Back to Learning

I think if I had unlimited resources I would be a perennial student. Now that my life is my own again, I opted for a metals workshop, of course. This past weekend I had a great time with the fantastic Andrea and Chuck Kennington of NC Black Co. Not only did I catch up with my Pa. Goldsmiths cohorts, I spent the day learning, hammering, soldering and creating all sorts of complex and mind-boggling micro shell forms with the awesome tools NC Black has designed and manufactured for just that purpose. If you haven’t seen them yet, check out the tools from NC Black here: http://www.ncblack.com — but don’t go yet…

I really can’t say enough about what a great teacher Andrea is. She is talented, giving and so modest. This hard working metalsmith, jeweler and educator has spent the past few years developing and growing a thriving tool company from the ground up — traveling a grueling schedule back and forth across the country several times and stopping at schools, studios and arts organizations all along the way to teach and spread the word about her company. She is a hero.

I loved catching up with my friends at PSG, catching up on all the news from Andrea’s travels, seeing the things her students have been up to, eating takeout sushi and Wawa hoagies, and mostly, mostly remembering what “normal” is for me, plain old ordinary Helen the metals student. I have been recharged by the experience, and it has given me the energy to teach in turn this coming weekend at Bead Fest Spring. Talk about passing the torch!

So now, go check out the tools from NC Black Co. here: www.ncblack.com

And if you have the opportunity to take a class with Andrea and Chuck, jump on it. They are the best.

Restoring normalcy

It was great to head out to the Tucson Gem and Mineral Plus Shows just after finishing the heavy lifting of getting most of my book completed — well, virtually completed — because the mental and physical break of being somewhere different allowed me to slip gently back into my “normal” life and routine.
The funny thing is, I feel like a stranger in it.
In Tucson, I made my regular contacts, found some new tools to write about, taught some classes, found some gorgeous new rock to cut into, and met up with friends and colleagues I haven’t seen since, well, last Tucson. But as I went from show to show, I experienced a strange sense of detachment to everything normal — mostly because the huge project that has consumed me for a year is gone now.
It was truly a strange feeling to not have to think about that content anymore, and now that it is gone, I realize just how much of my life it took up. The great thing is, even though I was sleeping in a hotel far from home, I clocked at least 9+ uninterrupted hours per night — something I haven’t done since I started writing the book last winter. I have a habit of waking in the night to deal with whatever is on my plate, and writing a book is like an endless buffet — there are just too many plates. Let me tell you, sleep is a good thing. Because, each day, I felt better, stronger and more “me”.
The experience of writing this book has taught me something valuable about long term projects and what they can do to your “normal” life. I am very proud of the work I did, and as I read some of the in-progress edits of my work, I don’t remember the experience of writing those words so long ago. What I do remember is the constant pull of the content, the desire for it to be good, as perfect as I could make it in the time I had to produce it, the intense focus required of a complex project and the hope that someone out there would value it once it became an actual thing you could hold in your hands.

Some sweet Hornitas Jasper at Tucson Electric Park.

In a way, this book writing experience was like parenthood — you pour lots of effort and hope into something and eventually you must let it go its own way in the world. At that moment, you stand there alone, unburdened, and wondering what you are supposed to do next. So, in Tucson, I bought some rock. I walked around alone and thinking and I made a very simple plan.
I spent this past weekend cutting some stones, and I made some sketches of what I want to make — now that I don’t have an agenda or the expectations of anyone but me for my work again. No agenda is good. Because I can remember this strange state of “normal” once again.

Today’s tip: Use your phone camera to take “notes” when you are at a gem show. I clicked off shots of the names and localities of much of the cutting rough I purchased in Tucson, so I didn’t have to write notes with wet and dirty fingers after grubbing around in slab bins.

Jewelrymaking on a deserted (almost) island

Yes, it is possible to make jewelry on a Pacific island. I just found a goldsmith here on Santa Cruz Island, Galapagos, and plan to speak to her in depth later in the week. Especially about how she keeps her beautiful rolling mill pristine and rust free during the rainy season, when I can’t do that without lots and lots of work — in the temperate zone!
More to come soon. Keep your fingers crossed everybody — maybe I can get my boss interested in a story about the trials and tribulations of metalsmithing in paradise. Hmmm…

When it rains, it pours

I am always amazed at the ebb and flow of work. Why is it you are either so busy you want to tear your hair out or so busy you almost want to tear your hair out? So, whatever happened to “down time?” I often wish I had a few open days to reflect on something I have just completed before the next onslaught arrives, but these days it is a constant deluge of work, stuff, life.

Last weekend, I taught a fun workshop on Textures and Patinas for the 20th anniversary conference of the Enamel Guild’s Northeast chapter at the beautiful Newark Museum arts workshop metals studio. I have been creating samples, demos and handouts for weeks to expand and clearly document the information I briefly covered during the filming of my third DVD on the same topic. We all had a great time, it was an incredible conference, and I am honored to have been invited to teach. For the past few days I have been following up with extra information, paperwork and correspondence with my students and the new friends I made, in addition to the regular workload of my day job. I am inspired to make something new — but I don’t have any time at the moment.

I was just assigned a really fun story to cover in the November issue, I have several ongoing monthly writing assignments, this blog, Facebook contacts, a Twitter feed, and a June workshop to plan for. There is also my son’s end-of-term performance to attend, the garden is screaming for attention, and I have 2 things on the bench I really want to be done with so I can make some new work. And, I also have a complex, long term, very important and dear to my heart project — which is on my mind and consuming every waking moment. I can’t let go of it for even a second or it will break my concentration.

If I expect to teach next year, I had better whip out a few pieces, have them photographed and write and submit my proposals in the next week or two or I will miss the window of opportunity. There are kits to prep, pickups to make and tools to test for the work and classes I am scheduled to do and teach on the near horizon. And if I don’t sit down and write out bills soon I will be in deep doo doo.

Ay jai jai.

I’d love to have a week off to think about what I have just accomplished, but I can’t have that now. I have to wait for it. But I am certain when I do get my vacation it will be oh, so sweet. Until then, pass the umbrella, please — because it is a monsoon!

Finish What You Start

Very often, I get about halfway through something I am making and decide I absolutely loathe it. Usually at that point, I put the offending object on my bench in disgust and walk away from it for a while. It is uncanny how often I get just to the point of frustration or fear or boredom and I stop working. But this year, I am determined to go forward when that happens, even though I want to stop. Because everything I have read and seen and understood about creativity in recent weeks tells me that this is the thing to do. When every fiber of your being is telling you to stop, you must keep at it and finish. It is very difficult to do, but you must.

Because, creativity can only happen if you show up for work.

So, I have 4 half finished objects on my bench now at various stages of stall. There is a pendant I like, but there is one problem area in the reticulation I am in a quandary over, and I am not sure how to proceed with it. The next piece I am a little ticked over, because I snapped the cabochon I was polishing for it about 2 seconds before I was ready to drop it in the setting and I could kick myself for fussing over it, because now I have to cut another stone, and none of the material I have is quite as nice as the original. Then, there is that textured copper piece with the surface folds, but I haven’t really resolved the way I want to drill and attach the stone to that one in a way I am pleased with. And last, but certainly not least, is the ring I fabricated to showcase some glass beads I made myself, but I want to replicate the design in a different metal. And, I hate to do it again, but I know I won’t wear it unless I make it in silver.

Of course, it is so easy to avoid those things I have to finish, but this time I am determined not to. Even though paperwork, and cleaning and laundry, the garden and cooking and all those other things are there to divert my attention, I will not abandon those four projects. I can’t. Because I will let myself down if I do, and I refuse to let myself down, even if I end up sitting at my bench all day tomorrow staring at them like a child in a dark dining room in front of a cold plate of brussels sprouts their mother is forcing them to eat. I will finish them if it kills me. Because my reward may not be a piece of finished jewelry I like, but it will be something way more important. Belief in myself. And, in my world, that is a far greater reward than any finished object that I like or don’t like.

Stretching my boundaries

This weekend I just completed one of those inevitable “favor projects” that come your way more and more often when people find out you are a jeweler. But this one was different. This one was a turning point for my confidence, plus it gave me several ideas for some work I would like to make because of what I accomplished doing a favor for someone else. Nice.

So far I have done about 10 repairs this year. Everything from patching a strip of silver onto the inside of an over stressed cuff bracelet that had cracked, to sizing down a 10K gold ring with the stone left in place. Every repair that comes my way sends a tremor of fear down my spine because I dread the unanticipated mishap that might cause me to turn someone’s treasured jewelry object into a molten puddle. Luckily, I haven’t done this yet.

The cool thing about these little side jobs is that they give me a chance to challenge myself in ways that I like. Because, there are challenges that make you grow as a person, and there are challenges that are just a big fat pain in the butt. I do my best to steer clear of the latter, but sometimes they are unavoidable. Anyway, back to the latest project.

What made this project so cool was the thought behind it, the meaning of it, and the symbolic gesture it would become once I completed my part of the deal. A talented and creative friend of my son’s asked me to saw an antique silver serpent ring in half so he could present half to his beloved for her birthday on Friday. A relatively easy job of anneal, flatten, cut, anneal and coil again. But, what made it cool was that I sawed the serpent in half down the length of its spine — which created two separate snakes that could be worn together as one — or worn as two rings by two people who have to spend time apart, but are as interconnected as that snake originally was. As I cut that little reptile in half, it set my imagination on fire.

I put the package in the mail yesterday with a big smile on my face. Because now I have 3 pages of ideas I have sketched out due to the concept of that little ring. I can’t wait to get to my bench this weekend. Best of all, I can buy some metal with the fee I received for doing the job. Double nice.

Thank you for your hard work

Every month, I spend a few hours on the weekend creating a kid’s page with science, anthropology, nature or history as the main theme. It is a small freelance gig I have done with a dear friend for many years, and the page is syndicated and published by what remaining small newspapers are left in north America. I certainly don’t do it for money, because there isn’t much of that left for content creators in the publishing business. You see, producers are on the bottom of the food chain. Sometimes, the time I spend on this work is many hours more than I am paid for. No matter. Because, I do it for the love of the topic, my love of drawing, my love of teaching, and for the idealistic hope that a child somewhere will be inspired to care about animals, plants, other people, and places beyond their own after reading what I wrote or seeing the artwork I have made.

Every year at this time, I get a hand written note from my friend, with my tax forms, and a small book, box of tea, chocolate bar, card or picture she has painted for me — to say thank you for sticking with her, believing in the project and carrying on despite the very small financial reward for doing so.

Thank you for your hard work. It is amazing how 6 words can hold so much power.

In my regular job this week, I spent many, many hours contacting brilliantly talented artists to request images for a special project I am contributing work toward for the 65th Anniversary Issue of Lapidary Journal. I have had long phone conversations and email exchanges with the most talented artists creating modern studio jewelry today. The most gratifying thing that has come from these exchanges is the number of times those artists have thanked me for my hard work. They have thanked me for being serious, respectful to the craft, and genuinely interested in the good of the work. They have thanked me for defending excellence, and doing my best to push for excellence over mediocrity. Many have told me that they knew that something had changed for the better in my publication starting around the time that I took my job there. Many times this week, I cried from the gratitude I felt after hanging up the phone.

Having that kind of exchange with a talented person you respect and admire is like food to a starving person. It goes a long way toward repairing the terrible, terrible accumulation of damage that can be dealt by working for huge corporate machines or their minions. It can heal the betrayals, snake bites and greedy carelessness that can be inflicted by egoists, hustlers, climbers and liars over the course of a career… And, it means the world to me.

So, now it is my turn. Because of those six words, I have an abundance of power today. I don’t have space here to thank everyone, but you know who you are. Thank you for caring about me and what I do. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me this week and last. And, here are a few specific thank you messages I must document here and now for everyone to see. Because what was given to me this week through your words or the beauty of your work has sustained me.

Michael Boyd, thank you for your hard work. Thank you for the art school discussions we have had at all hours of the day and night. Thank you for the scrabble games. Thank you for the coffee. Thank you for my birthday party, and thank you for teaching me how to cut rock. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you for freely giving me what you have without a care for what you might get out of it. Thank you for being my brother.

Harold O’Connor, thank you for your hard work. Thanks for your dedicated and driven effort to create a huge, important and beautiful body of work. Thank you for teaching me about the solitary path of focused dedication.

Michael Good, thank you for your hard work. Thank you for changing the way I think about the world, life and the universe. Thank you for giving me the love of the hammer. Thank you for reminding me not to think — more often than how to think.

Linda Kindler Priest, Carolyn Morris Bach, John Iversen and Jim Kelso, thank you for your hard work. Thank you for the quiet beauty you bring to this world. Thank you for showing deep love and respect for nature with your art.

Tom Herman, Michael Zobel, Paula Crevoshay, Judith Kaufman, Judith Kinghorn, Barbara Heinrich and Pat Flynn, thank you for your hard work. Thank you for honoring color, design, metal and stone.

Namu Cho, Valentin Yotkov, Charles Lewton Brain, Mary Lee Hu, John Paul Miller and Tom Munsteiner, thank you for your hard work. Thank you for your dedication and focus on the development of a technique and bringing it to the highest form of beauty humanly possible.

And to everyone else I connected with this week, thank you for your hard work. You bring beauty to this world. It is what we need more than anything. Thank you.

Designing jewelry around a theme

I truly believe that your inner and outer worlds will try to reach an accord. It is the human condition to strive to understand. I also believe that if you are strong and reasonably stable, it is easy to convey something about your thoughts and feelings with your work — if that is the kind of work you want to make.

I created this to explore the concept of time. I have been sorting through time, objects and connections for about one year in an effort to determine what is essential to my life. Photo: Jim Lawson

Jewelry is an interesting medium, because there are so many things it does and represents — just think of all the levels of complexity surrounding the wearing of  a jewelry object. It can be symbolic and/or decorative, both personal and public, a display of tremendous wealth, status or modest means, “beautiful” or “ugly”, crude or refined, a gift, a commemorative item, a statement, an identifier, a memory, a connection to someone or some place — or not.

So, a particular piece of jewelry can mean very different things to different people, depending on who they are, how they feel and what they think about it. There is an accord between the wearer and the work. That accord is based in their feeling about that particular jewelry object.

What is interesting about making jewelry as a form of self-expression is that there are also many levels of complexity to contend with. When you make a piece of jewelry, what are you doing, really?

Do you ask yourself questions before you start working, or do you just go forward? What pushes you to create? How many minute decisions do you make before you touch your materials? Are you saying something? Solving a challenge? Matching an outfit? Stretching your skill set? Making a gift? Using a different tool for a change? Trying something you just learned? Copying something you like? Killing time by tinkering? Hiding from something else by going to the bench? Practicing? Losing track of everything in the sheer joy of making? Earning a living? Breaking new ground? Making something to sell in next weekend’s show? Filling an empty space? Trying to prove something? What?

There is no “correct” answer to my questions, so don’t worry. The only answer is the one you decide is correct. And it can be a different one every time you go to the bench.

For me, making jewelry is a way to show what I cannot say. I work in bursts, and I typically follow a path that in hindsight is logical, but in the moment of doing may not have any sense. There are themes I follow constantly, and I am driven to explore them. I will always challenge myself to solve a particular physical problem inherent to an object — like holding a stone or making a shape or a color or a line in a specific way that is visually appealing to me. But, at the same time, I am urged by my mind and feelings to “say” something with that work — even if it is just to myself.

You see, I don’t have any expectations from what I make, because I’m not trying to convince anyone to buy it or even like it. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone with what I make. My sense of self-worth is not connected to what others might think of me, or selling jewelry, or anything like that. I earn money doing other things that I am much better at, and I really don’t care too much about an object once I make it, because ultimately it is just a thing. I make jewelry to explore an inner urging that I must uncover and experience in order to grow and understand living here and now in this place.

That said, making jewelry objects is an utterly enjoyable process that I will not try to justify. I do it for love. I do it because I must — my hands need to make, and metal and stone are fascinating to me. I love the difficulty of this craft because it feeds my mind and my heart.

Why do you do it?

On Knowing

Recently, I have been purging deadweight from my life. During my latest paperwork shredfest,  a long-forgotten Myers-Briggs personality profile came to light. I endured taking that test long ago for a big, important, corporate job I held. I remember answering what seemed like an endless game of questions for the better part of a workday. The thing I remember most about the test was how many times it requested I decide what I thought other people thought and carefully fill in the oval. None of the given answer choices seemed correct, so being the person I am, I decided that I had no clue what other people actually thought inside their own heads. To be accurate, and to efficiently cross the task of test-taking off my to do list, I quickly dismissed any question that required me to decide what other people were thinking with “I don’t know.” In my view of the world, this was the only true and accurate response.

The thing I find interesting about the test results I received is that here, almost 30 years later, my personality profile is dead-on accurate. How could a test taken haphazardly by an impatient 20-year old be so right on?

I am an INFP. That means Introverted Feeling and Extraverted Intuition. So many people who claim to know me well dismiss that I am an introvert. Wrong. Introvert does not mean shy. Consider this: Introverts typically are drawn to their inner world, prefer to communicate in writing, work out their ideas by reflecting on them, focus in-depth on their interests, learn best by reflection and practice, are private and contained and take initiative only when a situation or issue is very important to them. OK. Check, check, check, check, check, check and check. Introverts draw their energy from within.

The way I take in information is Intuitive, and typically: they are oriented to future possibilities, are imaginative and verbally creative, they focus on patterns and meanings within data,  they remember specifics in relation to a pattern, move quickly to conclusion, want clarification of both ideas and theories before they take action, and they trust inspiration. Ditto on the checks. I take in information by seeing the big picture and new possibilities. I go by what I observe.

My decision-making is based in feeling. I consider what is important to me and others. I project myself mentally into a situation to consider possible outcomes, and strive for fairness, harmony and compassion when I make important decisions. I wish to be treated fairly and rewarded fairly for what I contribute and what I have earned. I am guided by my personal values. This assessment is a no Brainer and dead right.

My interaction with the outer world is one of Perceiving. Apparently, I seek ways to experience and understand life, rather than controlling it. I am spontaneous, flexible, casual, open-ended, adaptable, and energized when I must rely on my resourcefulness to rescue something at the last minute.

At first I thought this one was dead wrong, because I typically work like a field marshal, making both long and short term plans based in sound decisions. I want accuracy. I want a clear objective. I bristle at confusion, disorganization, forgetfulness, lack of planning, and shooting from the hip. I loathe discovering there’s a new directive du jour.

Upon further examination of my own way of being however, I have decided that my actual behavior in my own space and the role I play at work are often at odds. At work, I can vacillate between being a control freak or dismissing things that do not hold my interest or offend me. I will withdraw from both people and situations when my inner value system has been violated — unfortunate side effects of my personality type. When I am stressed, I become discouraged, critical, dismissive and judgmental. I doubt my own competence. Yep. I hate it when this happens.

Working at home every day has revealed to me just how much I am at odds with what I have to do vs. who I am. Being in my own space each and every day has fed the introvert part of my personality. After years of being knattered at and having my energy depleted in an office situation and by corporate conundrums, I have come into the power of my own space. It is glorious and makes me a more efficient creative contributor. I suddenly have so much creative energy available to me that I am shocked by my own efficiency and productivity. I am getting things done that have been festering for years, and I am able to sort crap out and ignore what is BS really, really fast now.

It is nice to know.

It’s a Wonderful Life

OK. I love that movie. And I cry every year around this time when I catch it on TV in the middle of the night — because I have insomnia or indigestion or a worry eating away at the edge of my serenity. It’s not like I don’t know what’s coming. I see it every year. And every time, the sentiment of it does its magic on my poor heart. And you know what? It is a wonderful life.

If you are a bitter realist, prone to negativity, biting sarcasm and mean spiritedness, stop reading now.

I am not saying I don’t have bouts of those qualities myself at the end of a pay period when I have 5 bucks and no gas in the car, or in the cold night of winter when I wake up with a turmoil in my head — its just that I am of a mind these days to stop those negative things in myself and to counterattack them with positive thoughts, deeds and feelings. Because that is my true power in this life — to manage my own way of being.

On that note, and in the spirit of the movie, here are 15 profound things that people have said to me through the years in my personal and work life that were pivotal in making me who I am here and now. Some of them seemed totally random at the time, but luckily I have an incredible memory, and I have internalized them into the way I exist on this earth. Lives touch other lives. Read them. Laugh about them. Maybe they will help you too.

1. “Helen, don’t hammer like a girl — and get that damn nail out of your mouth!” — my Dad, who I miss every day.

2. “Oh, honey, you are beautiful no matter what those mean girls say. They are ugly inside — and one day, they will be ugly outside too — and you will still be beautiful.” — from my beautiful mother, who left this place too soon.

3. “Helen, you don’t need a metals degree. Are you crazy? You have been earning a living with your art for 20 years. Why do you need another piece of paper that shows you know what you already know how to do?” — Sara Olson, my CE metals teacher.

4. “Those are the words of a poet. Only poets notice things like that. Why don’t you try to write more?” — Kitta MacPherson, science editor at the Newark Star Ledger.

5. “Oh, don’t give that free rent in your brain!” — my dear friend Pat Wood, who left this world too soon.

6. “Holy crap, mom! Are you sure you know what the hell you’re doing?” — my son Kyle, who reluctantly helped me — as we discovered that yes, I do know how to put together and fire up an acetylene torch.

7. “It’s just a piece of metal.” — Jim Dailing, my stone setting instructor at Peter’s Valley Craft Center.

8. “Helen — you give everything, everything to a job. But it won’t ever give back. And here you are — in anguish. Stop. Your gifts as an artist are for you. You are not obligated to give them to the job. Just work here. Keep what is yours.” — George Frederick, a great art director who can paint like hell.

9. “You really have no idea how wonderful you are, do you?” — my closest metalhead friend Lexi Erickson

10. “My beautiful Helencita, do not worry over that. They are just those little things of the life. Do not worry over that. We have only one life. Everything es todo bien.” — Jaimito Carvajal.

11. “Oh stop. It’s not like you have to wear a bikini on the cover of the magazine!” — Linda Ligon, founder of Interweave Press, dismissing my discomfort over appearing in an instructional DVD.

12. “Try to find an environment where you can manifest who you truly are.” — Albert Paley, CoMA Conference, 2010

13. “Insight comes when the mind is not in charge.” — Michael Good, in a metals workshop, Denver, 2010

14. “Art for me is the product of the creative process. That product can be ugly, beautiful, it can be conceptual or a narrative, or evoke an emotion. So, what is art? The first time you do something, it is art. The second time, it is work.” — Michael Boyd, my best brother — who isn’t.

15. “Oh stop worrying about making art. We’re getting paid, right?” — Andre Malok, a brilliantly talented illustrator.

Have a wonderful day.