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.
(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?)