The Only Constant in Life? Change...

I have a few things to talk about today, and a few pictures to show you. Ready?


First... my sale is still going strong. I've even posted a few new things... so please do check it out. At 20% off everything in the shop, it's really hard to go wrong. 


Second... I've made a necklace for myself. Yup, another one. It features some of the most gorgeous rainbow moonstone I've ever seen, including a really large teardrop briolette that I've coveted for myself for ages, now. I finally made the necklace that's been sitting in my head for a long time.

What do you think? I like that I can remove the pendant at the bottom easily enough and put something else there, or, depending on the neckline of what I'm wearing, leave the hook empty. I could see some yummy larimar hanging from that hook, though... mmm...

I'm really getting into hammering wire and texturing the heck out of it. I love the look. And it's really fun! 


Now... the next thing is that my friend Sarah has opened a new Etsy shop for her jewelry. I can't say I'm surprised, since she's been making jewelry for a little while now. But have you seen her latest jewelry? It rivals any of the best jewelry I've seen. She's really upped the ante on her work by learning to work with wire. She's really making it work for her... in very cool ways. 


To say I'm a little intimidated would be an understatement. I mean, why would anyone want to buy anything from me anymore... when you can buy Sarah's amazing beads in her own amazing jewelry? C'mon, now, go check it out!


I'm going through some changes right now, and change is hard. My confidence has been knocked around a bit, and I'm trying to find my footing. 


One of the things I'm changing is my jewelry. I'm pushing myself to come up with more and more unique designs... because, let's face it. A few years ago, nobody was making jewelry that was quite like mine. Now, I see jewelry just like mine everywhere I go... except that now I consistently see jewelry that's far more inventive, clever, amazing, and beautiful than mine.


Part of the reason? Those jewelry artists have more time than I do. 


I work full time, so any time I get to devote to creating is at night, when I'm already tired from the day, or during the weekend, when I'm also trying to cram in errands, time with friends, and chores like laundry. There isn't much I can do about it at this point, but it really leaves me feeling a bit lost as an artist. 


I almost feel like there's nothing original anymore... so what's the point in even trying to be different? 


That's not a good place to be in when you're an artist.


I'm working through that, and also working through all the other crap I'm going through (because losing my identity as an artist just isn't enough), so that's one of the reasons why I've been so quiet.


I'll end on a good note, though.


I've managed to lose 31 pounds, and if I keep it going at the pace I've established over the last few months, I'll reach my original goal weight by the end of January 2011. That's very encouraging!


Here's a photo I snapped this morning. 

I can see how my face is thinner... and though I still have a long way to go, I'm very, very motivated. It's one of the best things in my life at the moment, and I'm clinging very tightly to that...

What happens to jewelry after it leaves my hands?

What happens after a piece of jewelry leaves my hands and ends up in the hands of the recipient? I often wonder exactly this!

Whether it’s someone who purchased the jewelry for themselves, or someone who I gave the jewelry to, or someone who bought the jewelry as a gift for someone else, I always hope the jewelry is enjoyed and treasured. I’m no fool, though. In fact, I’m not afraid to admit that I have full knowledge that my jewelry doesn’t always stay the way I intended it.

I even have a couple of examples. I was in a show last year where I showcased some jewelry designed with beads I’d made. One woman kept eyeing a necklace, stating openly that she didn’t like the way I’d finished it (with a silk ribbon), but that she loved the focal bead so much that she might buy it anyway, and do something else with it.

While part of me wanted to impulsively grab the necklace right out of her hands and stash it in my pocket, another part of me thought, “Well, why not?”

And you know what? She did buy the necklace. I saw the look of absolute glee on her face when she gazed at that bead that I had made. How could I refuse that sale? She got something out of it. It made her happy.

And I’m sure she ripped the necklace apart as soon as she got home and re-did it however she wanted to.

I once put together a necklace made with leather and raku beads (not just beads that had been painted with raku glaze, but beads that had been fired using the raku method), as a gift for a friend. I took care to consider her favorite style and colors. I was still pretty new to making jewelry at this point, and I was really proud of the finished product. It was one of the best things I’d made at that time.

Several months after I’d given the set to my friend, I saw the exact beads I’d used in a completely different necklace on her website.

The necklace was for sale.

At first I was upset and my feelings were really hurt. I mean, how could she? This was a gift I’d crafted especially for her.

And then? I got over it.

Once I gave her the gift, it was out of my control. It was her gift to do with as she pleased. In the grand scheme of things, she could have turned around and sold the necklace as her own. She could have tossed it in a drawer and never looked at it again. She could have re-gifted it. She may have loved it but never saw herself wearing it. I have no clue, and the reality is—it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I had the thought to give her the gift.

I think this works for any form of art.

What about a visual artist who sells paintings? She would expect you to frame her painting, but what if it’s more important to you have that you have that piece of art… not so much that it’s in a nice frame? So, it sits on the mantel unframed, so at least you can look at it while other things bump their way up the priority list and you never quite get around to framing the thing.

Do you think that, if the artist knew, she’d refuse sell me another of her paintings?

Well, I can’t speak for all visual artists, but we have four paintings in total from that artist… and only one of them is framed—with a store-bought frame, no less. We fully intend to have the other three framed, at some point. (What can I say? It’s been a rough few years financially.)

Beethoven wrote the famous 5^th symphony. Most people only know and love the first movement. But what if the last movement is my favorite, and often the only one I ever listen to from that symphony?

If Beethoven were alive, do you think he’d really give a shit?

Of course not! He’d be thrilled that I found something in his music that touched my soul. It moved me in some way.

Or, perhaps a more relevant example—if a DJ cuts in a few samples of Beethoven’s 5^th, thereby modifying his composition and indeed turning it into something completely new and different, is that a bad thing? Is it harmful? My take—it’s actually a good thing. It exposes new listeners to a tidbid of classical music, and they may inquire about the original piece. It modernizes something that many would automatically recognize, and it gives the new artist immediate credibility (which admittedly isn’t necessarily a good thing).

The point is, no matter what, as an artist you cannot have control over what happens to a piece of your art once it leaves your hands. It may be altered, destroyed, broken, painted over, re-sold, etc… and in cases where the action is done out of disrespect, perhaps it’s better that the artist doesn’t know.

I, for one, would stop creating altogether if I was ultimately so concerned about *how* my art was used by the recipient.

Life teaches us that we’re supposed to look for approval and care what others think. But what I’m learning is that what others think of me is none of my business, and in fact, it can be a serious hindrance if I get too wrapped around the axle about it.

Sure, I could have refused to sell that necklace to the woman who wanted to rip it apart—and I’ve seen that happen, too… but when I saw how much she loved the bead, it just didn’t matter anymore.

The point is… once you release your art out into the world, you truly have to let go. That’s part of the beauty of creating.

Honestly, I’d rather that my customers were upfront about wanting a piece altered in some way, so that I could do it for them. It’s something I genuinely try not to take personally. I once sold a necklace to a woman who didn’t like that it was two strands. She only wanted the one strand. I happily snipped off the second strand, and we both got what we wanted—I gained a new customer, I made a sale, and she walked away with a beautiful carnelian necklace.

At that same show last year, a woman showed me a two-strand necklace that she loved. She didn’t want the main strand that actually had the focal on it, she only wanted the secondary accent strand.

Now the interesting thing is, I’d been contemplating making that necklace into a single-strand necklace anyway, so not only did it not bother me that she wanted the second strand… it was actually just what I needed to make the change.

And that’s really what it’s about, isn’t it? Change. Acceptance and rejection. Fear of being “not good enough”.

Well, you know… I say leave all that baggage in the dirt, where it belongs.

There are necklaces I’ve had in my inventory for years, and it feels like something just isn’t quite right with them… I’ll take them out of my display inventory and put them in a bag, waiting for inspiration to redo the necklace. Yes. This happens. I have a pretty full bag of necklaces I’d like to redo, and bracelets I’d like to convert to necklaces, and other various unfinished (un-started, really) projects.

And if a customer wants something altered before buying it… I’m all too happy to do it. I want my customers to be happy with their purchases. I want them to think of me as someone who’s not afraid to push myself and make myself better… I’m only one woman—sometimes I get sick of looking at my own stuff, and if I get a fresh eye on it and someone says “Hey, I think X-Y-Z could hang this way instead of that way”, then once in a while, I may not only learn something new, but I can expand my horizons.

And as you might guess by now, I’m all for that.

Strongest in the Broken Places

“Formulate and stamp indelibly on your mind a mental picture of yourself as succeeding. Hold this picture tenaciously. Never permit it to fade. Your mind will seek to develop the picture… Do not build up obstacles in your imagination.” -- Norman Vincent Peale

A year ago today, I left for the trip of a lifetime.

For some people, a trip to Italy where one stays in the same city for two weeks may not be ideal. It may even feel wrong to travel all that way and not get to explore the whole country or even multiple countries in that time. It may seem like “no big deal” for many others who are used to frequent international trips, or even trips to the more exotic lands of Indonesia, Thailand, or Tasmania.

For me, though… traveling to Venice by myself was the start of a turning point in my life. It opened my eyes and heart to new possibilities. It opened me up in ways I never expected and in many ways, I felt awake and alive for the first time in years.

I didn’t realize at the time that I’d lost the artist inside. I didn’t realize that she’d been sleeping since high school art class, where I practiced for two hours a day three times a week. I played with glass—but we didn’t have a torch other than a Bunsen Burner. Still—it was enough. I loved melting glass and twisting it. I even pulled stringers—not realizing that I’d revisit that experience years later. I have a fused glass plate and even some jewelry I made back then, too. The earrings are crappy and I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the rest of the jewelry I made—I clearly remember wire-wrapping a crystal with copper, and it’s nowhere to be found.

I didn’t have much money to spend in Italy. And let me tell you… you need money in Venice. If for nothing else, you need it for food.

So… I took pictures. Lots and lots of them, actually. It became another outlet for me—another way to awaken the snoozing artist within and allow her to stretch her legs. I took pictures of gondolas, because I couldn’t bring myself to pay the money to ride in one  (although now I kind of wish I had). 

I took pictures of buildings that interested me… which yielded me a lot of pictures of buildings, by the way.

I took pictures of laundry, too. With a flighty, artistic idea that I’d have a series of laundry prints available for sale. 

Some people made fun of me, some kept their amusement to themselves, but for the first time in years—I had a clear artistic vision. No matter how silly it seemed, or even how mundane… the vision was mine.

The same thing happened in the classroom, too. Only, it was messier because I’m not exactly prolific in lampwork bead making. It happened on a smaller scale—I envisioned pink and orange together, and this bead was born (left). 

(Right) I needed to make a bead that felt like night time… and this was the result.

I wasn’t entirely sure of the outcome, but I knew I had the tools to see it through. I wasn’t sure I’d even like the result, but if I didn’t—someone else might, and if they did, they could have it. And if I failed… I could throw it into the canal.

In every sense, let it go.

How is that a mirror to the rest of my life?

Today I am incredibly worried about not having work, and my husband has been unemployed for over a year. Can we pay next month’s bills? Well, right now, the answer to that question is no. We’re in a worse place, financially, than we’ve been in a long time.

I feel helpless and out of control over a lot of aspects of life right now. And yet—I have a vision. A vision of getting work, a vision of selling more jewelry, a vision of paying bills and getting back on our feet.

I have tools to get there. I have a support system, intelligence, and I’m resourceful. I’m determined to get through this period. I’m ambitious—I always want something better for myself and my husband. I know that we’ll get through this.

And, at the end of the day, I can still make a mile-long list of things I’m grateful for. I’ve enjoyed so many things that I never thought I’d experience… like a life changing trip to Italy.

When I got back from Italy, I went through an intense growth period as I examined some things in my life that just weren’t working—but because it had been such a slow decline, it took stepping out of it (and into pure bliss, might I add) for a couple of weeks for me to see the picture with the clarity I needed.

I nearly broke. Irreparably.

But, you know what?

I didn’t.

I somehow managed to make it through one of the hardest trials of my life (and please forgive my vagueness here—I don’t want to discuss it publicly), and I emerged so much stronger and more whole than I imagined.

"Life breaks us all, but afterwards, many of us are strongest at the broken places." -- Ernest Hemingway

I’ve faced many trials in my life—as so many of us have. I think the experiences we have and how we deal with them define who we are. And who I want to be defined as, is an artist, a good wife, a good friend, a hard worker, and a soft yet strong heart.

One year ago, my artistic vision opened itself up inside of me and crawled out of its box, woke me up, and shook my soul.

I realized—on the most basic level—that fearing the outcome causes paralysis.

Construct a vision, grab your tools, and go to work.

The outcome?

Is life.