“What do you want for Christmas?” he said. “Jewelrymaking stuff,” I replied. I panicked. I was casting a wide net.
I have always been afraid to even go down this path, as it requires a lot of stuff and a lot of patience for dealing with small pieces.
So far I am sticking to fairly simple stuff and trying to learn the best way to even go about designing a piece, and what all the little do-dads are called. It’s way more complicated than I ever thought but then again I don’t think I ever thought that much about it.
Much respect to people who make this look easy.
One of the bestworst things about being the owner of my brain is that I am usually at my most prolific and creative when I feel a festering knot of sadness in my gut.
Ain’t that some shit?
I just drove all the way downtown to a stretch I have been wanting to photograph for two weeks, only to drive right past it, scowl at how the setting sun was backlighting it, and then come back home, grumbling about how I sure hope my child is talented because I am a hack who will never make art again, blah blah blaaaah.
And now I’m in my underwear eating cereal and confessing this to the internet. (Because.)
I will probably round out my evening by attempting to clean up the living/dining room, scowling at how the AC smells terrible when it kicks on, and watching HGTV until I am sick of hearing the phrase “open concept.”
This is pregnancy. What a country.
Making lots of test items lately, but none of them work well enough to even give away. Slowly — verrrry slowly — realizing that my favorite part of the crafting process is the scouting cool, cheap materials to use. Neither invention nor assembly is my forte.
… and my mustachioed friend Zach was kind enough to publish it over at The Great and Secret Thing.
It’s a very short story. A glimpse, really, into a moment in a life that may or may not exist somewhere in some time.
Please ignore all the incredibly flattering things Zachary says about me (“drunkard,” ha!) and my notorious (?) champagne habit in his introduction. He is accustomed to drinking whiskey distilled from the sweat of fat, nomadic carnies, and therefore wouldn’t know a delicious, reasonably priced sparkling American wine if it was drizzled seductively down his throat.
Anyway. If you’re not already checking TGST every day, bookmark that shit or put it in your feed reader! It’s new creative content every day of the week. For free. Freeeeee!!!
“If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.”
— W.C. Fields