden with jewels, the fog rolls in and this cove seems like it is the only place on earth.  i walk into the studio earlier than usual, as walter and i are not able to venture out to the river for our daily walks, and i spend more time than i normally would on intricate pieces of jewelry that turn into sparkling tapestries.


 for hours i sit and twist wire into garden gate vines, i stitch love into velvet the color of ochre.  there is no sound here, other than the heavy rain.  there is no ticking of a clock.  there is no time to stop, there is no place to be other than right here, where at this very moment i very much want to be.

  i'm not to a point quiet yet where i can stop and begin the arduous task of photographing, editing, describing, and listing these newest pieces in my etsy shop.  it. is. an. unbelievable. amount. of. work, and this requires huge blocks of time and patience.  time, i have.  patience, i do not.  for now, it has been a pleasant thing to reach for my iPhone (yes, i finally was able to get one back in the summer) and snap things in the studio as they unfold.  i do not have to edit, i do not have to remove from the digital camera, i do not have to manually load into the computer.  i write this, and i shake my head - i never thought i would be one of those people, but here i am:  an iPhone phan.

for now, i'm going to share with you some images i've snapped of finished pieces.  i am loving this current vein of work - the revisiting of an older design (these first were made back in march of 2009), and i'm now making the wrap bracelets long enough to be worn as double chokers around the neck.  this came to me when i was down in alabama for thanksgiving:  i didn't pack any of my own jewelry to carry for the trip, but packed a couple of the new pieces to show my sister and my mother.  on thanksgiving morning, i felt like being adorned, and out came a couple of the bracelets, stacked one on top of the other with a sterling necklace i made with daddy's words.  i loved the look, and really love the layering of stories and so many memories - of course i do.  here's my abi, wearing one bracelet, doubled around her neck.  there is a bracelet (finally completed) that i worked on for two solid days; as i said earlier, i didn't know how to stop, i didn't want to stop, there was no buzzer going off to tell me that it was time to quit.  how rich it is, i think; how much like a treasure chest it is of collected memories and dreams.

  i'm not sure how to go about taking the time to photograph these things for the shop, with the low light of a very rainy day.  i'm not sure how to stop myself from making more and more and more, when there comes a time of necessity to put them up for sale, to lift them to the wind and say, off you go.  be gone.  give me a day, this afternoon or tomorrow, and it will happen; there they'll be, listed and all earnest and shimmery, like encrusted ornaments of olden times, lined up as garlands of an ancient and beautifully laden christmas tree.

                                                      xo

(ps.  seriously... i am really sad, so sad, about the measuring tape going off when it wasn't meant to be sent away.  would you please write me back, if you could?)