Basement dreaming.

golden age

Inspiration: etsy.

Lately I have been toying with the idea of giving up jewelry making and crafting altogether. I felt that it took a lot of time away from writing, and I felt the pressure to make sales and keep up with the business end of things. As soon as I put my supplies and tools aside, and got rid of any kind of pressure I was putting on myself to grow my business, I felt a creative itch. Ideas emerged from the darkest corners of my mind, like flashes of lighting in a dark cabin during a rainstorm.


I've made three pairs of earrings and a new necklace so far, and this new period of inspiration shows no signs of stopping. Very soon my little shop will be populated with new delights. In the meantime, I want to feature some cool etsy sellers: each of these pictures represent some element in my new designs. Enjoy the little sneak peak, darlings! Hopefully this little appetizer of inspiration will leave you hungry for the main course.

guilty pleasures

I picked up a few shark vertebrae when I was in Boston. But you can also get some at an awesome etsy shop called gultypleasures (see link above). I'm fascinated by sharks; their murderous grace has been a recent obsession of mine. Thus, I made a pair of earrings out of shark vertebrae and some lovely pink vintage pendants that resemble fins. I can't wait to show them to you!

anatomyofaskirt

This item is made by one of my absolutely favorite etsy sellers, anatomyofaskirt (see link above). This seller makes all different kinds of robot pouches, all of them strange and utterly delightful. This particular pouch is my absolute favorite! I am obsessed with the idea of (almost) invisibility. What does it mean to see "through"? If I am seeing through glass, I see the glass and that which lies behind it. But if I wanted to only see the glass, and not whatever lies behind it, how would I achieve such a feat? The glass resists my gaze, or rather, it completely submits to my gaze, so much so that it defies it. A necklace with these thoughts crystallized into it is to come.

covetandcrave

This shop, called covetandcrave (link above) sells a number of delightfully old objects, the kind that prompt transcendent time travel. This ashtray in particular appeals to me, not only because of the connotations that ashes have with death and time, but also due to its tarnish. I adore silver: depending on the state of its surface, it can look glorious or dirty. This duality interests me greatly. A pair of earrings I made involve very tarnished metallic silver tone beads together with very shiny and ornate golden ones. Whether you like them or not remains to be seen.

(The first image in this post is a painting by Rene Magritte, called "The Lost Jockey".)

The best things in life are written.

It has never been difficult to trigger my inclination towards short, intense obsession. Most often I would wake from these obsessions like from a nightmare; my soul sweaty, my inner heart beating an uneven rhythm indicative of a subtle panic. Upon each waking, I would ask myself: "Why did I walk through the last months of my life completely unconscious, unaware of my surroundings? Why did I waste all that time?"

I own everything.

I have felted, knitted, drawn and painted; stuffed things, stripped others, cut and pasted; tattoed, appliqued, burnt and enameled--I have wasted and hoarded and woven and braided.

And none of these things has left me satisfied.

In the end, it must be words and only words. My bones are made of words, I used to say. But now I want to grow letters instead of hair.

Obscured pressure.

"The sun
Must bear no name, gold flourisher, but be
In the difficulty of what it is to be."

-Wallace Stevens

The grand march.

"A year or two after emigrating, she happened to be in Paris on the anniversary of the Russian invasion of her country. A protest march had been scheduled, and she felt driven to take part. Fists raised high, the young Frenchmen shouted out slogans condemning Soviet imperialism. She liked the slogans, but to her surprise she found herself unable to shout along with them. She lasted no more than a few minutes in the parade.

When she told her French friends about it, they were amazed. 'You mean you don't want to fight the occupation of your country?' She would have liked to tell them that behind Communism, Fascism, behind all occupations and invasions lurks a more basic, pervasive evil and that the image of that evil was a parade of people marching by with raised fists and shouting identical syllables in unison. But she knew she would never be able to make them understand. Embarrassed, she changed the subject."

-Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being