Elevation
It’s been such a long while. I’m going to fight the urge to do that thing where I lament about how much time has passed and all the ways I suck for not posting more often…
Anyway, hi. It’s good to be back - and I mean that in a few ways. We recently got back from an amazing 5 day trip to Colorado Springs, that equal parts vacation and hard work. Well, if you’re Mike, it was more hard work than anything, but I got to unwind a little and immerse myself in mind-blowing scenery before immersing myself in the deep end of learning about my craft. More on that later.
Our view of Pike’s Peak from the balcony of our AirBnB in Colorado Springs.
I haven’t really been to the mountains before. I grew up near “hills” and have skied “ranges” and toured “highlands” and lived near “escarpments”, but I’ve never really experienced that #mountainlife. Colorado has been on my bucket list since I was a little kid, mostly because the name itself sounds like an adventure epic. Thanks to Mike’s hard work, we suddenly had an opportunity, and I couldn’t wait to see somewhere new. Like, totally, never-seen-it-before new. The majority of the past 6 months have been flat af. My eyes were actually hungry for it.
We flew with friends to Denver, rented a car and drove south to Colorado Springs, a smaller, chill little city just over an hour south, and way closer to the mountains. They grew increasingly more impressive with every mile we drove - a car full of creatives and we started to run out of expletives to describe what we were seeing. Half an hour into the road trip, I feigned wanting a quick break at a look-out point so that we could take some photos, but if I’m being honest, I needed some fresh air to calm the sensory overwhelm that was swamping my sleep-deprived brain. There was too much to take in; too many colours, too many beautiful subtleties, too much dramatic contrast, too many extraordinary qualities of light, too much texture and pattern and rhythm. Too much. And not quite enough oxygen for my little low-lander lungs, as I felt the overwhelm of the scenery highlight the fact that I was feeling actually breathless. In those 2 hours, I realized that all I could do is just greedily open myself up to this shameless consumption of beauty, open my eyes to every damn detail and trust that my brain wouldn’t short out, open my lungs as wide as I could (given my usual shallow breathing habit) and trust that my lung capacity/comfort would improve, and if I could just do that, this trip might just be the thing to blow the front door open on the past 6 months.
This look-out was near to the United States Air Force Academy just north of Colorado Springs.
At the risk of sounding like I’m backtracking on my promise of not lamenting on all the time that has passed, the past 4 months (well, year, really…) have been a thing. I’m going to assume that if you are reading my blog you might have some interest in the environment that feeds the life that feeds my process as an artist, so I’ll be brief in catching you up here. Letting go in CO was really hard, because the past 6 months have been all about holding on for dear life. Our financial situation hasn’t been exactly “fluid”, I’ve been working longer hours than I’d like, I’ve been in more constant pain than I’d like, there’s been an unending shitshow of chasing clients to pay their invoices, big changes rolled through Mike’s work life, there has been so much work to do all the time, and a long-ass, very cold winter to contend with (although we did a pretty good job getting out into it as much as we could.) And then there’s the neighbour sitch. For 10 months we have been living next to an ever-changing cast of loud, violent characters who have kept us awake all hours of the night, whose constant high-level noise have stressed my cats out to the point of visibly changing their behaviours and personalities, and whose explosive anger has woven a sharp thread of uneasiness into the fabric of our home life. Hell is other people*. Shitty neighbours are the worst.
Anyhow, onwards. The neighbours are finally gone (evicted; like I said, they were terrible), the shitshow has been reduced to chasing just one client (goddamn it Kennedy Ford, pay me…) and while it won’t immediately improve my financial situation, I’m dropping back to working 3 days a week at the shop instead of 4, which will probably help reduce my retail fatigue* (and possibly the extensor tendonitis in my feet) and allow me more time to work on my freelance business and to get into the studio to prepare to for the upcoming show season.
It will also give me more time to hang out here. I’ve been aiming to “complete” my website for some time, but the longer I work on it, the more I realize that completing what is supposed to be a running log of my creative life is impossible. I’ve put it off for almost 4 months, citing all of the above as reasons why I couldn’t get it done. So I’m “launching” it this way - incomplete - on the 3rd anniversary of my cancer surgery, feeling a bit silly and sentimental that this little project that I’ve been planning, working through and dreaming about for probably a decade is finally aloft. I’m proud to say that this site is me, as far as representing myself digitally, and it will stand as my sounding board and experiential diary of my creative life. I intend to write more about how I’ve gotten to be 43 yrs old as a semi-fuctioning artist/human, about how Mike and I navigate running our businesses together, and my on-going observations and frustrations with this life I am living. I am not pretending that I know even 1% of it all, but I’m 43 and I’ve lived some shit and I’m still making art, now more than ever. That is my motivation for this website, at its more basic. That, and publishing my work. Oh, and selling stuff
Aaaaaanyway…
So, when we were in Colorado, I had the great fortune (and fun) of studying with Bonnie Nelson and Jerry Ruhland of Cottonwood Silversmithing and Lapidary Supply in downtown Colorado Springs. I spent about 6 hours a day on Saturday and Sunday, learning the ropes of casting a wire ingot, drawing it out to beautiful bezel wire with the rolling mill (which really put me through the ropes of learning how to fully use my recently acquired rolling mill!) I worked on a pendant using a eudialyte cabochon and 5 tiny faceted sapphires haloed above, that Jerry spent most of Sunday showing me how to flush set. Bonnie taught me about fold forming while we put some copper through its paces, and Jerry taught me some fabrication and hammering techniques that completely changed how I understand metal. As instructors they were excellent; friendly and open and eager to let me work at my pace in my own direction. I loved working in another artist’s studio, and getting a feel for their ergonomics and workflow. I loved it so much that as soon as I came home to my studio, I knew it totally had to change. It had to change because I had.
I think the thing that really stuck with me the most from studying with them was of how capable they held me. Both instructors gave me lots of positive feedback on my technique and approach, which made me feel skilled, relaxed and resourceful. I rarely feel this way in my studio. So much of my inner dialog is low-level imposter mutter when I am working - I am generally convinced that I am doing everything wrong (sometimes that is backed up by project fails) and that everyone will be able to tell that I am teaching myself as I go along, that I obviously haven’t gone to school for this, and that because I haven’t been able to connect with any sort of supportive metalsmithing or jewellery artist community here I must be unqualified, unlikeable, or an outsider. I know it sounds melodramatic, but this is how my brain works.
The kind of practical, targeted instruction and positive, friendly feedback that I received in Colorado, coupled with the intense atmospheric beauty really made me soar. I had renewed confidence when I got home, full to overflowing with ideas and audacity and with a newly expanded skill set. I couldn’t get into the studio fast enough to tear it all down and rebuild it into something more supportive, something evolved. After spending a few days creeping Kijiji for a suitable desk, a perfect one showed up in the garbage area behind our building, and Mike heroically got it up 2 flights of stairs, through the confusion-corner that is the hallway to the studio, and assembled for me as a surprise when I came home from work. I bought some casting equipment so that I could start reclaiming some of my sterling scrap to make new work. I got to know my new big torch better and experimented with drawing bezel wire on my own mill. And through all these experiments, this whirlwind, this chaos, some strong new work has been made and there is more underway.
The chaos of my old studio set up meant very little room to work efficiently. I would often fabricate, solder and polish in the same spot, and the ergonomics weren’t awesome.
The new-to-me rescued desk, an old Ikea Jerker (like the one we have in Mike’s studio as a computer desk) is big enough and strong enough to house my soldering and stone setting stations!
Some new designs that emerged from the chaos of a total studio rebuild.
I admit that sometimes I’m not very good at remembering that there are edges to the storm when I’m stuck in the middle of it. It’s been a long, flat low period, the last few months, but just as flat plains feed a gathering storm front, they are also instrumental in pushing the storm through. The last decade of doubt and timidity about publishing myself and my work, the last 10 months of hellish neighbours, the last 6 months of crap luck and kicks when we’re down…all flattened, blown away, as if by wind whipping down the mountains. With this new confidence, this new certainty, it’s easier for me to see each day as fresh and new now, even if it isn’t, really.
I’m eager now to just work at what I’m here to do. I’m glad to be able to share my perspective and my work here, and I’m absolutely thankful for any and all support be it reading my words, engaging with me here or on IG or irl, or purchasing my work to embellish your life in some way. The storm has passed, clear skies ahead. Thank you for holding fast.
