Here's a link to the page with the info: Fire Mountain Gems Gallery of Designs
Friday, October 15, 2010
I Won A Gold Medal!
Here's a link to the page with the info: Fire Mountain Gems Gallery of Designs
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
But What Do You DO All Day?
What do artists do with all that creative free time? I often wonder about other artists, so I thought I would try to wake up this semi-moribund blog and share a little about my latest project.
It started, as so many things in my life have, at a church rummage sale. There was a lovely, odd-shaped bottle sitting on a card table. It was full of ... something that was once perhaps fruit, and it probably decorated a church lady's kitchen, where it looked like jewels in the autumn sunshine. As the years went by, though, it lost its sheen. The fruit broke down into something lumpy and brown, the wax seal on the bottle grew sticky and then dusty. She couldn't bear to just toss it in the trash, though. Not after it had given her so much pleasure. She tucked it into the box earmarked for the church sale.
I scooped it up with a clear vision in mind. I would clean it out, bead to my vision's specifications, someone would instantly fall in love with it and buy it. My visions are fairly diverse but they all have the same ending.
And it sat on my kitchen counter for a couple of weeks before I started to scrub it up. When I opened it, the vinegary smell made my eyes water. I upended it over the sink and all the vinegar ran right out. The fruit was too swollen and wouldn't fit through the neck. I filled the bottle with hot water and shook. One tiny lump of fruit came out.
I dug a pair of long hemostats out of the studio and went out into the garden where there was a fresh breeze. For the next two hours, I painstakingly drew tiny gobbets of ex-fruit down the narrow neck of the bottle and threw them into the garden, much to the amusement of my dog and the disgust of the blue jays.
To be continued...
It started, as so many things in my life have, at a church rummage sale. There was a lovely, odd-shaped bottle sitting on a card table. It was full of ... something that was once perhaps fruit, and it probably decorated a church lady's kitchen, where it looked like jewels in the autumn sunshine. As the years went by, though, it lost its sheen. The fruit broke down into something lumpy and brown, the wax seal on the bottle grew sticky and then dusty. She couldn't bear to just toss it in the trash, though. Not after it had given her so much pleasure. She tucked it into the box earmarked for the church sale.
I scooped it up with a clear vision in mind. I would clean it out, bead to my vision's specifications, someone would instantly fall in love with it and buy it. My visions are fairly diverse but they all have the same ending.
And it sat on my kitchen counter for a couple of weeks before I started to scrub it up. When I opened it, the vinegary smell made my eyes water. I upended it over the sink and all the vinegar ran right out. The fruit was too swollen and wouldn't fit through the neck. I filled the bottle with hot water and shook. One tiny lump of fruit came out.
I dug a pair of long hemostats out of the studio and went out into the garden where there was a fresh breeze. For the next two hours, I painstakingly drew tiny gobbets of ex-fruit down the narrow neck of the bottle and threw them into the garden, much to the amusement of my dog and the disgust of the blue jays.
To be continued...
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
YaYo Beads
Last fall, one of my oldest friends died after a shockingly short illness. I went back to her house to help her kids sort through the accumulation of a lifetime and brought her ashes home with me for scattering later, when all the kids would be available. Laurel's ashes went on my cookbook shelf, cozied up to The Joy Of Cooking, which book she bought for me a thousand years ago.
I got used to having her there on the shelf, and though I'm not a believer in any sort of afterlife, I did address the odd remark to the urn. Then I started to think about beads. Glass beads in particular, and I wondered if there was some way to incorporate ashes into a bead for some sort of permanent memorial. The internet confirmed that not only could it be done, it had been done. I got in touch with all the kids to make sure they would be okay with that. They agreed, and I decided to give it a try.
I was shockingly unprepared for the visceral reaction I had to opening the urn and realizing that the pile of grit and ash and metal (metal?) was all that was left of my friend. I sifted a tiny bit of powdery ash into a baby food jar and walked blindly into the studio where I sifted the ash through several very fine mesh filters until I had something more like face powder than ash.
I lined the powder up on a graphite pad and was inevitably reminded of cocaine. At this point I started talking aloud to Laurel, crying and laughing at the same time. I lit the torch and laid down a base bead of black glass. Once it was a good shape, I got the surface of it cherry-red and lightly rolled it through the line of ash. Then I encased the ash with a thick layer of clear. As I said before, I'm not a believer in any conventional sort of spirituality, but this was perhaps the most profound experience of my life to date. I felt my friend standing at my shoulder, and as I made bead after bead, I was able to say some of the things I didn't get to say after she got sick and died so fast. When I had a kiln full of YaYo beads (what the littlest one called her- he couldn't say Laurel- and of course it caught on) and no more tears left, I gathered up the tiny bit of ash that was left and put it in the garden.
The next morning I took the beads out of the kiln. They were spectacular- each one a tiny universe of stardust spangled across a black or blue background. The ashes look like galaxies, like the promise of infinity, like maybe somehow it all makes sense. There were enough that all of the kids and all of their kids could have one. There was one that quite clearly belonged to me. And they resonate.
I got used to having her there on the shelf, and though I'm not a believer in any sort of afterlife, I did address the odd remark to the urn. Then I started to think about beads. Glass beads in particular, and I wondered if there was some way to incorporate ashes into a bead for some sort of permanent memorial. The internet confirmed that not only could it be done, it had been done. I got in touch with all the kids to make sure they would be okay with that. They agreed, and I decided to give it a try.
I was shockingly unprepared for the visceral reaction I had to opening the urn and realizing that the pile of grit and ash and metal (metal?) was all that was left of my friend. I sifted a tiny bit of powdery ash into a baby food jar and walked blindly into the studio where I sifted the ash through several very fine mesh filters until I had something more like face powder than ash.
I lined the powder up on a graphite pad and was inevitably reminded of cocaine. At this point I started talking aloud to Laurel, crying and laughing at the same time. I lit the torch and laid down a base bead of black glass. Once it was a good shape, I got the surface of it cherry-red and lightly rolled it through the line of ash. Then I encased the ash with a thick layer of clear. As I said before, I'm not a believer in any conventional sort of spirituality, but this was perhaps the most profound experience of my life to date. I felt my friend standing at my shoulder, and as I made bead after bead, I was able to say some of the things I didn't get to say after she got sick and died so fast. When I had a kiln full of YaYo beads (what the littlest one called her- he couldn't say Laurel- and of course it caught on) and no more tears left, I gathered up the tiny bit of ash that was left and put it in the garden.
The next morning I took the beads out of the kiln. They were spectacular- each one a tiny universe of stardust spangled across a black or blue background. The ashes look like galaxies, like the promise of infinity, like maybe somehow it all makes sense. There were enough that all of the kids and all of their kids could have one. There was one that quite clearly belonged to me. And they resonate.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
John Kasch
Since this portrait has arrived safely at my sister-in-law's house in time for her birthday, I can show it to the world.
This is the project that's been taking all my time lately! I was working from my late father-in-law's Navy portrait. This is a companion piece to the portrait in beads I did of my late mother-in-law, last year.
My sister-in-law was surprised. I think she likes it. :-)
This is the project that's been taking all my time lately! I was working from my late father-in-law's Navy portrait. This is a companion piece to the portrait in beads I did of my late mother-in-law, last year.
My sister-in-law was surprised. I think she likes it. :-)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
John Botts Quote!
"The interest in color is always present. A simple comment might be that where color seems least present, or most lacking in intensity, one finds more color."
A quote from John Botts, the artist who I swear kept me alive when I was a teenager, and who I am only now beginning to appreciate.
A quote from John Botts, the artist who I swear kept me alive when I was a teenager, and who I am only now beginning to appreciate.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Under Construction
Here's what I started with this morning. I chose the lampwork beads first, from my last torch session, and then I made some bead soup to go with them. I am envisioning a multi-stranded necklace, with the dotted bead as the central focal.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Custom Order
Another adorable custom order. This one was really fun because the customer and I traded a bunch of emails back and forth, trying to come up with designs and backgrounds. She was awesome to work with, and I want to do lots more custom stuff. I love helping someone get exactly what they want!
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