Darkness and Solitude

This past weekend, I had the great pleasure of taking a weekend workshop at Peters Valley Craft Center in Layton, NJ.... Just a quick geography lesson: Layton is above Allentown, about 10 miles over the Pennsylvania/New Jersey border.

And it's in the middle of nowhere.  There's nothing except the craft village for about 5 miles in any direction.  No internet access.  No TV.  Spotty cell service.

When I got there, I nearly panicked.  Three days alone with my thoughts?

And then it got dark.

At home, I'm used to the ambient light of street lamps and city glare and lights left burning in my neighbors' windows.  In Peters Valley, there is none of that.  No street lamps and no street lights on the roads.  Just woods, and re-purposed barns and farm houses, and then some more woods.  When it gets dark... it's dark. (One night, heavy rains knocked out the power for a couple of hours... hence the candles).

And this of course, got me to thinking... have I ever experienced natural darkness?  Maybe?  I'm not sure.

A stranger in a strange land without even my technology to keep me company... have I ever experienced this kind of solitude?  And actually, the answer to that one is "Yes, yes I have." It is an experience that I recommend... it's both disorienting and reaffirming, a very interesting lens with which to view the internal landscape.

But the truth is that even though I did have a lot of alone time... I was surrounded by fellow students experiencing the same feelings and thoughts that I was.

And suddenly these strangers were the most important people in my life because they offered me what I lacked: companionship and conversation, a link to the outside world, news and experiences beyond my own.  But we were all there together, in the darkness and solitude, sharing a space and experience together... and I just was as important to them... and suddenly, there was a lot to talk about.

Peter's Valley: a photo journal

Here's a look at what I was up to during my time at at Peters Valley Craft Center in Layton, NJ.

The workshop I took was entitled "Amulets and Talismans: making meaningful objects," taught by the incorrigible and insightful Robert Dancik.  I learned an entirely new "language" of cold-connecting (no solder allowed!), and got down to the serious work of playing.  I learned to work with fauxbone, concrete, papermache... learned some new riveting techniques... learned about powdered pigments and alcohol inks... learned some new and very interesting things to do with epoxy resin.

But beyond the techniques, I learned the importance of play... that being different is not only ecstatically fun and but incredibly important.  I am they only person who can make the things that I make.  I'm not saying that to be grandiose or puff myself up... plenty of people have the exact same metalsmithing skills that I have (there are even plenty of people with skills that surpass mine), but none of those metalsmiths have my exact experiences as a human being.   That is a very important bit of learning.

Which Thunder Mountain came first: Peters Valley or Disney?

The Prius had to do some semi-off-roading to get to the metals' studio.  Good job, Little Prius.

Robert brought SO MANY samples!  Every object I picked up was more incredible than the last.  For like three solid hours, the thought track in my head was "Oh my God, that's amazing!""Oh my God, that's amazing!""Oh my God, that's amazing!"

This was one of my favorite of Robert's samples, a "book."

One of my other favs: a magnifying glass set in concrete.

Sunset on Thunder Mountain Rd.

The view from the art studios.

Seriously, awesome mailbox.

One of the pieces that I made during the workshop: fauxbone, concrete, sterling silver, finished enamels that I had brought with me.

Mad Science in the Art Bunker

Recently, a friend gave me the brilliant idea of incorporating homemade pigments into my enamel work... and of course, I had to give it a try!

So far, the results are incredibly mixed.  In this era of artificial dyes (that do not stand up to the intense heat needed for fusing), the pigments that I'm using come out of the kiln faded and burnt looking.  Although, despite that slight "disappointment" the effects I'm getting are very earthy and interesting.

Pictured are the samples that I've created so far... I look forward to playing around with this idea.  The possibilities are just endless.

Stranger Danger?

A dilemma: Strangers.

In the past two weeks, I've heard some these comments from some of my jewelry/artist friends: "People I didn't even know gave money to my Kickstarter campaign!  I was so grateful!." "I made this piece, it was in the showcase for four months, and then someone bought it!  I loved it and someone bought it who loved it just as much!"

And I'm exactly the same way; the first time that a stranger subscribed to my monthly newsletter, I was nearly falling over myself with joy and excitement.  "Strangers! Find worth in what I do?! Amazing!"

It's true.  As an independent business person, if I ever hope to be successful, I need the support of strangers and people I've never met, and yet somehow I am always dumbfounded by the idea that strangers could possibly find worth in my work.

It all comes down one crazy, little word: value.  And it all depends on whose definition we are considering: Walmart's (or Kay's or Zales' or Blue Nile's or Ice's for that matter) or the art community's.

Walmart: "Save Money.  Live Better."  Their idea of "value" is based on giving you as much for your dollar as possible.  The quality of the product is irrelevant as long as it can be sold cheaply and sold to as many people as possible.

In the art community (at least the art community I'm familiar with), the word "value" is based on enrichment.  Does this object enrich my life?  Is it well-made?  Is this object timeless and capable of being passed down to future generations?  What impact does it have on the environment?  The word "value" is based on legacy rather than a monetary exchange.

Although, don't think for a second that I'm a fool.  Enrichment is more difficult to quantify, monetarily speaking, but I charge accordingly for my blood, sweat, tears, intellectual prowess, and creativity.

Let me put it to you this way; yes, you can buy a $25.00 diamond and silver pendant from Walmart, but what are you really buying: cloudy gemstones and a piece of metalwork with no pride (and barely any thought) in the manufacture.

When you buy jewelry from me (or one of my fellow independent craftspeople), you are not just buying an object, but you are purchasing my knowledge and expertise, you are purchasing my thoughts and worldview.  I understand the limitations and the possibilities in my materials.  I take pride in the quality and possible longevity of what I am selling you.

"Save Money. Live Better." (?)  I'm just sayin'.  Those places will always (always) underbid me on price, but they will never (ever) beat me when it comes to value.

Current Theme Song

"Every Other Way" by BT on These Hopeful Machines

Heart don't fail me now  
'Cause there is no time to waste  
Don't shut me out, we shouldn't wait another day 
I've searched for you, on my heart's high speed chase  
Hear me out, may be the only chance to say  
"Hold me now"
I've said it every other way

Forging Entrepreneurs: a lesson in what it really takes

This past Sunday, I had the great pleasure of attending a SNAG sponsored symposium in Pittsburgh at the Society for Contemporary Craft: "Forging Entrepreneurs."

And even though I learned a great deal (topics of the lectures were diverse, ranging from how to define success to a crash course in 3D printing) and I had a great time with some of my SNAG family, I really feel like the experience has thrown me into an identity crisis as far as my work goes.

Geez, I just got finished telling you that I'm in love with what I do... and now I feel like a hypocrite.  I'm still in love, but now I'm wondering if I have been unfaithful in some way.

By the end of the day my circuits were so fried I wanted to come home and have a nervous breakdown.  I looked around at what I was making and none of it felt good enough.  It felt like "amulet" was just another label I was trying to impose on myself.  Yes, I am interested in how we use amulets to shape our thoughts and actions, but are fancy titles really that important?  Now I think that all this "experimentation" with my ideas and materials was just another mask I was trying to put on instead of doing the hard work of trying to find my own voice, a distraction rather than a journey.  What am I most excited about creating?  What do I really care about saying? What can I uniquely offer?

Dammit, those are hard questions, and I don't have the answers.  Soul-searching time.

I love working with enamel most of all... molten glass makes me feel like a bad ass.  And I have to admit, I really (really) enjoyed taking a hammer to that stained glass... I never get to break things, ever.  To break something in an act of creation felt really contrary and freeing.

I love symbols... I'm really Jungian in that way.  I believe that symbols help us make sense of our world, but I've been too hung up on the idea that my audience has to know and understand the symbols that I'm using.  The one luxury I'm afforded as an artist is that I don't have to explain myself... so, I am going to stop explaining my own symbology.  It's personal.  If you really want to know, you can ask.

The things I really care about making aren't the ones that have fancy or expensive materials... I like unique stones, I like getting dirty, I like feeling a connection to the earth.  The things I really care about making are the things that are about the journey, about the hard-fought steps and the simple, unadulterated, solitary triumphs.

I feel better.  Thank God.  That's a decent start.  Let's get moving.

I'm In Love With You

I don't just love what I do... I am IN love with what I do.

My work is the one aspect in my life for which I have infinite patience, infinite excitement, infinite curiosity... infinite everything.  In this area of my life, I feel powerful and whole.

This is not to say that I have no fear.  Every day that I'm in my studio, making the things that I envision in my head, I face the questions that scare me: why am I making these things?  Where should I look for my customers?  Will I be able to support myself with the work of my hands?  Am I good enough?

But here's the thing: if there's no fear to face, no change to embrace, where's the challenge?  What's the point?  I promised myself a long time ago that I am going to be the hero in my own life.  And the absolute truth is that I'm happiest when I'm learning things, and by choosing this path of "artist" and "entrepreneur," I have infinite opportunities to learn and grow.  If I flop, it's on me.  If I succeed, it's on me.

My destiny is in my own hands... I'm in love with what I do.