Little Miracles — Clementine and Sage

A few of the things helping us survive this monstrous heat wave :

• Nighttime temps in the 50’s
• Rabbitbrush in full bloom
• The first yellow leaves in the cottonwoods
• Ripping apart and reorganizing the mud room
• My beloved tomato basil sandwiches
• Indulging in some reality TV
• Rain in the forecast
• The start of apple season - and the 20 pounds of farmer’s market apples that became applesauce in our kitchen

Each feels like a little miracle and cause for celebration.

After what feels like a very long, very deep breath, I have begun to create with intentionality again. I believe it’s the beginning of an exploration into what it means to make from a place of security and (hopefully!) self confidence as opposed to one in which I question my decisions. Like writing with my left hand, I know I CAN do it…but it’s not practiced so, at this point, it’s mostly focus and little flow.

However - I’m pulling together several threads that have revealed themselves like lifelines recently. The first came from this book, checked out from the library.

I’ve loved the artist for years - especially the way that when I look at her work I FEEL something. It doesn’t matter that her animals, her people, her houses don’t have any sort of realism to them - to my eyes they are simply bursting with energy and spirit and life.

SO - I saw her how-to book and thought, what the heck? Since I love these artworks (and folk art in general), I’ll just borrow it and see what it feels like to try this style for myself.

And the results were…meh. I followed the instructions for some of the designs shown, tried some designs of my own, and ultimately just didn’t feel like what was coming out on paper felt like a match for what’s in my heart. The whole book is gorgeous and what I made LOOKED like it was supposed to…but what I learned is that this is not my making style. Which felt sad. Because I still love it. And I’d hang these works up in my house in a heartbeat. But what can you do? When it’s right, it’s right - and when it’s not, it’s not. There was no love lost.

In the end, the best part about getting this book ended up being the very last page where Mirtalipova wrote out some suggestions for finding your style and voice as an artist. She recommended staying away from the beautiful, curated work of others and instead drawing inspiration from the things that make you feel whole and alive - and THAT felt like both a validation and a big shining beacon all in one because it’s what I’ve been trying so hard to do these past many months.

The second thread appeared a few weeks back, when Eric and I were sitting in a waiting room. There was a piece of art on the wall - not the usual bland watercolor you’d expect to see but instead a big, impressionistic autumnal landscape. The focus was clearly on form instead of specific detail, and the artist had used a chunky brush to layer up the color.

And I thought, hey - I like that!

But after my brief foray into folk art, now I was thinking less about how to replicate the style of the piece and focusing more about WHY I was drawn to it in the first place. And what I eventually settled on was that the overall lack of detail allowed me to enjoy the whole picture without getting bogged down in the little things.

With the way my mind works, I am always delving as deeply into the minutia as it’s possible to go. So to look at something simple like that painting? Like folk art? Like block prints (which are another dear favorite of mine)? It’s like sitting on still water. My brain gets quiet and my heart starts singing. Simplicity for me means peace.

The final thread towing me along actually came from my own work.

Because the intro courses are focused on skill building instead of working towards the creation of finished pieces, I’ve felt it’s really important to show lots of examples of how a skill might translate to actual jewelry. And the vault of photos I have to draw from? Everything I’ve made for the Clementine and Sage shop over the years.

When I first started digging into my archives, I did so with a fair amount of trepidation - there’s just a lot of personal growth and struggle wrapped up in the years spent building that body of work and I wasn’t sure how it would hit me. But, surprisingly, all I felt looking at that past work was joy. And pride. I wanted to reach through those images, back to all the older versions of me, and say that it was going to be ok. Say I was doing a good job. Say that the work I was making mattered (even though it didn’t feel like it at the time). It ended up being an exceptionally healing experience to sit with my work in that way.

But back to the thread.

What I realized was that the pieces I had loved making (and photographing and sharing) the most were often not the ones that got the most attention. They were the ones that had a simply set but stunning stone. Or a clever mechanical component. Or an impeccably smooth finish. The pieces that felt most like me were the ones that were deceptively simple. Impossibly clean. Crisp. Quiet. Easy to wear.

And so my threads began to braid themselves together, weaving for me a picture of what brings me joy and what makes me want to create. Visually it relies on distilling down shapes. Simplifying the complex. Cutting out the fluff and silencing all the voices that demand more. Reaching for feeling instead of adding more bells and whistles. The quest for simple beauty.

I’ve felt for years like I hadn’t yet really found my voice, but I had - I have. I’ve already go everything I need, it’s just a matter of bringing it to my conscious awareness so that I can lean into it fully.

So while I’m not yet back to working in metal, I am currently deep in the process of sketching for a new work on paper. It might be a painting. Might stay a drawing. Might become a print. Might stay in my sketchbook. But I’m trying to spend an hour or two a day working at it, even when it’s hard.

The past week has been spent learning to draw curly hair - and all I want to do is draw every strand or search for images to see how OTHER people have tackled this task because it’s hard and frustrating. So many iterations have thus far ended in failure, but I’m making a point to find my own way. To use the tools I have at hand instead of running to the art store. To breathe into the challenge let things be messy. To simplify, to calm, to trust that I can get there if I keep trying.