Kuriosities

Psyche By Proxy (an independence day tableaux of morning repentance)

i wanted to peek
the candle glow at midnight upon
your sleeping skin, to know that
you were you, to silent watch
the flicker of dreams
cross your lids, to cup
them in my hands, the way
you held mine
just here.

i wanted to peek
because i knew, because the
sheets were still warm with your
presence at dawn when
I woke alone. again.

i wanted, i want
the candle smolder held aloft
my wish whispered, spilled careless
from my lips, the hiss of
wax drops as you fell back
fell away
forevermore
forevermore 

I wanted… 

the sea holds my heart
holds the candle that still smolders with shame
rocks them tenderly to sleep, each night
pickled in brine and patience
each dawn the sun struggles
to pierce the weight of your
absence. to find the task that
earns your return.

forgive me.
forgive me.
forgive me. 

It is late and my eyes are tired. I am resigned to go to bed, but also wary of bed and all my muddled dreams. The recurrence night after night, the flights, the landings in cities I do not know – or maybe it is the same city night after night – some nights it is Paris, some nights I do not know,  the strange streets and buildings. These shadowy people, the way their faces cease to be clear. The searching. The oceans and their strange coloured waters. Come back to me. Again.

This Sunday past was filled with ponies. I took my Lyrical girl out for a ride, and despite not having been able to ride for the past many weeks, she behaved herself quite sweetly and did not try to toss me headlong into the meadow – for which I was very happy. It felt so good to be back up on her – but today it rained and there was no chance to go out – maybe tomorrow. I gave her a bath when we got back to the barn – she immediately went and rolled in the muck and turned her rosy grey self a deep rusty brown. So I gave her another bath, and this time she consented to remaining clean.

Wrestled with the little Sophie rotten pony – who reared and twisted with me in tow as I tried to trim her hooves. Playing blacksmith is not so much fun some days. I put her in front of a big bunch of green grass and she then behaved herself nicely, but not before a few bruised were scored ( score 1 ~ pony, score 0 ~ K). But in the end her little hooves were done.

The mosquitoes are frightening at the moment. We went to let Portobello in and also let in about 1000 mosquitoes that were clouding around him. When I wiped his fat self with a towel, the dead carcasses of hundred of the bloodsuckers fell to the floor and the towel was all bloody. Yuck. And poor piggie. He really cannot stay out past dusk any longer.

the way an atom is
everywhere at once, existing in multiples
vibrating simultaneously, but
altered
 my thoughts
 are your thoughts. in at least
one universe anyways. your
words spill wholely formed
crystalline marbles that tumble from
my mouth one
 by one.
 

I feel like the title of this entry. Full of just…bluck. That residue that lays thick like sludge on your skin after interacting with a not nice person. The kind who smiles a too bright smile, who makes their voice all insincerely sweet, all the way making sure that even though they seem to be being pleasant, that you leave feeling like poo. My daughter B was with me for this particular meeting, and picked up on it right away, and so keenly. And if an 11 year old child can pick up on the fact that your social interaction was anything but kind, then why bother with the pretense of niceties? Why bother at all? Anyways, I wish this person well, and told them so. Sincerely wished them success and congratulated them on their accomplishments, not because I had to – but because I meant it. The work they had done was impressive. But that being said, I’ll not be going back for more “pleasantries”. And although they were interesting to work with in the past, that is where that will be staying. Adieu, sans regrets. But it did remind me of why I love art – there was so much that was beautiful and inspiring there – but not the art scene. I’m not made for games of one- upmanship, they rub my heart the wrong way, and leave it bruised. I go in open and full of hopeful possibility, and leave feeling closed up tight. Just blargh.

New song this week at guitar lessons, House of the Rising Sun,  and a nifty pentatonic scale to practice. And practice this week I shall, as life got in the way this past week and I did not practice the much needed time and have become clunky and awkward. My teacher showed me all sorts of nifty stuff that can be wrung out of that one scale so I am inspired to learn it, and give it the time it deserves. Listening to someone play though…it just transports me. Sometimes during my lesson I want to close my eyes and just listen – really listen- but then I would miss all those tricks and watching fingers, and how they move, and how to make those sounds myself. And that is what I really want – to make the sounds, to be a part of those sounds. I want that very badly, so instead I stay very focused. There is a blues fest in Ch’town this weekend which I will be looking up and see what I can see. And that will be when I can close my eyes and just listen, not my lessons!

A silly little song for an eleventh day, which means very little if anything at all, but I am reading Alice (again, outloud to my little one) and very much in the mood for riddles and nonsense rhymes- and maybe this will actually become an odd little song. I will go fetch my guitar now and see if it can wash this blucky feeling from my soul, return me to where I was before I walked through the door, return a little song to my heart so that maybe I will sleep, and dream of oceans, green and deep (and pure), and me in their midst, afloat and intensely content.

A Waiting Song

Eleven boats will sail before
grounding on this shore, eleven
days I hold my breath until my
heart rubbed sore, will see you back again.
Will see you back again.

The eleventh day will find me
gazing at the sea, the waters blue
then green, then black by turns, reveal
a truth to me, and I will wait till then.
I will wait till then.

Hmmm….also another clockworks record player pendant sold, and before they are even on sale yet! Hopefully this bodes well of things to come…

Some pics… rustic talisman bracelet:

I was shown these this week, and thought them beautiful. When erotic images left something to the imagination, and held something left of the romantic…also, the girl in the picture’s feet are smudgy with dirt, which is somehow so human and tender to me, and infinitely endearing.

PS: If you didn’t read yesterday’s blog, don’t bother. Most of it is incredibly dull (although the stanza from JW’s poem is lovely), but I am leaving it there as a marker, that some days are dull, some days I completely lack in anything interesting to talk about, or I am prone to talk about interesting things in very uninteresting ways. More likely the latter. I am imperfect. (which is good – my feet are also smudgy at the moment, which means that they have tread places today and felt the earth beneath their soles - all good)

PPS: Tomorrow I will also FINALLY write about my visit to Toronto, and the adventures found there, and the lovely people met, some infinitely more so than others (lovely, that is). But tonight I am too tired, and soured from that earlier encounter, and the evening of tomorrow seems a better time somehow. A new evening not yet traveled and waiting for a tale…

Here are a few more record players that I have made! These things are addictive in their one of a kindness, and little gears. I love the gears, and the tiny little rubies. The first record player from my previous entry is sold, lickity-split just like that! , and one of these is likely as well, though I am not sure which one has been chosen yet as the details are still being firmed up. I am going to make a few more for my grand opening of the Kuriosities line, maybe with some custom stamping, maybe some with more intricate gearworks. In the meantime here you go!

Record player pendant #2  – I found this lovely engraved little gear for a turntable and used a contrasting gear for the centre The engraving gives a kind of steampunky country vibe to it, I think anyways. Should maybe put a nice swirly R in that corner. hmmmm Or leave it as is? I like how this photo turned out. 

Record Player pendant #3: A Jack White record player pendant with the mythical number three stamped in one corner. Minimalist, stripped down and simple.

My little birdie came back from castings today. Oh, she is sweet! She has a whole series of pieces devoted to her lovely self, or is it his lovely self? I’ll have to look that up in the story…Which story is it from? – it’s a secret, today anyways, I may tell you tomorrow when I post pictures of it being carved, the wax, the unfinished castings, the in process casting and the finished charm. The final pieces will stay under wraps though until the launch…

I am so excited about the Kuriosities line – a total departure from my current work, but very much me. I am hoping it will be like a visit to an enchanted junk shop, full of oddities and whimsicalities that spark the imagination and lead you to believe that magic may still exist. I hope it will be the perfect mix of child-like innocence with just a little hint of the sinister to keep you on your toes…

This was the view out of our kitchen the other day…does having a beat up old junker Dodge Ram and a pet pig in your drive mean you are a red neck? Yikes. I hope not, but it was the perfect redneck scene that’s for sure. A big fat pig napping in the shade of a pick-up. But just so you do know – the pick-up is just for picking up round bales for the horses (not for gadding about town in), and the piggie is a fancypants vietnamese pot belly pig, and a fully housebroken trained pet, not the kind that you eat. He comes when you call him, goes to bed when you tell him to, and will sit on command. And his name is Mr. Portobello. Do these details make it any better?? Secretly I love to sit behind the wheel of that pick-up, though it is monstrously too big for my petite statured self. I have to shove things behind my back to be able to reach the pedals!

I have developed a passion for sundresses, now that the warmth is upon us. I wore my vintage inspired purple flowered one yesterday, with the swirly skirt. I felt the most childish joy in it, twirling so that the skirt flew wide and pretty around me when no one was watching. I even wore it to the barn with my rubber boots on, which made me even more exceedingly happy. I felt a proper country cowgirl miss with my swirly skirts and my muck-a-luck boots, tossing hay and rounding up restless ponies (well horses too, my biggest girl is a full 16h1h! huge!). I love moments like that, when I first looked down at the contrast of purpley skirts and black rubber boots, and my eyes grow wide and a smile spreads across my face. I did those chores with a bounce to my step!

Two old but recently found poems:

#1: 

PS. Who ARE you faithful readers, who read, and read, but never write? I am dying of the mystery of it! But maybe that is more inspiring? Maybe I will just imagine who you are…make up imaginary occupations, imaginary lives for all of you! This Gentleman wears a top hat and sports a dandy cane, this Miss also adores swirly skirts and has a parrot named Esmeralda, and perhaps you are a street busker taking tea in a cafe in London…OR you could leave a comment every blue moon <hint, hint> 

Pride – my peacock and the quince bush

So here is my awful and overwhelming secret (there may be more, but this is the one that I will actually share with you). My studio is a den of filth and disarray. I am a muddle-brained person when it comes to organisation. It is not that I do not appreciate the beauty of a well organised and tidy space – I do! I long for it. I am just rotten at it. I am so distractable and yet in complete contrast, utterly and completely focused. If I am doing something such as reading something intriguing, or am lost in the making of a piece, I will actually not be able to hear you. I cannot see you enter the room. Nothing will exist outside of that object that has my passionate interest at the time. To get my attention you would likely actually have to touch my arm or give me a little jostle, at which point I will either be somewhat lost or you will have provoked my ire. A strength and a weakness both, that mad professor mind. Yet…I cannot put the scissors away in the same place twice. Even on my kindergarten report card (and every single one since) it says such things as K displays extraordinary focus, but seems to be lacking the necessary organization skills. or more specifically “K has a great deal of trouble keeping her desk organized which results in time wasted looking for things.” Hmmm…. well, it is still true, as you shall see. It has gotten to the point of chaos that is so huge and awful that I must now spend the day fixing it – which is obviously my least preferred way to spend my time – let alone a Sunday! This makes me a bit grouchy and snappish. <yes, I am frowning deeply now.>

Ok, deep breath, here goes, my shameful, shameful studio. (It is so shameful that an interviewee once told me that I needed to hire her specifically because I needed her skills at organization to clean my office – NOT part of the job description! -and I needn’t have to tell you that this statement was met with a grave and ashen response from me as she was quickly ushered out the door. The state of my studio is one of those things that it is understood should not be mentioned. ever. and I will actually at times defend its horrid state as a reflection of the creative mind and a sacred balance that must not be disturbed, lest the well dry up and the world collapse in ruin…)

And now for a complete contrast, to increase my shame, and thus my motivation – here is the desk of my assistant. Hrumph.

So am I writing today to avoid my studio’s state of mind-boggling disarray? Why, yes I am… silly questions! But when I am done, I shall bring myself to sort and sweep, however much I do not want to.

I do not like this particular sea, Lou
the way its waters part and
lead me to the bottom. And you
here waiting, with tea, and oranges
a chair pulled out from the table
for me to sit awhile at your side – all
unexpected.

There are no words, Lou
they have swam away like fishes. The
silvered minnow swish flickers
in the water, and away, as we
watch. I shift in my seat, then shift again

This was not the meeting
I had planned. This pebble in
the bottom of my tea cup, is
not mine to swallow. take it back.

I’ve been listening to the Decemberists quite a bit, as of late, and am so inspired by their music – but mostly by the writing of Colin Meloy. What a brilliant lyricist, and storyteller. He has the ability to transport the imagination to a completely other realm. I can get lost in his songs…and his use of language, his poet’s heart. I watched some videos on youtube of him performing solo - which was really incredible – and informative. Last guitar lesson we were talking about hand positioning for different styles, using the thumb for muting the low strings and to enable different hand positions – and it was neat to see Colin Meloy doing exactly this. I also found it incredible his ability to command a performance – that he can stand alone on a stage with his guitar and you are so absorbed in his performance that you don’t even miss the presence of other performers – bassists, percussionists, keyboardists, all a vague and distant memory. His performance just shines that bright. There was a video in particular where he performed in a record store alone, The Island,  accoustically – which he said he had never really done before – and it was so impressive.

There is one warning that should be attached to the front of Decemberists albums though…At the outset, they may seem a bit mellow in their storytelling folkiness – but do NOT listen to them before setting your head on the pillow for the night. Eegads. The Shankhill Butchers (one of my favourite songs by them…that line alone “if you don’t mind your mother’s words, a wicked wind will blow your ribbons from your curls” Ah! so lovely, and the melody…) is in particular not before bedtime fodder. Yikes. The dreams that followed, the horrid scene of  evisceration will haunt me forever. Stuff it back to nightmare land, and quick! Not for the faint of heart or the over imaginative (ie. not for me).

I have a few pieces at casting right now that I am waiting for on pins and needles. My sweet little sparrow that I wrote about weeks (months?) ago. I have plans for that little sterling sparrow, her little magical hearted self shall be planted in several designs, I cannot wait for her return! And also the tiniest little sterling band, with the tiniest rustic little battered heart.

Several metalsmith ideas in the works…continuing with the keyhole pendants, and a new crow. Have started a copper heart pendant “she dreams of green”, with a dragonscale hued labradorite bezel set in the centre…something like this one below I made quite some time ago with the garnet, but a more elongated heart, and it will attach with a riveted bail, two actually, to an oxidised sterling chain:

Also…steampunk! I have been reading about this strange thing, and looking at photos of fantastical creations, and so inspired! I have a huge bag of watch parts that I have two ideas for: a steampunk timetravelling heart. I think I already have one of these inside me ticking away, all wild and wrong, sometimes here, sometimes in far off places – so I thought I might construct one from metal. And the other steampunk-ish clockwork time traveller piece is a secret ( i love small secrets, it makes the pieces better, imbues them with a certain intangible quality of enchantment!). I will share it when it is done…maybe.

Hmmm…was just contacted by a highscool friend on facebook, that strangest of social creations. I have no great fondness for facebook and its posturing, like an extended really awful reunion where everybody posts only photos of themselves before they gained that 40 lbs, and try to make themselves out to be happier, smarter, swankier, wealthier and generally more important than they really are, But this time, it is actually somebody that I am happy to hear from! In fact I have googled him before but came up empty. So maybe facebook isn’t entirely without its merits. But that’s about all that I will begrudgingly give it.

Reading poems earlier today, Rilke, mostly because the greening field outside my studio, with its distant trees always reminds me of the bird in the evening and the fragrant meadows. These are two of my favourites…they take me breath away, fill my lungs with something other than air – something more expansive. 

Woman in Love by RM Rilke 

 That is my window. Just now
I have so softly wakened.
I thought that I would float.
How far does my life reach,
and where does the night begin

calling out and frightened
that someone will hear the call,
and destined to disappear
inside some other life. 

You who never arrived by RM Rilke 

Symposium 

i search the eyes of strangers, brother
for some sign of you, a heart
beating as wild and wrong as this one caged
beneath my ribs, the slow burn of a lingering
sadness, the hidden ebb and flow of missing blood.

i search the winter for you, brother, can you
feel my footfall on this frozen earth? is it a rhythm that
propels you forward, each day marked by
the icy edge of longing? the inky desolation of
tussled bedsheets a bleak map of despair each dawn?

i search these roads, brother, sleepless,
ragged, your song whispers in my veins

find me

             please 

copyright 2008 Kuriosities.com, all rights reserved, may not be reprinted without permission

My poor fingers are all ablister with my guitar playing attempts. Literally. Underneath my callouses that were developing so nicely there are little pockets of fluid. Ouch. Now that they can manage some bars of a song, now that they can play SOMETHING, it is becoming a passion. To have the music coming from me, to participate in the music instead of it only playing through my ear, sounding in my head… it is a bliss, and that far away place that music takes you, that addiction that hums in the blood. It is a frustration as well. I want it mastered. I want to write the songs, I want to create more than plunky sounds. Such a long process! Yet meditative, pleasing all the same.

Although I do have one complaint. Things were going quite strummingly in my song that I am playing (Good to Me, by Brendan Benson). It was all going lovely – my teacher showed me tricks on how to change the chords quickly (which worked so well, and just !! happy!) but then… then… BAR chords. What the hell! Now my fingers have returned to being moronic and slow, stumbling and awkward…. and things are not going strummingly at all. They are going very stumbling and stupid. grrr… perseverance. I will play this song. I will learn this confounded instrument. I will.

Some pictures of recent items made this week! I photographed them on an antique cog from some old farm machinery that we found in the back field. I love that thing with all of its contrasting textures and rich colours.

This pendant was made for a client from a drawing that she gave me of her wedding invitation. The two large birds represent her and her husband. The small bird is their baby. The tiny little bird is their hoped for future baby. It is a gift for her husband, so we went with a simple metalsmithed design in brushed oxidised sterling, so it would be masculine, and strung it on a simple greek leather cord with a sterling clasp. It is hard to see from the photos, but the underlayer is oxidised a deep grayish black so that the birds really stand out. I love playing with rivets. It measured about 2 cm wide x 2.5 high.

The following is one of my “Love you to the Moon and back cuffs”, with custom stamping on the inside of the client’s children’s names. I love how the moonstone at the clasp looks in this photo.

This was another piece for the same client. It is a special piece for the new mother of very premature twins. In each tiny dome is the initial of one of the twins. The freshwater pearls are their birthstones. They are also representative of innocence and all things new – so fitting to represent these fragile new lives. I love this necklace – delicate and elegant, and full of meaning.

And my guitar poem seems fitting at this point – as all things guitar are on the brain!

Guitar
by K.

please forgive me.
these clumsy attempts at love
are not at all what i wanted
going in.

these naive fingers-
awkward as adolescents
rushing,  furtive, fumbling
too slow, too fast
all wrong

do you know how
much i want to make you
cry out? how i need
you to bend to me?

in dreams i close my eyes
and cradle you, my fingers
skim your contours, read
you like braille – sound the one
note where you buried
your heart.

copyright 2007 Kuriosities.com, all rights reserved, may not be reprinted without permission
 

Also, this… I must thank Mr. Benson from the very bottom of my heart. And no, before you get all excited, I do not know him personally or have any affiliation with the man or any such silly notions – it is just this… take a little peek at what is gracing his neck at Bonnaroo… 

Yes! it is my Dodo stamp pendant…and this notion makes me absolutely giddy and full of joy…one, because Brendan is wearing my pendant (oh! hurray!) and I admire his work so very much, two, because it means he must like it (hurray!) which means that I was able to give something back to someone who has provided me with hours of music in this little studio (that makes my heart so very happy, I love to give gifts), and three, because thousands of people saw it (oh my!).

So much to write!! But actually I have to work now…food on the table and all that jazz…(unless there is a benefactor waiting in the wings, who expects nothing in return but poems, pendants, letters and journals…I am accepting applications….anyone? please? ).

But I will leave you with this small strangeness – we now have a baby crow, found in the middle of the road, baking onthe pavement. Rescued and now ensconced in our home. Half hourly feedings where I get to be Mama Crow shoving food down it’s little throat. Poor little soul, but found his way to the most adoring lover of crows. He is well and spry this morning!

there are some that are born to this
and she is one, the cool
green lump of the earth pressing into her spine
she spins the clouds, commands this
waving sea of grass. There is dirt
beeath her fingernails, her fingers reach
deep where the naked roots lay sleeping
she too sleeps, the sun on her skin
as she sinks.

there are other oceans now, these deep green
seas of her dreams, she swims each one
dives to the bottom searching for
the one stone that holds her heart, the one
that dropped, slid through her fingers as they
opened in surprise, quivered in that moment’s
one gift. It wasn’t until later, that she noticed
the longing set in to stay, each watery breath
pulled by the tide

Guitar lessons tonight. I am building callouses on my fingertips, and yet they are still so sore from practicing. My first song…Good to Me, by Brendan Benson. So much more inspiration to practice when the sounds that I am pulling from the strings are familiar and well loved. But my fingers are still a little (a lot) stupid as they move across the frets, some changes easier than others – my sense of rhythm and strumming frustratingly more intuitive and developed than my chord hand – which makes sense it being the left and all – but still – I don’t want to stop or slow down for it to catch up. It annoys the hell out of me. But practice, practice, E D E D E D E D until my hand develops some sense. At least better than last week.

My focus is returning after my whirlwind trip to Toronto…I still have to write about that! Not sure what I am waiting for but I will post something soon. I guess I am still processing it, letting it all sink in – it is still somewhat surreal to me. One of those wonderful things that I dream about and am shocked when they actually happen – and then they are even better than imagined.

I am still dreaming of far away places. Airplanes, and strange descents over motorways. Buildings with stone steps. Shadowy people I know, but do not know when I wake up, they fade beyond reach. And that feeling of reaching towards something. And green, green, green. It doesn’t make sense, I know – but I can’t shake that feeling that somehow it does. That one morning I will wake up, and the day will present itself with the answer to what it was all about. Hopefully soon – I need more sleep.

rough draft – May 5, 2008, by K.

Bemused (i am naught )

Lou,
tell me where to find it
that cool ocean pebble with
which to stop up the pit of my heart
that same round stone to plug and
still the rushing tidal roar

i flow unruly over these red hills
there is no rhythm, no calming cadence
no ba dump ba dump to metre
my journey onwards, i spill forth
in great rushing surges, a mess
of passions and unmeasured pause

    there is no sense in this.

teach me, lou
i want to learn how to do it
the steady venturing forth,
the aloof precision of marching
my veins, arteries, a map of  tidy lines.

i want manifestos, odes, adorations!
i want nothing.

i want to be the pounding of the surf
you sink yourself into.  

========================= 

I am in a foul mood, and there is no rhyme or reason to me, or it, today. I am one minute angry, and the next spilling over with sorrow. I am grieving, but there is no one to grieve. I am lonely, and yet I am full of loathing for company.

My heart is sore. I am rubbed raw, and tender. I want to be rocked to sleep.I want soothing.

I want.