Don't hate

This past weekend I attended the Society of North American Goldsmiths conference, held this year in Phoenix. I love being a SNAG member and have no issue whatsoever with the name, despite the fact I have never worked with gold in any serious amount. In fact, there are more than a few SNAG members who don't even use metal as their primary material. And that's fine. I was, however, more than a little surprised to hear some attendees reacting in a very hostile manner to the use of "alternative materials" (Really? Aren't non-metal materials in jewelry ubiquitous in our group at this point? Do we really need to persist in labeling them 'alternative'?), to the point where they felt that work not done in a traditional manner was, not to put too fine a point on it, crap.

Yea, so here's the thing...chasing, repousse, cloisonne, soldering, forging - they're techniques thousands of years old. People have done everything with them. Some choose to employ them in strictly traditional work, sitting at the feet of masters and learning how to do exactly as the masters do. Some learn from the masters then forge their own paths (pun intended). Some only learn one or two techniques and happily use them to create the work they want to make. There is room for all. However, by eschewing anything that doesn't fall into the strict definition of 'good' from a specific and exacting definition of a traditional technique is simply trenchant and limiting, especially at a conference full of makers with widely varied backgrounds.

I love silver. I love being a silversmith. I will work with silver until the commodities market pushes it beyond affordability. But my silver work is a base from which to add color, texture, pattern. And I get good response to my work. But I also love to see traditional silver hollowware and flatware because it's yet another way the material is utilized. In general, I am not attracted to cloisonne enameling, but can deeply appreciate the skill and time needed for it. Shutting out modern techniques and materials as 'crap' (or, for that matter, traditional materials and techniques as 'boring') is just sadly limiting and a good way to tune out gifted makers.

Widespread (Studio) Panic

Ah! 8 days until my show! Ah! I haven't made any earrings yet (my best sellers)! Ah! I haven't even thought about my display! Ah! I'm out of business cards! Ah! My house is a mess! Ah! I need to do laundry! Ah! Ah! Ah!
I have a full-blown case of show panic.
Show panic (SP) is what sets in about a week before I do a show, the voice that says, "What the hell were you thinking?!? You're not ready for this, you have SO much to do! How is it all going to come together? Maybe you should bag out..." It's this horrible fear that my whole professional reputation being on the line with one show and that my financial success at said show is directly related to how much saleable stuff I'm able to produce for it, and that if I fail even slightly I will end up on the street. Seriously.
Yet it all comes together somehow. Fortunately, my bouts of SP are getting shorter and shorter. I think that, in part, this is because my work is now more cohesive. The pieces flow together and inspire different variations on the same themes. Not only is this helpful for building an inventory, it makes the idea of displays less intimidating. Instead of trying to match disparate items, I can put an entire series in one part of my booth, and another series elsewhere, organizing them into the families of metal and mixed media to which they belong. In other words, bodies of work instead of a jewelry rummage sale.
But this speaks to a larger issue of confidence, of finding my own creative voice in this vast and wonderous medium. It's a reassuring feeling to have parameters, to have designs that are mine, that work, that are a joy to create, that people genuinely seem to like. My creative voice is now stronger and less afraid of appearing in public. Now, about that housecleaning... 

It's on!

Today I was accepted to the Northwest Art Alliance Best of the Northwest show because I took initiative and called the organizers to introduce myself. This also follows closely on the heels of being accepted to a gallery in which several accomplished, well-known jewelry artists have their work. I got in because I walked in wearing one of my pieces. The owner wants 10 pieces to start. It may not seem like a big deal, but for me it represents a flying leap forward as an artist and as a person capable of chasing a dream.
I haven't done a show in nearly a year and a half. I haven't been in a gallery since 2004. I've been stagnating. But now I feel like I've burst into bloom, a desert plant after heavy rain. It's exhilarating, though an intimidating amount of work to pull off in a short time.
But this is what chasing my passion looks like - sudden opportunity and lots of hard work. For the last 2 years I have been thinking about all the things I need to do to finally launch my business in a serious way. Then, in the space of one short week, I found opportunities that require me to do it NOW. Perhaps this is an extension of my procrastinative nature, but I'm trying to see it instead as really having something to work for. Once more into the studio!

Art & I Go Way Back

I was raised by artists, around artists, in a community suffused with artists. Mom, a multi-talented illustrator and writer, and Dad, a skilled orator and woodworker, believed it was best to make things by hand, whether a gift, a meal, or the house in which they raised me. As a family, we'd find art in seemingly the most mundane things - a burst pipe, beer bottle labels, the doorway of the hall closet.

Despite a creative upbringing, I was a frustrated artist, dabbling with various media but never feeling satisfied with the results. I was the kid who never wanted to claim my creations in class, comparing them to the far superior work of those around me. That is, until I met metal. We just clicked the material making sense sense to both my hands and my aesthetic.

I have heard painters describe colors flowing from their brushes, and potters seeing master pieces in lumps of clay. The first time I sparked up an acetylene torch and put heat to metal, vast and infinite possibilities opened up. That metal goes from liquid to solid in an instant, that it can be pulled and stretched with a simple hammer, that its surface color can be changed with heat and chemicals, means there is so much more to a flat piece of silver than a cursory first glance would ever indicate. Even though the silly little copper brooch I produced was far from quality work, the act of its creation felt amazing.

For me, metal is the thing that's stuck. Through years of job and relationship changes, interstate moves, and major life events, it is the one thing I always return to, continue to be thrilled by, and feel the most passion for. 17 years on, my skills are still developing and my design sense maturing. The one constant, however, is the happiness I get unpacking my Rio Grande box and holding those flat sheets, rolls of wire, lengths of tubing, those infinite possibilities, in my hands, visualizing what they will become and how much fun I'm going to have in the process.