"Be
a good craftsman; it won't stop you being a genius." - Auguste Renoir
9/25/2008
song du jour: I Get a Kick out of You, Ella Fitzgerald
I recently created a Russian filigree champagne flute for Thomas Mann Gallery's 20th anniversary event, L'Art Pour L'Art. The theme of the show is not only celebration but the remembrance that artists are free to create art for the sake of doing so. Pour in French means for. Gotta love the pun! The glasses were blown by glass artists, and the metal artists selected were invited to create the stem and base. I chose to form the parts from a single continuous piece of Russian filigree in order to create an elegant flute, reminiscent of Medieval chalices yet with contemporary shapes and lines.
I was pleased to find out that the image of my flute was used for the event announcement on the gallery's website. Check it out here: Thomas Mann Gallery I/O
A few weeks ago, I had a phone call from a lovely lady in Canada. She was very politely calling in referrencce to my (first) shipping disaster: I had sent her the wrong DVD (she already had the title that I'd just sent her). - Last week I put the wrong PO # on a shipment to Rio Grande, but they were quick to figure that out, and since I'd at least sent what they ordered, it was more of a shipping faux pas on my part... and another first at least. The company from which I get my shipping envelopes has a slogan on their website that they don't use computers for orders. "We have real people to mess things up!" In these cases I have both.
Before hanging up, she told me how much she loved my work and that I was her "Holy Grail." Wow! Artistically speaking, it really doesn't get much better than that. It was one of those moments that makes all the hard work worth it, and sorry as I was to have messed up her order, I was really glad she'd had reason to call me.
I've been remembering that call through all of the endless hours Chinese water torture of late. No, not a new patina chemical, not even a new way to make hundreds of filigree wires pop out for no good reason. I've been crying out of one eye 24/7 in perpetual allergic response to whatever is in the air that my body hates. Ironically, the only time it's stopped was when I visited my friend, Beth's, house and her 5 cats, 1 ferret, 1 snake, 1 Chihuahua 1 Chiwinnie,, and 3 more Chawinnie foster puppies plus concrete dust in her living room. Here at home, where we wage The War on Mildew, I'm dying.
The only other relief has been my mother's latest victory (and first ever thrift store find), a brand new Cuisinart ice cream maker for $15. Alas, when she had us over for ice cream, it didn't freeze because her freezer on top fridge doesn't get cold enough to chill the bowl. When she asked if we could try it in our freezer, we said, "Damn, we'll endeavor to come through on such a big favor."
Day 5 of having the ice cream freezer, my honey brought in three dishes of vanilla ice cream with chocolate gravy (see recipe below) and said, "I've already washed and dried the bowl and put it back in the freezer for when you do this again tomorrow."
Day 18 of having the ice cream freezer, my mother remarked that I've put on a pound or two. "I'm in danger of becoming dehydrated from my eyes watering so much. Homemade vanilla ice cream counts as a fluid." Alas, tonight my blurred vision might be the only excuse for the vile concoction I created in the kitchen. Frustrated at my word processing program's insistence that it is smarter than its user, I went for that light night rehydration attempt. As I plopped a big dollop of chocolate gravy on top of my (modest sized dish of) vanilla ice cream, I thought, "Yuck, the consistency doesn't seem as smooth as it ought to be." As I moved the dish into the light (night runs to the kitchen are more fulfilling if done in the stealth of semi-darkness), my horror turned to hysterical laughter as I sputtered, "Honey, can you help? PLEASE"
I'm not sure what help I thought he could give except to provide solidarity in laughter for what I had placed on top of my ice cream was not chocolate gravy but a big heaping helping of the bar-b-q sauce Chris had made earlier and left out to cool. "You're going to have to scrap that dish and start over," he managed to utter while being bent over double and gasping for breath between laughs.
"WASTE this ice cream?!? NEVER!!! I can scrape it off!" which I did, but by the time I'd added the right topping and stopped laughing, the fruits of my labor were approaching a complete state of liquidity. Unfortunately, during the scraping process and without thinking, I licked my fingers. Eeewww. Chocolate truly can make many things better, but obliterating the taste of milky vanilla bar-b-q was nearly too much to ask.
The Ever Necessary Chocolate Gravy: This recipe is adapted from one a friend gave me several years ago. The original was intended to be served over biscuits (odd sounding but not bad), but I could never consistently get the consistency right, so I changed it into more of a soft fudge sauce.
1-1/3 cups sugar 1/3 cup baking cocoa 1-1/2 tablespoons flour 1 cup milk
Mix dry ingredients, then whisk in milk. Bring to a boil, then turn down the heat and let it simmer and slightly bubble for 10-15 minutes. Refrigerate when cool.
If you use organic ingredients, it could be considered a health food. Grass fed milk, antioxidants in the chocolate, etc. ;-)
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9/11/2008
Free Shipping For a limited time, I'm offering FREE SHIPPING in the U.S. and $5. off international shipping on my instructional DVDs!
If you haven't already purchased them, or only have one title, now is the perfect time to order. This offer is good on orders placed through victorialansford.com or by calling 404-388-8348.
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8/31/2008
Bugning Lights* song du jour: Paper Moon, The Dave Brubeck Quartet
My favorite days in the studio are days like yesterday, days when I start early, have no interruptions or distractions, and the jazz streaming from my computer suspends my concept of time. The flow feels endless as I watch my abstract ideas take physical form before my eyes, and the feeling of profound fatigue that finally hits around the eighth straight hour can only compare to that of the proverbial bug on a windshield.
Days like today are, sadly, more typical. I have to pop up from the bench every 30 minutes and see to something else. Work gets done but not with much flow and not as quickly as I prefer. I tell myself that days like today serve to save my hands and wrists (and neck and shoulders) from the inevitable toll of smithing. I suppose that's a good consolation prize, but to hear constantly the call of the workbench is to be perpetually frustrated.
Flow is why most of us create. Don't get me wrong. Making stuff is just, well, cool, and there is no other satisfaction quite like seeing something finished, particularly seeing someone else wear it. Flow, though, is that sublime state of being fully present in the moment with little or no thought to anything but the process unfolding, propelled by the feeling of ideas and possibilities inside me, brimming up out and over.
I suppose it's really all about maintaining the proper level of chaos. (Did she say, "Proper level of chaos"? Dear me, I believe she did!) Chaos is a subject very close to my heart, whether it be chaos theories of physics or the more metaphorical version so vital to life. Order, you see, is created. I know, I know. Without it, most people assume we'd all degenerate into anarchy. Order seems the goal. We equate it with peace and security, but that's the big illusion.
Too much order can squash creativity. Perhaps that's why people considered to be creative have messy desks (or closets, houses, cars, purses, lives...). Order is left brained and logical, but all we know of how our brains evolved points to order, somewhat like time, being a construct to make us feel less overwhelmed and seemingly in control.
Chaos is primeval. The creation myths of nearly every religion start out with some kind of primordial ooze of chaos, the fertile ground from which life (and depending on the religion, order) arises. It's the undefinable, ephemeral soup from which we have a sense that there might be something more. It's the very ground of ideas.
Of course, too much chaos, and I can't find any of my materials, and I start feeling as if the studio walls are going to fall in on me before I can get anything done. It's a balancing act. My friend, Beth, jokes that she needs a certain level of chaos in her home to feel calm. If there aren't enough dogs barking and there aren't power tools and scraps of wood, stone, or cement alongside the finished projects covering most of her den floor, then all is not right with the world.
I might tease her about how many Chihuahuas and foster "Chiwinnies" she needs to feel at peace, but she helped me realize how I maintain my own comfort level of chaos. I take on more projects and dream ever bigger. Just when I begin to get overwhelmed at all that needs to be finished in the next few weeks, I get an even bigger idea to add to the mix. I hadn't released the last DVD before I got the idea for the chain book I'm working on, and I'd hardly started editing it before I had the idea for another book (besides the 5 or 6 I've already thought of).
Many people fear that giving into starting more projects means not finishing what they start. I don't have to worry about that. if I don't finish things, I don't eat. Not having a "day job" to fall back on is certainly a motivating factor, but I also become crabby (some might say worse) when I don't finish things. Years ago, I figured out that forcing myself to finish one thing before starting something else only produced a snail's working pace and a sense of ennui that gave me the urge to open a vein with my Joyce Chen cooking shears (the BEST metal cutting shears for non ferrous metals).
To say I balance a lot is some kind of silly understatement. Not many people work full time+ and homeschool (unschool actually) a cute small monster. Sometimes I achieve flow states as easily playing "I Spy Spooky Mansion" with my son as I do when starting a new piece or smearing the first layer of paint in a new collage, and when I do, ideas pop in from out of nowhere. There is wisdom in working on so many things at once. However illogical it sounds (to the supreme order folks), I find answers I didn't know I needed for one project simply appear out of nowhere in the flow state of starting another. That's right brain territory and the only real place to find anything new. Solutions don't necessarily follow in a linear fashion. They flash in unpredictable locations like lightening bugs glowing in the dark, and the receptive adult marvels like a 4 year old at the magical sight.
*When my son, Skyler, first became aware of lightening bugs, he would point to them and with the most serious facial expression and carefully articulate the words, "BUGning light!"
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8/26/2008
(Way) Downunder song du jour: The Lady Is a Tramp, Dean Martin
That great tempter, he who finds very pretty shiny things, Gene McDevitt now has a blog about the unique experience of mining Koroit opals in Queensland, Australia. Gene (I call him "the Candyman" behind his back) is not only a talented cutter of beautiful opals but also a really smart guy. His blog is well worth a spot in your RSS folder. How often does one get to read a humorous and well written account of spider bites in the worst place any human can imagine (no, not him, a neighbor miner)? Ah, but don't let me blow all the punch lines. Read it for yourself.
Gene is the source for all of the lip smacking Koroit opals in my work. I may be more into metal than stones, but his opals are like looking into other worlds. They're just, well... yummy. Hopefully, Gene will soon post about his experience with a Western Taipan. I'm back to the bench to set my new shiny things.
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8/19/2008
All Chained Up song du jour: I Love Being Here with You, Ernestine Anderson
Studio news: work on the chain book is progressing nicely. I'm hoping to have it out before the holidays. If all continues to go well, it might be out much sooner. It will be a full color paperback, featuring many of the fused chains I teach in my workshops. If you'd like to be on the list for when it's available, please click the "subscribe" button at the upper right of this page (above the photos of new work).
8:57 PM
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Minor to Major song du jour: I Mean You, Thelonious Monk & Gerry Mulligan
I've often said that if my soul had a soundtrack, it would be "Deacon Blues" by Steely Dan. There's just something about that opening minor chord progression... Give me something pentatonic, something mysterious yet melodic and set to a back beat, and half of me will be soaring in a different dimension. I had that experience today at Centenial Park, hearing The Ghosts Project play.
They have a fluidity not only to their music but also to their line up. They've recently added vocalist, Mink Wiltz, a mezzo soprano with a beautiful classically trained voice and that elusive balance of wildness and control. I'm always amazed at how big and deep a sound three people can create, a sound so big, if they weren't miked, they'd still fill up the space, but then member, Paul Mercer can do that all by himself with one violin. It's also nice to see (hear) three unique, powerful, and distinct sounds without the interference of three big egos getting in the way. Genuine humility is a talent all by itself and makes for a fabulous meld. I've added their links to the "fellow artists" section over to the side.
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8/12/2008
The Art of Jewelry song du jour: Blue Light Boogie, Taj Mahal
If you're up in Washington state, check out my work in the show The Art of Jewelry at A is for Artists gallery in Bainbridge Island, WA. The show runs the month of September.
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8/10/2008
Cold Connections song du jour: Blue Tuesday, Jessica Williams
When I called my mother today to ask if she had any books on Jung and his writings on Tarot cards, I told her not to roll her eyes.
"I'm rolling my eyes," she replied. Ok, so it wasn't the call she was expecting from her rather rational daughter, rational not only in the practical sense but in the philosophical sense as well. When I explained that I had always wanted to follow in the long tradition of artist-designed Tarot cards and create my own set, she sounded slightly less skeptical. When I explained further that I have always been intrigued by archetypal and alchemical symbols and ideas and reminded her how much of that inspiration creeps into my work, she sounded even less skeptical. When I mentioned that I'd turned my momentary frustration with running out of my favorite boards to collage on and had remembered this years-long put off project when I found in my vast stash a box of 24, 3"x5" samples boards, she applauded my conniving ingenuity to find inspiration in a studio "half full" rather than "half empty."
What got me re-energized about these ideas earlier in the week (before remembering again today) was reading in the artist statement on fellow metalsmith, Nanz Aalund's new website that her series of two-finger rings is based on the Major Arcana. While, I've always jokingly called myself an alchemist, I'm rather obsessed with delving into what Malcolm Gladwell would call the "stickiness" of the images we associate with archetypes, and there is no richer place to look than Tarot cards. The symbols may appear straightforward, but they actually contain great depth and complexity, and there is some very human reason that these Rorschach tests of bygone eras have evolved over time and culture, yet retain so much of their known metaphors.
The truth is I've never owned a set of tarot cards because every time I see a set for sale, I either think, "I could do better," or "Wow, these images are so amazing that I really ought to make my own." (I'm like that with everything; it's a wonder I didn't have to build my own house.) Ok, well, so far I’ve done the background for the sun, but it's a start. Most importantly, just starting instantly changed my mood from stressed to creative.
I've been working on a group of 4 collages, based on the 4 main archetypes of the lover, the healer, the warrior, and the trickster that I began last year when I took a workshop at Hollyhock on Cortes Island, BC. Eventually, I finished the warrior, and more recently, the lover. At the rate I'm going, I'm on the one-a-year plan. Squeezing in parts of 22 mini-collages in the middle of working on a book and creating new work to show before the holidays is very much my style. Just like I need to have ample raw materials to feel ready to create, I need 100 projects started (literally) to feel that elusive balance between Chaos and Order. Order only ever wins in time for the deadlines, whereupon, I dip once more into the primordial ooze of wire, sheet metal, rocks, paint, paper, etc.
But back to the stickiness...
Despite not playing with Tarot cards, I have been known to contemplate the drawing of runes and often used to use them in my work as secret symbols of whatever was going on at the time I was making the piece in my own wacky sense of humor and mystery. It's not so much that I believe or disbelieve in the divination process. - Some would say by my appearance that I spent a past life or two laying out such objects next to the crystal ball in a my tent (or perhaps some other role among the circus freaks). - It's that I like the spontaneous information by way of chance. The information needs not to revolve around truth so much as it does an idea to ponder, hence my love of Sage.
If a divination method is the brainchild of an artist rather than an ancient Egyptian high priest, what's the real difference? If something hits at the very heart of the human experience and causes us to stop for a minute and contemplate more than our own stress, is a pedigree necessary? Do we really need to be reassured of desired outcomes in the future, or do we need to slow down and and feel at peace in the present moment? It's what an image, group of words, or symbol can suddenly pop into our consciousness that becomes food for thought, food as in chocolate to be savored rather than (ick) liver because it's supposed to improve the health of one's future.
I started with the sun because when I read a description of it, what immediately came to mind was a sun/moon stamp I carved last year. Inked different ways, I can emphasize the stylized sun rays, the crescent moon, or the self portrait woman-in-the-moon. There are times when I come up with ideas like these that seem out of the clear blue sky, and I have to trust that there will eventually be a need for the creative compulsion of the moment. When I don't give in, I get overwhelmed and frustrated with what I'm working on. When I do give in, I briefly wonder why I've suddenly shifted my priorities to accommodate a new idea and then inevitably feel better, work faster, and decide I'll probably figure out later where that new thing I just had to make will fit in the grand scheme of my work.
Such work is art in the dark for the moment, but it always makes it into the light. Sometimes the logic of things is not immediately discernible. Sometimes it's the sheer act of creating that keeps us sane. Time for me to get back to the drawing board...literally...
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7/29/2008
song du jour: Take Five, Dave Brubeck Quartet
For those of you here for the first time, welcome to the inaugural post of my relaunched blog now integrated into my website, and for those of you who've been here before welcome back! It is here that I shall endeavor to answer whether it is necessary to be crazy to create, that ever present question in an artist's life or at least the one regularly asked by most artists' friends and family.
It's day 562 of spending all day updating work on my website. Well, ok, it's only day 5, but it feels as though I've been sitting at my desk far longer. I'm taking a break before I bust out in complete techno-geek hell (a necessary step towards sanity if ever there was one)
A few feet beyond my monitor is a haze of heavy falling rain, and the thunder overrides the back beat of jazz streaming in the studio. Far be it from me to blog about the weather, but it's quite relevant. My studio is the only air conditioned room in the house for the third Hotlanta summer, and anything that smacks of a slight breeze or drop in temperature is ushered in via strategically placed fans.
While the endless dreary spring rains of non-drought years can suck all the glee out of me like a professional Dementor, I find summer storms and showers deliciously seductive. I love the moments before a storm when the air smells of nearby mists and the shadows cast are a dusky blue. The air is pregnant with anticipation and sustenance. Those are my favorite times to curl up with a book in a barely lit corner, preferably on my porch swing. Afterwards, like a child, who can go back outside to play, when the rain is over I'm ready to plunge into all manner of creative works. It's not only the weather's catharsis, it is my own reset button of unpredictability that mercifully interrupts that Right Brain killer: the monotony of routine. It's a reminder that like nature, creativity is wild.
Perhaps it's the routine from which most artists seek refuge in the dramatic rise and fall of creating one-of-a-kind works and the routine to which "normal" people cling for survival in a crazy world. I don't actually believe it's necessary to be a full fledged nutter to be a good artist. Eccentricity, however, helps. The appreciation of irony is an essential, real irony not that souped up, angst ridden, existential crisis as way of life nonsense from the death throws of Postmodernism. Real irony sometimes laments but always allows the ability to laugh at oneself, to stand back and see things from more than one perspective, and this ability to translate into art these multiple ways of looking at the world is what separates we artists from the other primates.
Such separation though, can lead to anxiety born of isolation. It's not all that fun interacting in a world where black and white are valued over shades of gray. It's not fun to come up in an education system that values facts over imagination. We retreat, or we act out, so it's no wonder that we Right Brain and Integrated Brain types have developed a reputation. Van Gogh and that ear business didn't help much either.
What follows is the beginning of my ongoing list of answers to this big question. Feel free to ad a some.
Must really creative people be crazy?
No, but it helps.
"Normal" is a setting on your washing machine.
Hey, next to the people in the group home across the street, I'm quite sane.
The Art of 'OK' With the natrual light in the studio somewhat darkened by a few clouds most of the day, I was unable to do what has been on my to-do list for two weeks: photograph new work for the website. Instead I stole a few moments to draw, curled up in the seductively beckoning new cushions on my grandmother's relatively ancient porch swing.
We're just a week or so past the time of year when all of Atlanta looks like a three dimensional Monet painting, daubed with dusky tones of creams, mauves, and lavenders in the form of blooming honeysuckle, dogwoods, azaleas, and wisteria on top of the emerging greens that have now come to dominate the landscape once more. After months of gnarled naked trees that make my soul long for lushness, it's funny that what I should choose to draw was merely the tangle of branches high up in the trees at the end of my back yard without their covering of leaves. Perhaps they are simply easier to draw that way, or perhaps I am just a complete geek armed with a pin-point sharpened drafting pencil, and shading dramatic tones of dark and light graphite until a shape pops off the page is my idea of a good time.
Moments like those in my jam packed life are stolen guiltily yet with determination from my oh so disciplined psyche, surrounded with too much work, the constant call of "Mommy!" and a house that is perpetually in a state of reorganization and decorating (not all that clean and with no room fully painted after 9-1/2 years of living here). Skyler was at one with his electronic inventor's kit, so I could actually listen to the sounds of flapping wings, bird calls, a lady across the side street ranting about her job, and a seriously mammoth sounding frog somewhere around my pond, the sounds of inner city nature.
All was serene until I started writing, and Skyler came proudly running in the studio with his newly constructed AM radio. "Wow, okay!" I said, "great job!!!" It even had a volume control. That child, however, does not. He's a talking, building, drawing, writing, navigating whirlwind, every action done with maximum velocity and determination. He also believes that every single statement, question, command, or general bit of small talk uttered by an adult is ample reason to flaunt his negotiations skills, which are nothing less than exhausting to engage. I remember that tiny fighting preemie in the NICU and tell myself his start in life imprinted as surely as a baby chick's first seeing its mama, and I remind myself of my mantra: If he's okay, then everything is okay.
In the face of such constant arguing (or contradiction) I have learned the hard way how to appear agreeable for my mental health and stability. It's fun to watch my partner beginning to learn these essential skills of parenting, the first of which is the necessity of the response, "okay." "Okay" is the ultimate survival tool in a parent's arsenal of a mental toolbox. I'm not talking about little Johnny running rampant in a restaurant while his parent(s) blithely ignore(s) his antics and pretend that everything is okey-dokey. I'm referring to soliloquies constantly projected from the back seat that proclaim things like which shortcut we should take through traffic and how we can't possibly go to parkday a week from Friday because The Weather Channel has predicted slight scattered showers in its long range forecast. To survive with the last shred of one's sanity intact, the adult's response should never be, "Well, that's a long way away, and The Weather Channel might change their forecast as the day gets closer." No, the only correct response is, "Okay," and then deal with the situation and little Hamlet's possible adjustment to change come the aforementioned Friday morning.
We once got into a months long debate about the traffic signals at the on ramp from Freedom Parkway onto the seven lane occasionally moving disaster of a freeway, known as The Downtown Connector.
"It only operates on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays"
"No, it operates every weekday during peak traffic times."
"No, Mom, you're wrong!"
"Why is that?"
"Because I've seen it operate on those days!"
"So it only operates if you're here to see it?!?"
"Oh, Mom..."
We went through this conversation so many times I began seriously to consider grocery shopping at rush hour on Tuesdays just to show him that I, one of those silly adult type people, who can't possibly know what all an eight year old does, actually knew what I was talking about, but there is no way that such an adventure would do anything at all for my sanity. Finally one Tuesday we got stuck in northbound traffic where he could see the alternating signals in question change to let cars from each lane enter the Connector.
"Mom! It does work on Tuesdays!!!"
"Imagine that."
"No, it really does!!!"
"Okay"
A moment of silence followed before the next subject was gleefully begun from the back seat. I had finally learned. Now when faced with such proclamations as, "When we get home I'm going to build a contraption made of legos, Thomas train track, 2000 dominoes, those cardboard boxes you put in the recycling bin, and marbles all propped up at different heights with 30 video cassettes. It's going to stretch from the kitchen through the dining room and into the den all the way to the front door!" I don't say something stupid like, "I really need you to wait until after we get the junk cleared out of the den and vacuum the rugs." I say, "okay," and know that he'll either forget in the wake of some other endeavor, or, in creative engineering mom mode, I'll help him build it and covertly steer the whole works to one side, making it loop under itself a really cool way that makes him forget how long it was intended to be. Such options only come with the word, 'okay.'
The kinds of flow states achieved with my drafting pencil are far and few between, and I swallow many moments of frustration having to work and take care of business without them, usually remembering at some point to breathe deep and notice that things really are okay. My friend, Beth, once described parenting as being like getting her Jeep Wrangler many years ago. She told me that she was miserable and sore from driving it until she realized that the only way to be in it was to let her body bump and jostle along with the vehicle instead of trying to remain so firmly rigid in the seat the way she would in a sedan with good shock absorbers. When she had kids, she realized that the only way to survive was to bump and jostle along with their moods, tantrums, and enthusiasms instead of perpetually feeling put out and sore out that they didn't cruise like a Caddy or a Beemer. We bump and jostle along, and most of the time it's okay.
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The show premiered last month at the 2008 Society of North American Goldsmiths Conference in Savannah, GA on a giant digital billboard on one of the buildings of Savannah College of Art and Design. I have to admit, seeing my 1-3/4" long pendant on the side of a building was trippy and yielded a different perspective of it than I'd had before.
The organization promotes greater demand for ethically mined and refined metal through understanding and awareness of where we get and how we use these materials.
From their site: We asked artists "to consider what would happen if we tossed our smug habits into a heap? What would happen if we composted our shameless sins, our saintly intentions and our fertile imaginations and pledged to use the resulting fecund glory to redesign and nurture the world?" We suggested using any of the following words as guides; reflect, reform, reconsider, resolve, relate, revise, rework, renew, repair, repurpose, reconnect, review, regret, renounce, reproach, react, rethink, reuse, reduce and recycle.
Check it out along with the rest of the exhibition. Many of the artist statements are well worth the read as well.
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3/28/2008
Victoria's Article in Jewelry Artist magazine Check you local bookstore for the April 2008 issue of Lapidary Journal: Jewelry Artist magazine. My project article, Strata Charm Bracelet is on page 42 along with my earrings, Turkish Nights, on page 41 of the Contributor's Gallery. Thanks to Editor-in-Chief, Merle White, and Managing Editor, Helen Driggs, for being such great people to work with!
On a less that perfect note, the two-part article solicited by Art Jewelry magazine has been published in the May 2008 issue under the titles The Perfect Stamp Is the One You Make Yourself and Take the Next Step in Bezel Making. Because of their confusing re-writing of the article and the misinformation contained therein, I have made the original material available on my site. Also, I did not write the sidbar, "temper, temper" contained in the stamp making article, nor in 19 years of metalsmithing have I ever sunk to such an unfortunate pun. Click here for my stamp making project.Click here for my stamped step bezel project. By agreement with Art Jewelry, I retain the right to publish the original material.
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