Kuriosities

The cymbal arrived from Paiste/ Yamaha Canada. It is, in a word, gorgeous. I do not know too much about cymbals (though I am now much inspired to research and learn more), but I must say that this one is so lovely. The craftmanship, the work that goes into making such a thing. This one has a small crack – which is why its life as a musical instrument has ended, and its new life of being sawn to bits and pieces looms before it.

But before I get my saw out, I wanted to be inspired by this piece in its wholeness. So I played around with banging it quite a bit to hear its sound, and I spent a while exploring its texture with my fingers, and examining it with my eyes. And the weight and thickness of it was much greater than I expected, and a wonderful surprise… And then I took it for a walk.

???

Yes, I know. It sounds a bit crazy. Mostly I took it for a walk because the hay field is a lovely backdrop, and I wanted to photograph the cymbal  for the sake of posterity. I also took it out to see it in a different light. There is nothing like taking an object and putting it in a situation vastly unlike its usual context to jump start the imagination. You do not generally see cymbals out for walks in hayfields, so I figured it might start something…

Mostly it was fun. Molly ma Gog (the black lab) running joyously around whilst I balanced the cymbal on this or that, scaled rusty old farm machinery and scaled decrepit falling down farm buildings. Not only did I start to look at the cymbal differently, but also at the hayfield differently – noticing colours, textures, and settings that I ordinarily overlook as just part of the field.

I returned from the walk, clunkily heavy cymbal in hand, full of energy, joy, and the swelling of ideas.

Here are some of the photos. I will post the whole series later in my gallery.

The nice fellow from Paiste/Yamaha Canada also packed a few Paiste t-shirts in the box for me, on which I think I can make out the visage of Miss. Meg White – one of my favourite musicians, which I thought was very nice of him. I think they will end up as jammies though, as they are an XL and a M (and I am an XS, lol). But pretty cool all around. I have been very impressed with how supportive they have been of this little project…I never would have imagined, and am thankful. It has made the whole thing even more fun.

What a funny few days…I have just been in a great mood, and full of mischief and a tricksy type of humour. That feeling of life being fun. It’s fall, so maybe that is it. Or maybe the few things/people that I have been following online that have made me giggle. Moustaches have been an especial cause of the giggles.

I feel all itchy toes and dreams of adventures. Not that I have anything particular in mind at the moment, but I am going about getting my passport. Somehow the idea that I cannot leave the country if I wanted to now irks me, That if I wanted to fly to Paris, like my ever recurring airplane dream, I could not. Not that I would, or could, on a whim, fly to Paris – but the idea that if something incredible presented itself that I would not be able to… It irks me. So the passport ordeal. What a pain in the butt it is to get a passport. I have to find somebody who has known me for at least 2 years and has had their own passport for 5 years to vouch for the fact that I am actually me. Sounds like it might be easy, except for the fact that I don’t think I know anybody who has a passport. So now I have to go through the (not very extensive actually) list of people on this tiny island who I have actually met and would say that they have known me for at least 2 years, and see if any of them do in fact have a passport. frustrating. But worthwhile in the end.

Just when I worry that I will have no more nifty things to work on, another few tumble into my lap and suddenly I have a very busy few weeks ahead of me. Which is good. I thrive on this constant pace, the birth of new ideas, the buzz of seeing them come to fruition…and then back to the beginning. And oh, the beginning is the best. That sense you have of a new thing stirring just below the surface of consciousness, like a seed, an unseen quiver before the sprout emerges green and reaching towards the sun.

Last night I took Miss Molly ma Gog (my ever loyal Lab) for a walk way out back through the meadow and the hayfield. I will have to get some pics of the hayfield and post them. It is absolutely stunning with the vivid green of the mown grass with the stark barrels of the haybales scattered randomly over the rolling hill. And then how the field suddenly hits the corn rows, a solid impenetrable wall of corn at least 8-9 feet tall.

I was super brave last night – the sun was setting and casting ruddy pink twilight shadows everywhere – and I just slipped into the corn. Stepped several rows in and walked down them like a great living corridor. But then the breeze would blow, just a little, just enough to rustle the corn stalk leaves. And then I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise as I remembered horror movies of my youth and quickly departed back to the (relative) safety of the mown hayfield. And then had a snicker at myself. I was gone maybe only 45 minutes – but what a walk! I picked a large woody weed and brandished it like a sword in front of me, to and fro, whacking spiderwebs out of my path, and feeling like a child…I ran, and laughed, and stood still as well – just breathing in the field, the scent of crushed grass and ripening apples…

A parting moustachioed pic that made me laugh today….

First things first, forgive the cheesy title…I am overexcited.

Sometimes birthday wishes come true with an alarming swiftness. The wish I wished on the stars and the moon on mine was that I remain healthy and strong (so far, so good, knock on wood and all that jazz) but also that I get to do new and exciting things with my work. And that is where I am at right now, looking forward to the arrival of my mail with childlike anticipation. Waiting, waiting, for the cymbal to arrive. Cymbal?? Yes, a cymbal. Let’s go back to the beginning of the story.

I have a client who contacted me to make him a custom pendant, who happens to be a drummer in a band from Chicago. He requested that the pendant be made out of bronze. Easy enough at first glance, I have sheets of bronze ready to work, BUT then he requested a very specific alloy of bronze.  

So the research began, and apparently this alloy cannot be purchased anywhere on the planet but, of course, from Paiste – a leading manufacturer of cymbals. What to do, what to do? So I checked out their website (which is an incredible read to both metalsmiths and musicians alike), and then got up the gumption to send them off an email asking if I might purchase a small piece of sheet or if they might be willing to sell me a damaged cymbal to make into a pendant for a drummer client of mine who had requested that it be made out of their specific alloy. A week went by without an answer, although I did notice that someone from Paiste USA checked out my gallery during that time. Thinking it hopeless,  I started to look into purchasing a cymbal (ouch! those are expensive!), and then looking into where I could get a broken one.

But on Friday, I came home to an email in my in-box from Yamaha Canada! It was from a fellow from their drum marketing department. Apparently they were contacted by Paiste to send me a cymbal to be made into art. To say that I was excited is a vast understatement. (I was fairly buzzing with joy and inspiration, and actually danced all over my living room.) And have spent every moment since dreaming of what I will do with the rest of the cymbal – all the pieces that I will make – and dreaming of a possible series that will all be connected with a common theme. So many ideas.

But I want to see the cymbal first, to hold it in my hands, feel the texture of the metal, see its sheen, be inspired by its shape and sound, by the craftmanship in its creation- all of these things first – before I settle on any idea. The nifty thing also is that Paiste/Yamaha Canada is interested in seeing how this all turns out too – so I will be photographing and documenting the results to send to them.

I will be also be documenting this new project here, so check back often for updates…and if you are a drummer, and would be interested in having a custom piece made in this very nifty and unique project, EMAIL ME! I am eager for this to include many drummers, of different traditions, and varying skill levels, all tied together by this common cymbal (symbol).

Mostly a picture entry today… But this past week has rocked. I turned 36 (woo!), and for some reason that made me feel happy instead of old. I also have a few new exciting custom projects lining up to keep my mind busy. I have a party to look forward to next weekend at my place, and a party during the week to go to and hopefully connect with some other artists. The world has been particularly kind this week – and I am excited, enthused, inspired.

First off, the promised sterling steampunk record player pendant – I loved making it, and I think it turned out pretty nifty:

Also a new gorgeous Alice etched pendant using an engraving from John Tenniel. I used countersunk sanded rivets in the back for a smooth finish:

And my yard sale finds!It was the island’s seventy mile yard sale today, and I scrounged up som nifty finds. An old deacons bench to be used for putting on my riding boots and half-chaps, a TLR camera ( a Pucky), and best of all an antique fire extinguisher. This just appealed so wholeheartedly to my whole steampunkish sort of aesthetic that I am working with right now. All that antiqued brass, embossing and rivets gives me goosebumps. I was downright giddy when I found it for a mere and paltry $25. Score!

Strange dreams lately. Still dreaming of airplanes and adventures on a regular basis…

But the other night I had a dream that I was sitting on a padded bench beside PK. I think we were talking, although we may have just been sitting there beside each other. At any rate, it seemed like a normal enough thing, like we happened to quietly hang out on benches with each other all the time (just to be clear here, we do not, I don’t really know him). I tried to say something to him, but suddenly found it hard to breath, and sort of hoarsely apologised for my lack of ability to be articulate, and that I was having an asthma attack. At which point he looked rather concerned and with some small amount of heroic flair reached his hand into his coat pocket and handed me a blue inhaler. Ta-da! Heh heh , Patrick saves the day. And then I woke up.

Strange things that the unconscious mind does when left to its own devices, and this particular dream so vividly. But I guess I had just read an interview with him in Modern Drummer where he was talking about having to choose between art and drumming, and we had actually had a real life similar conversation when I met him in TO, and I had been pondering that somewhat – the difficulty of having two passions, To have one present itself so alluringly with an income attached. The pull and tugging of each on your spirit. So that explains his presence on the bench -but where the ventolin inhaler comes in? Your guess is as good as mine…though I suppose in hindsight he was my own personal hero that day, so maybe that is it. Or maybe it is just some random weirdness my brain entertained me with. I have a tendency to read too much into things sometimes. (often)

I am back to my thaumatropes after a brief vacation from them. I think I had thaumatrope overload and needed a breather…but they are suddenly inspiring me again. I have a new one cooked up that I need to spend some nights putting together. Also going to get some copper tubing in to saw lovely little rivets for them. This one is again, an exploration of loneliness and isolation. This time, like my recent pendant, about the self imposed measures and stops we put on our hearts and how they keep us from connection. Here is a small sneak peek of things to come…

This weekend I spent some time with old friends from Montreal who have followed in our footsteps and also made the venture to move to this strange island. In fact, they have bought the house that started the whole idea for us of moving. We spent many hours in that house, and dreaming of a life there – although we decided in the end not to buy it. I was nervous to go and see it, with them as its owners. A strange feeling to have someone else live a dream that you had dreamt, if that makes sense. I was worried that I would feel like I had made a mistake, that I should have chosen that house, that land by the river with the little tea house as well. That I would be overcome by wistful regret and longing, and envy. But it was strange… as we pulled up, it was just a house again. I didn’t really feel too much of anything other than it was a nice house, but not for me. So I was glad to feel no sense of loss and could just feel happy for them that they had it now. They have plans to open a B&B there in the spring. We ate yummy food and shared a few drinks, and it was nice to see all the work that they were doing renovating and making it theirs.

New pendant for today. A bit messy and organic, made in a fit of inspiration, and I did not stop until it was done. There are some messy bits to it, which I think goes well with the theme. It is entitled “Window #1; an attempt at control” furthering my exploration of isolation. How we are isolated through both fault of our own and through fault of the world. It is a window that can be seen through, both from the outside looking in at the heart, and the heart glimpsing views of the outside from within.

The heart has had gears and cogs attached to it. An attempt to metre the messy organic rhythm so it will no longer rush forth in great surges, but will march steadfast and in straight lines. An attempt, because in the end, the heart is always messy and unruly. It is it’s nature. But we try to control it both to try and fit in with the outside world and become a part of it – as well as to protect ourselves from it.

 

The poem that this pendant is in part based upon….

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.   

We are awaiting the imminent arrival of hurricane Hannah, who is now a tropical storm – so I spent today doing the regular “get the animals and barn ready for a storm” routine. Stall mucking and hanging up the water buckets, filling the other buckets with water etc. in case the power goes out and we lose the well pump. I tend to leave the horses out until the last minute, so they don’t have to spend too much time all cramped up in their stalls and bored. So far there is no sign of the storm except for that ” a storm is a-coming” buzz in the air, and the breeze has picked up a little. Apparently, for all people say to the contrary, birds really do not have a proper sense of when a storm is coming their way, as the peacock has decided that it would be a fine night to roost in the treetops as opposed to going in the barn for the night. I imagine he will regret that by dawn and be eagerly awaiting the opening of the barn door.

I am not looking forward to the rain. 70 mm they are calling for, more in localised areas. If the trend continues on our farm, localised areas will mean a cloud will hang directly over our farm and wash us out to sea. I have never hated rain….until this year. Rain, rain go away. 

I am about to start several new custom pieces this week – and am excited about making them. One will be a record player pendant in sterling silver this time. Neat. Somehow just that small change of metal makes the whole thing new and exciting again – and it has been a couple of weeks since I made the last custom record player so it will be like sifting through treasure to sort through the watch parts and pick out the pieces I want to use. It is the neat thing about these creations – even I do not know what they will look like until they are done. It is a bit of an organic process, selecting a piece to start, and then it slowly builds and grows on that until it is completed and I sit in wonder of where the finished piece came from.

My mopeyness has lifted and departed – I have a party in the plans, and that is making me feel light and happy. Not only that, but my birthday is in a week or two, and for some reason that actually makes me feel really happy. I will be moving into the second half of my 30’s…36 years old – and that feel great. When I think of how far I have come in a year’s span, how many new goals I have reached, how many dreams I have dreamt and enacted – it is just good, buzzes through my bones with happiness. And I can’t help but think of what this new year will hold, what exciting new gifts, new things to learn, new people to meet and work with. It excites me. All the possibilities…

There is a new movie “It Might Get Loud” that I am DYING to see. A documentary about the electric guitar, and about 3 artists – Jimmy Page, the Edge, and Jack White. And yeah, if you know me, I am definitely in it for the Jack White parts. I am fascinated by his work as a musician and as an artist – because I don’t really see him as just a guitar player , but the whole thing – his vision, the aesthetic, the thought behind it all – resonates, impresses, inspires.

 

 

 

I have been quiet and not in the mood to write lately. I think the rain stopped falling just outside and seeped its way into my body, my thoughts, and my spirits. A few weeks of moping, and feeling very sorry for myself. Sometimes I need that journey though, tucked away in varying degrees of damp, dark, and tearful misery to make the sun seem worthwhile. To even notice that it exists and is beautiful and worthy of notice.

I have been missing everybody and nobody, by turns. Wanting connection while withdrawing from it and hiding. That sort of thing never makes sense at the time, but comes more clearly into focus when the mood lifts. Making new friends requires a certain amount of risk and vulnerability, and I am not always able to do that these days. Because when I do try, it is “here I am. here is me.” and I extend myself the way that a child does, open and with hope. (too open, and with too much hope) And that kind of thing is frightening sometimes, well most times actually. Sometimes I wish I was better at games, and rules, and how to play. I’m not though – good at all of that. I wonder if anybody is really? And if that really would be a good thing to be, or if it would just muddy everything up even more? I suspect the latter.

Anyways, the mood has finally made me want to get out of it. Too heavy and oppressive, and neither of those qualities are very well rooted in my nature. So as always, I end up with the idea that jumping in with two feet is likely a good idea. It works, or always seems to. So I bid adieu to the crappy mopey moody two weeks and am going to try and get myself out and making new connections, and hopefully, friends… It’s not like they are going to just drop out of the sky, so really if I have anything or anyone to complain about, it is just me, just my own inertia, and that is something I can do something about. Therefore no reason to mope.

This week I have been playing We Both Go Down Together, by the Decemberists. Perhaps trying to play, is more accurate. But it is coming along…and it is a song that I can sing – and I discovered that it is entirely possible to both play and sing at the same time. A discovery which has made me very excited and gleeful (though my family may not be quite so happy or gleeful to hear my unending efforts, and may well wish that I had not discovered this until I was better at playing at least).

I am in love with the Decemberists at the moment, and digging down deeper into the songs, into the stories they contain both lyrically and musically. I am much impressed by it, by the skillfulness… and I love the contrasts, the darkness and lightness, the horrific beauty that Colin puts into his songs, the complexity. I just got a newsletter that announced days that they would be playing – a short tour – and am wishing that I could go to the Boston show…but don’t really see how that could happen, but I would love to see them play live.

I have some exciting new possible jewelry projects lining up. I feel energised and happy with them, and will share when I can.

A new custom piece this week…I love the way that the etching turned out. A stamp pendant meant for a pilot…

I was feeling rather lonely and lonesome in this secluded corner of the world today. Mopey and friendless and thinking back on Friday parties in Montreal, where everyone would gather at my house with favourite dishes, and booze – and we would eat and drink away a week of woes, with laughter and teasing, and general comraderie. I miss this so much, that which I no longer have at all. 

And in the midst of this lonesome pining and feeling sorry for myself, a visitor popped in – as is wont to happen whenever I start to get blue. As an old somebody would say (who used to annoy the heck out of me at the time) “The universe provides!” And it did, and remarkably well, for it was my very favourite type of visitor. A character.

This old farmer stopped in, Billy… he must be almost 90 years old, no longer has teeth,  and I just love him to bits. He has such stories – wonderful stories about living on the farm, and all the animals he has had, and times gone by. And stories of adventures, and tricks, and travels. And so funny. And such a lovely sparkle in his eye, and a teasing mischief in everything he does.

He comes every now and then to visit Mr. Portobello piggie, and the chickens. He loves them, and waxes about how Portie is the most beautiful creature on the earth, and that I should never leave him out at night or I might wake up to find him kidnapped by Mr. Billy.

And sometimes he tells me the same stories over again, but they captivate me each time just as much as the first – though with perhaps more of a sense of happy anticipation because now I know when the good part is coming up.

He also stopped by to ask for gooseberries, because he used to pick them off our gooseberry bush 20 some-odd years ago.

I hope I am spry and full of mischief and light when I am his age.

I feel so enchanted. What does this say about me though, that my most kindred of spirits, the most closely aligned to my odd beating heart,  are 90 year old men?

Also…music has taken me over. It has passed through my brain, and into my heart, and through my veins it is singing. So much so that it is sometimes hard to sleep, for all of the notes dancing and dazzling. It feels like bliss, like manna dew. So, the sissy fingers must die. I have decided. That is it. I will no longer care about their complaints, or their blisters, they will and must soldier on until every last nerve ending succumbs. There is no other way. I must stand firm in this conviction. And as soon as I decided this fervently, they hurt a little less. Hmm. So I am playing longer and longer now, trying to deaden the last vestiges. So far, so good. I want callouses like wood, I no longer care if they look hideous, what is vanity compared to what they could do if they no longer complained their sissy complaints? A necessary sacrifice. Goodbye old fingers.

 

This night, overbrimmed with
wishes, cannot sleep. Clamours,
rises from the trees raucous as
crows. The moon, the sea,
swell, are too full, roll
and bump into the cupped edge
of skull, seek release, seek

secrets that must
never be, whispered, perch
behind teeth, pry at the bars
of their containment.

This night brazen and still
holds only the small-beating
tumult and crash
of a careening heart,
making itself known thump
once bump
and for all. thump