Some incredible, talented, strong women recently bought a bunch of our jewelry to wear on their
music tour. i have been thrilled to be able to call them clients...but until this morning, i really didn't think about
just what an honor it was to be in their company.
this morning, as i sat down to make some glovelettes and arm casts to send to them, i thought about these amazing women.
i listened to their cd, and watched" Shut up and Sing" again.
i am proud to be a small part of these women's lives. i am proud to be a part of something that i believe we all share...
partnership, love, art, music, friends, strength, beauty...
and, also, quite honestly, ...i'm intimidated as hell.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
art shows.....
these pics are for my friend Susie Lubell, a very successful, hard working artist and mom.... you should check out her fabulous, hilarious blog: Inner Toddler. i have been following her for over a year now....
there are so many parallels between the job of motherhood and the job of a professional artist.
among the many, striking similarities, the following is especially true of trunk shows/art shows and raising children:
you will never be able to prepare yourself for what is expected of you, despite the millions of hours spent trying...
you will always be: packing every thing but the one thing you really need, showing up early on the one day that everyone else is late, presenting yourself professionally in the one moment when no one is looking, expecting that everyone else has their shit together more than you do.....
there just ain't a manual.
these pictures were taken of an art space in SF where we had a show recently. the show opened at 6pm. these pictures were taken at 6:30ish. we were the only vendors there until 7.
it worked out beautifully in the end...just like you always hope it does.
there are so many parallels between the job of motherhood and the job of a professional artist.
among the many, striking similarities, the following is especially true of trunk shows/art shows and raising children:
you will never be able to prepare yourself for what is expected of you, despite the millions of hours spent trying...
you will always be: packing every thing but the one thing you really need, showing up early on the one day that everyone else is late, presenting yourself professionally in the one moment when no one is looking, expecting that everyone else has their shit together more than you do.....
there just ain't a manual.
these pictures were taken of an art space in SF where we had a show recently. the show opened at 6pm. these pictures were taken at 6:30ish. we were the only vendors there until 7.
it worked out beautifully in the end...just like you always hope it does.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Histories..
....this morning, listening to the tail end of a story about John Houston, i am moved to write about the beauty of history.
in this case, i am writing about personal history. yet...is there really such a thing? isn't history just what we share....?
my grandparents loved their generation. they were beautiful, wealthy, social....they spoke with the lilte of the movies and remembered the times when the moon shone on the water and the apple blossoms fell, and there were stars in their eyes. they remember crossing the bay in a ferry, San Francisco's first cars, the invention of the ball-point-pen, and dear letters; written from across the sea to each other.
last night, i dreamed that they were sitting in the entry way of a glamourous hotel...their backs to the door, as they watched an old movie on a black and white T.V.
this morning, i'm listening to someone talk about "The Breakfast Club". those weren't pretty times. i imagine that the same goes for WWII...
...and why reminisce with such affection?
our history is dear.
so, i wonder, as i mull through collections of delicate filigree, hand-painted cameos and tin hearts, how different is my reverence for the loving workmanship of these objects of the last century, from my unrepentant adoration of the shiny plastic lightning bolts of my generation?
in this case, i am writing about personal history. yet...is there really such a thing? isn't history just what we share....?
my grandparents loved their generation. they were beautiful, wealthy, social....they spoke with the lilte of the movies and remembered the times when the moon shone on the water and the apple blossoms fell, and there were stars in their eyes. they remember crossing the bay in a ferry, San Francisco's first cars, the invention of the ball-point-pen, and dear letters; written from across the sea to each other.
last night, i dreamed that they were sitting in the entry way of a glamourous hotel...their backs to the door, as they watched an old movie on a black and white T.V.
this morning, i'm listening to someone talk about "The Breakfast Club". those weren't pretty times. i imagine that the same goes for WWII...
...and why reminisce with such affection?
our history is dear.
so, i wonder, as i mull through collections of delicate filigree, hand-painted cameos and tin hearts, how different is my reverence for the loving workmanship of these objects of the last century, from my unrepentant adoration of the shiny plastic lightning bolts of my generation?
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