On Making Jewelry and Keeping it Real

Making the jewelry isn’t really the issue. Keeping it real is. And by that I don’t mean using expensive gems and working in gold and silver. With the current prices of those precious metals, I can’t afford them anyway. No, I mean keeping it unique to me. That’s hard, because there are a bazillion people out there making jewelry. Just go to either Etsy or Ebay and you’ll see thousands of entries. So, how do you find your own style?

I started out trying to use mainly recycled vintage pieces I found at antique/junk stores. Or things scrounged at garage sales. Often someone would give me a piece of old costume jewelry they no longer wore, or belonged to a deceased relative. But with recycling jewelry being the new “hot” trend, it has become harder and harder for me to find pieces at affordable prices, that I can then take apart and use to make something new. When I do find bags of old costume pieces, they are either cheap plastic junk, or, more often, because of the trend, are now priced beyond what is feasible for me to pay.

This leaves me with having to buy new components, something I was mostly managing to avoid. How do you take manufactured components and turn them into pieces that don’t look like half the jewelry already out there on the market? It’s tough. Especially if you want to keep the prices down where most people can afford to buy something. Lets face it, the world is full of everything from simple beaded earrings, to worked and pounded wire, and cast precious metals and real gems. Each artist trying to come up with something unique to them. Is it possible to create something that does not reference someone else in any way. No, I don’t think so.

If you string beads, there are thousands out there doing the same thing. If you pound wire, be it copper, silver or gold, you’re in a huge group of fellow wire workers. And on and on. Yes, every so often, someone comes up with a totally new way of doing something, or a new way to make components, a new way of gluing things together. But that’s not the norm. Every time I think I’ve come up with something new to use—like old bullet casings—the next bead magazine I see will feature an artist who, isn’t it amazing, uses old bullet casings. Seems I’m always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to innovation. I figure, for me, it boils down to how I want my pieces to look, not necessarily on what I use to get that look.

I like antique, turn-of-the-century things, Edwardian being my favorite. But I also love Steampunk , Goth, and recently, worked wire pieces. I’m also fascinated by court jewelry of the Elizabethan and Italian Renaissance. And tiaras. I love and have a small collection of new and vintage tiaras. The challenge I have set myself is, how do I combine all of that into something people will like and want to wear, without the pieces becoming a mishmash of different styles that look like crap when put together? How do I keep it real, so that my pieces don’t end up looking like something spewed out of China and sold by the gross at Walmart? And how do I keep them affordable, while still doing custom work?

I still have a small stash left of vintage bits and bobs to play with. On occasions I still stumble across a baggy full of odds and ends at a price can afford. But I can no longer rely on that for inspiration. So, I am concentrating on style....on getting all the pieces, whether beaded or worked wire, to have a cohesive look. If they were all spread out on display, it would be obvious that they were all made by the same person. Me.

That’s the plan, anyway. It will always be a work in progress. Like anything you want to do well. Like life.

Waiting Room Zombies

I see them everywhere...at the doctor’s, the dentist, the DMV. I saw them when I served jury duty. They scare me!

If I know I’m going to be trapped in a waiting room, anywhere, I take a book. Sometimes I take more than one. If by some fluke, I forget to bring one, I shuffle through the magazines, looking for something like National Geographic or Audubon. I avoid garbage rags like People, or boring housewiffy stuff like Better Homes & Gardens. But usually, I always have a book. The thought of sitting there with nothing to do, makes me break out in a cold sweat.

Most people are like me. They either bring a book, or, like a friend of mine, cross-stitch to work on. I’ve seen people writing in notebooks, working crossword puzzles, doing knitting or crochet, or more often these days, playing games or trolling the internet on their cell phones. But at least they are doing SOMETHING.

Then there are the zombies. The plop their butts in a chair, put their hands in their laps, and....switch off. Literally. Eyes fixed, they stare into space doing...nothing. So, I can’t help but wonder, what are they thinking about? Are they thinking at all? Or, like C3P0 in Star Wars, do they have an internal “kill” switch, and their brain turns off?

The whole time I’m reading my book, I’m aware of them. I see them in my peripheral vision. It starts to creep me out. How can they just SIT there? Are they really human, or are they aliens, with transmitters in their brains, beaming up info on the waiting room habits of earthlings. Although, why they would want to know that is beyond me. Pretty boring stuff. Are they automatons, set up to make it look like your doctor or dentist is busier than he really is? Are they test dummies...some new, super-lifelike robot model, with little cameras behind those staring eyes, to see how well they fool the rest of us? Maybe, but if so, they need to at least make them blink.

Personally, I think they’re zombies. And sometimes they come in pairs...to make you think they are husband and wife.

Recently I had to serve on Jury Duty. There I am, trapped again, this time in a small room with about twenty other people, waiting to see if we will actually be called to serve that day. Behind me is a woman who sounds like she has the plague, and who was apparently never taught how to use a tissue. Every two minutes, for three hours, I heard “snuuuggggluuggth” right behind my head, as she sucked snot back up her nose. And there were zombies here, too.

They have to be zombies. No one can sit, without moving, without talking, without even using the restroom, for three hours! I’d feel less paranoid if they just went to sleep. Snoring and drooling would at least prove they were human. But no, they just sit...and stare...at nothing. No one is home.

Then, when it is their turn to see said doctor or dentist, or the bailiff calls us to attention, SHAZAM!...they switch back on. They blink, stand up, and follow either the nurse or the rest of the jurors into whatever place they are meant to go.

What I wonder is, what do they do when they get home? Do they sit back on the couch and switch off again? Do they plug themselves in to a battery charger, ready for their next sojourn into the real world? Do they report to Zaphod Beeblebrox at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe? Which head do they report to? Do they send data to a Death Star? It’s probably better that I don’t know.

Like I said, waiting room zombies creep me out.

New Headpiece

Here is my first experiment in pounding heavier wire, adding brass wire wrapping and beading. The wire pieces are parts of many that I salvaged from the garage floor, left there by the messy electrician when he re-wired our garage. It is actually a bit too hard to be useful for jewelry, but I hated to waste it, and it is perfect for me to play around with until I get the hang of pounding wire to give it a better and stronger look. In future, I will use wire meant for jewelry, where I can get the same gauge, but which is softer and easier to work with.

This is also my first attempt at a headpiece. And although I would have put a bit more detail in the curls of copper wire, if it had not been so hard to bend, I still think the piece came out rather nice.

There is still much to learn, but this was fun to make, and I have lots of ideas for future headpieces and hopefully, simple tiaras.

A New Year, A Sad Change

The year 2012 is starting out a bit strange for me. My life seems to be slowly rotating away from some things, and drifting toward others. That’s natural, I suppose, but it can also be sad.

The biggest change, and the saddest, is my decision to leave The Barn Owls Writer’s Group. After almost seven years, things had reached a point where instead of looking forward to the Friday meetings, I was looking for excuses to get out of driving into town. There are a variety of reasons why I made the decision to go on a long, possibly permanent, hiatus.

When I first joined Owls, we had eight or nine members (can’t remember exactly). There was barely enough time for us each to read and get a critique of our five pages within the three hour meeting time. It was a vital, enthusiastic group, with high hopes and a real desire to get published. We even put out our own anthology of short stories, and had book signings at the local bookstores. Not long after I joined, one lady passed away from cancer. But the remaining seven held together, gave a good variety of constructive critiques of our work, went to writer’s conferences, went to a presentation on writing by S. L. Stebel, where two of us (myself included) got to have a short bit of writing reviewed by this man. We got together periodically to have lunch before the Friday meetings, and generally had a good time with a strong focus on improving our writing skills. I loved going to each and every meeting.

Over time, one by one, people dropped out, or, I hate to say it, were driven out because of writing style/genre and/or personality conflicts. When Alan, the much loved only male in our group (he always referred to himself as the head rooster among the hens) got sick and had to move away, and then later passed away, the group was down to six, and the spark of enthusiasm seemed to go out. Slowly the focus blurred, and although most of us brought pieces to read and got great feedback, the field trips stopped, no one was going to conferences any more, and the only time we got together for lunch was at Christmas.

With the exception of our leader, and maybe two others, the rest of us were skipping more and more meetings. We attempted to get new members, and had a few show up for awhile, but they either couldn’t commit to the time, or had health issues that prevented them from attending very often and they eventually dropped out altogether. At one point, a younger woman, who had been a journalist nominated for a Pulitzer, joined, but because she owned her own business based out of her home, she couldn’t always make the meetings. She was just the shot of energy, professional experience, and fresh air the group desperately needed. Unfortunately, not all the members looked at it that way. The woman left the group after only a short time. I think she found the meetings boring and depressing.

Then another longtime member moved to the coast, showing up at meetings maybe once a month or so. Now we were down to five. And the focus on writing was pretty much dead. If no one brought anything to read and critique, then dice were pulled out and some kind of dice game ensued. We even stopped doing the ten minute speed-writing exercise, which I had always enjoyed. I was at the point where, as soon as the dice came out, I left. I wasn’t interested in playing a dice game when I could be at home working outside...or home writing. I didn’t join Owls to play dice. I joined to learn about writing, polish my work, and hopefully get published. I still have that dream, and am still working toward that eventual goal.

I missed the first two meetings of the new year—one due to lack of interest, one due to the fact I had to take care of a sick cat. When the call came out to ask who was going to be at the next meeting, I felt a sense of dread. I just didn’t want to drive the eleven miles into town, so that when one or two members were done reading, the rest of the time would be spent playing games. I couldn’t do it. I finally accepted the fact that the group no longer held any interest for me. The dynamics had changed. However, I honor and respect them as individuals, from whom I learned an enormous amount about the skills and joy of writing.

In sending out my request for a long hiatus, I thought I had left the door open for a return to the group, if the focus returned to writing. I made it clear I wanted to stay in touch. After all, these women had been my friends for over six and a half years. But within days, my name was struck from the e-mail list, cutting me off from any notices of activities or personal adventures. That hurt. Maybe I should have expected it, but it still feels like a slap in the face.

Just a week after I gave my notice to leave, one more member, the woman who had moved to the coast, and who had been in the group way longer than I had, officially left. She was instantly cut off from the e-mail list as well.

So, now they are down to four. I hear they are asking around to see if anyone knows others who might want to join. I wish them luck. Maybe if they get new, excited, enthusiastic younger people in the group, things will start clicking for them again. It’s just unfortunate that it took so many of the longtime members bailing out to effect that change.

I will miss the Owls very much. But, I’m still writing. I still have my dream.

"Yuletide"

This was our Christmas card. Hadn't done any real artwork in quite a while, so it felt good to get back into drawing. The picture is done in Sharpies and watercolor pencil.

Also, I had been trying to come up with a cartouche-type signature for a long time, but could never get the R to work well in the designs. Then, as per usual, at around 3:00 am, as I lay wide awake, it hit me. Turn the R around. I tried it, and really liked the way it looked. Only thing I think I will change, is to square off the ends of the enclosing triangle, so it doesn't look quite so much like a Caution sign. LOL

Two Badass Redheads!

Who Dusts?

Sorry, it’s been a while, I know. Summer was a busy one, but, I’m back now, and I have a question.

From my personal library I am re-reading a very excellent art book called Art Making & Studio Spaces by Lynne Perrella. It is a showcase of 31 artists and the places they work their individual styles of magic. Eye-candy to the max. Loads of ideas. But...

Each of these studios is crammed with stuff—supplies, books, baskets of fabric or paint tubes, collections of figurines, seed pods, chunks of wood, toys, personal shrines, artwork of their own and by other artists, ephemera...just about anything an artist needs for work or inspiration. In almost all of them there is not one inch of table, shelf, or cupboard space that is not covered with something. And in every studio there was not one speck of dust. Nary one spider web clinging to a corner of the ceiling...nadda.

Now, I realize that in a photo shoot for a book you would clean your studio to within an inch of its life, and they probably had a set decorator or stylist to help arrange things in more photogenic ways...but what about the rest of the time? These places would be dust magnets. Who is going to go around and dust bits of dried grasses, tiny Simpson figurines, or shelves full of Day of the Dead statues? Really. It’s a duster’s nightmare.

And no spider webs? Come on. Not one? Spiders would love these places. Hideouts galore. Maybe they were there and camera shy...but the webs should have shown up somewhere. An artist studio without one spider seems a bit too sterile for me somehow.

And don’t get me started on flooring. Carpet...in a studio? Seriously? Even if your art form is sewing or quilting, I know from experience that pins love to hide in carpet, and are only found by me stepping on them. In one studio it looked like, under a table with drips of paint dried to its edge, was what looked like pristine beige carpet. So, where did all those paint drips go? Does this person go to all the trouble of putting a big drop cloth under the table when she works, and then pulls it away the rest of the time? Seems like a lot of work. Why not just have a paint-friendly floor in the first place? It’s a studio, after all. The floor is meant to get grubby and paint-spattered.

So, that’s my question. When the camera crew is gone, and life goes back to normal for these artists....who dusts?