I'm in Print!

My fibula made it into Brenda Schweder's latest book from Lark Press, Steel Wire Jewelry -- that's my fibula in the lower right corner of page 23!  And it's also my photograph of the piece (not the same as the one to the left).  I couldn't be more pleased.  But even more pleasing is the whole book with many hints about working in my favorite medium, steel wire, and lots of examples of the work of other artists, as well.  Do yourself a favor and order a pre-release copy , since the book is already making waves.  It has been produced with the great graphic quality Lark is known for, and it is bound to be a mainstay in many artists' bookshelves.  Even luckier, I got to attend a workshop with Brenda at The Ranch in Snohomish, Washington, for 3 days of projects and advice from Brenda, who is an excellent teacher, and generous with sharing her expertise.  It's been an all-around fine experience for me, and I am looking forward to more work in steel.

May & The Vamp: BFF

They have bonded during the ordeal of their respective facial rejuvenation and makeover, when they met in the waiting room.  The Vamp swears that when the Sheik finds her tent, she will not forget her friend, but set aside some time for them to enjoy a hen party.  (The term may derive from the custom of henna parties, when Turkish women would celebrate weddings with a bride to be and paint their hands and feet with fine henna tattoos.)  Well, the Sheik hasn't yet appeared on The Vamp's horizon, and May has more of an interest in her own inner life, so at this point, the girls are not at much risk of forgetting their pledge of lasting friendship.  They are available as a set, on Etsy, so that their friendship need not be geographically restrained, with a twofer deal on shipping . . .  And may we all remember that a friend in hand is worth two Shieks in the, er, well, you get it.

Filling Marionette Lines -- Doll Facial Rejuvination Process

BEFORE

AFTER

She was getting rather tired waiting for Valentino, and the ennui was beginning to show.  Time for the facial rejuvenation.  Polyester fiber fill is hypoallergenic, and ecologically friendly since it's can be made of recycled plastic; you can see her languor is preserved, but she has lost the slumping cheeks, so perhaps her sheik will remember where her tent is.

Inspired by that old 20s tune (since I got a nice new Uke for Christmas, I am paying attention to such things), "Sheik of Araby," with apologies for ethnocentric misunderstanding those people of the Middle East must endure from us, please just consider it an artifact, just like Aunt Jemima pancakes, and such.  We really meant no harm (at least I think our folks didn't -- it was just sheer insensitivity, you know, unquestioned beliefs?), and we are paying a bit more attention these days, and, I hope, too, more respect, to the culture that brought us Rumi, Algebra, exquisite art, music, and great mysteries that seem to continue to perplex us.  Inshallah, we shall one day all be brothers and sisters, as we should.

May's Sultry New Look -- Doll Makeover

Just the other evening May sidled up to me and said, “Psst! Psst! You with the needle and thread!  Don’t you think it’s about time I enjoyed un petit revamp de maquillage, ma cherie?  I must also have a spot of bling and LOSE that wretched damn brown beret with the funky Bakelite; it is way too poco for the rakish slouch I prefer and the color is just about as off as a week-old porkchop; I must have un Nuevo Chapeau.  And whilst I still believe, a la Ferlinghetti, that poetry must not be the underwear of the soul, really, a bit of an amp-up will increase my boudoir appeal, which is what I am, A Boudoir Doll, get it toots?”  With that, what could I do but comply, and provide a bit of a touch up to improve her sultry appeal, a new fine black velvet beret salvaged from a little designer label number sussed out at Value Village, some ear-bobs, and a brooch.  She’s still quite her own person, only more so, if you know what I mean.  She yearns for a satin cushion in a boudoir, would even share her brooch with you on occasion, but take my advice, you should cut off the Miss Piggy re-runs.  Enjoy for yourself the before and after, and see if May went over the top (as if she’d care a fig).  Well, as before, she will come to you with a copy of May Sarton’s poem, “Now I Become Myself,” which is what she is, and the old designer label, as well.  A good hat should have provenance.  

Before she got fed up with the hat and all.

So, now May is off to Etsy to try her luck and locating that boudoir to haunt, er, ornament.  And she is feeling much more confident, what with the makeover and all.

The fine poetry of May Sarton is written under her skirts, and the reference to Ferlinghetti is a reminder of his poem , "Underwear," which contains one of my favorite lines of poetry, "there can be no revolution while poetry is the underwear of the soul."

May Sarton's poem that made the inspiration for this doll is this:

"Now I become myself. It's taken

Time, many years and places;

I have been dissolved and shaken,

Worn other people's faces,

Run madly, as if Time were there,

Terribly old, crying a warning,

"Hurry, you will be dead before—"

(What? Before you reach the morning?

Or the end of the poem is clear?

Or love safe in the walled city?)

Now to stand still, to be here,

Feel my own weight and density!

The black shadow on the paper

Is my hand; the shadow of a word

As thought shapes the shaper

Falls heavy on the page, is heard.

All fuses now, falls into place

From wish to action, word to silence,

My work, my love, my time, my face

Gathered into one intense

Gesture of growing like a plant.

As slowly as the ripening fruit

Fertile, detached, and always spent,

Falls but does not exhaust the root,

So all the poem is, can give,

Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!"

Sentient Being of the Week -- Veiled Chameleon

She lives in a pet store in a very controlled environment, and because she is so high maintenance I don't think it feasible to take her home.  But, oh, is she not beautiful and fascinating?   She's a veiled chameleon.

Her eyes move 360 independently, so you just have to think what this one's sensorium is -- I believe you can say that what we see is actually not fully dimensional and that our vision imposes the limitation of perspective on what we see, which, when you think of it, is only a way for us to build a manageable visual reference to a field is actually much more complex. So, if we could see out of one eye looking behind, and the other, forward, what would the picture look like to us?  It would be what this beauty sees, I guess.  How marvelous.  I just can't imagine how two separate views come together in the brain -- but watching long enough to see her capture dinner on the wing tells me that she is a hunter to be reckoned with.  Slowly she moves, swaying in a sort of stop action frame by frame progress, deliberately the wide mouth opens, and, in a blur too fast to see, she nabs the hapless fly.  I could watch all day.  And, think of this, if you were able to travel back far enough in time, you could meet our common ancestor.  We are remotely related.  We both have spines.  Some of us even eat bugs, too. 

 

A Visit to High Camp

Scottish Lakes High Camp is a wonderful retreat at 5,000 feet just over the pass on the eastern side of Washington, deep in tall alpine fir and snow.  It's a very fine place to get away from what I call "sillyization," with a Finnish style sauna, and cozy cabins heated by wood stoves, and there's no sense in planning elaborate meals either, unless you can pull it off on two propane burners.  Strictly soup and cheese, and that's enough, with heaps of serenity all around.  There life is just so sweet with little effort, just the honest basics, all the rest provided by nature and gracious hosts, who'll keep you stocked with firewood and kindling, even a mint on your pillow.  You get there from US 2, leave your car in a gated parking lot, and Don comes roaring down the mountain in a huge ol' Chevy to ferry you up 4 miles to mid mountain, and then the adventures begin.  From mid mountain you travel by snow mobile with all your gear bungied under a tarp on a sled towed behind.  It was my first snowmobile ride, but it couldn't compare to the ride back down 2 days later, with Sarah as a pilot, who is getting more expert since her first drive about Thanksgiving time -- we are talking downhill, big bumps, bat outta hell, throttle wide open wowie rides!  When I got home from that one, I found the last boiled egg nestled in the butter tub.  That was my second snowmobile ride.  And not my last, I have to get back up there -- it is such a treat to step out the door onto perfect trackless snow without  having to hump gear up those extra 3,000 feet on foot.  All day snowshoe trips with views, yes, or a morning trip, an afternoon nap, and another trip in the late afternoon to catch the sunset and clouds.  Ahhhhhhhhhh.

 

The First Snow & What To Do About It

Well, here it is in Suburban Seattle, West Side of the Cascade Mountains, elevation 500 feet, and it is snowing, a whole week before Thanksgiving.  It is snowing vigorously in the mountain passes (above 3,000 feet), traction tires and chains required.  We have a good snowpack predicted this year because of La Nina.  The current event down here in the burbs is clammy and cold and coming down in big, fluffy, wet blobs.  Not sticking, as we say around here.  Not much good for enjoying the phenom, I'd say, so I am indoors in my workroom doing some R&D.

After a recent run of recycled silk sachets I have a pile of small scraps with lots of enticing tatters.  My motto is "no scrap too small," so I am trying out these small patchwork dolls, calling them Pagan Babies -- a friend once told me that the best speller in her parochial school got to name a pagan baby, so that's my takeoff point here.  When she told me that story, I was rolling around on the floor with the dust bunnies -- sometimes ethnocentricity is so ridiculous that all you can do is laugh, and fire up your imagination.

 I love the flavor of small flashes of delectable color, texture and straggling whisps of fine silk, layered and stitched by hand and relayered and restitched, until the original patterns are not quite there, and I am also trying my hand at unapologetic imperfection and immediacy.

These pagan babies are from somewhere long ago and far south of here, perhaps a high desert.  Were they buried to keep company with a sacrifice?  Found in the remains of a palace reduced to rubble?  Dropped by a pilgrim long gone?  Just another magical, mystery trip for a snowy, colorless day . . . remote sands, dry winds, ancient travel routes, not quite lost to time.   Today I don't know if  I will ever get to visit Urumchi, or the High Andes, but my imagination has plenty of frequent flyer miles.  It's a nice way to travel on a snowy day, and you don't have to worry about the snoopy body scanner, either.