Detritus and signs of it, too.
I've been playing a lot lately.
Trying my best to enjoy each moment of this Fall.
I'm soaking in the season via osmosis.
Long walks in the woods.
Long days in the studio.
Savored moments in garden beds.
Early risings to catch the sun at her finest and the aspens at their brightest glow.
Sweet things from the oven I can bake from things growing in my yard.
I'm settling into this playfulness, and thoroughly enjoying myself.
I've been playing with composition.
With my camera.
With materials I am far less accustomed to than silver.
(Confession. I crushed a very nice Emerald yesterday in the process of setting it in a 14k gold setting, and felt the rush of beginners frustration, tears, and a tantrum. I left the studio, grabbed my garden gloves, and wreaked havoc on a perennial bed for the remainder of the day.)
I've been thinking a lot.
Self-reflection, and a little daydreaming.
I remembered a project abandoned this spring,
as by the time it actually came to fruition,
the season had already passed to share it,
and it went by the wayside,
collecting summer's dust in the bungalito.
And I rebirth it to you.
A bit of a brightening of thoughts from another season.
I printed these images in postcards,
entitled "Signs of It",
I was full well aware,
that by the time they were delivered in my post box,
that moment would have already bloomed and morphed.
I tried to capture the fleeting spring in Montana,
and it laughed at me,
budding and blooming faster than my words and muse could comprehend,
into gloriously bright and warm summer sunshine.
It seemed a little morose to send out such a fleeting spring
when the happiness of summer was all around me.
These photographs, printed on postcards nearly 6 months ago,
seem appropriate now,
for their color and subject matter,
but also more for their symbolism.
These images are the nature of seasons,
in particular here, Spring.
But I see Autumn too.
I see a variable only brought on by time and temperature.
I can't help
to pull this thought inward,
reflect on that few degrees of temperature
and the three months of a season,
to bring on such a changing landscape.
How true that can be in life.
How quickly we can change into something entirely different.
How similar we are within that difference.
On the back of each card is printed one of my most favorite quotes by Anais Nin:
"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful
than the risk it took to blossom".
This fresh collection of metalwork, too,
is a compilation and reflection of detritus.
I've picked stones of autumnal colors and textures.
I've decomposed (literally) projects sent to the scrap pile throughout summer,
by fusing, melting, reticulating, and rebirthing into an altogether different manner,
in homage to the uncanny dichotomy between spring and autumn.
It's a reversal underfoot:
Spotty fawns not yet born in the spring, their dusty coats I see thicken by the day,
Budding flowers to bloom and then to seed and then to sleep,
only to do it again in a few short sleepy and snowy months.
I feel I'm alighting thought processes from the not-so-distant past,
and giving them chance to speak their most perennial nature.
The birth. The death. The cycle of such.
I am truly enamored with the grace our natural surroundings inhibit
when sliding through our four seasons.
How beautiful and cyclic this death and rebirth is.
How simply our landscapes can change,
within a few degrees.
How comforting this thought is.
On to another season.
In grace and love and light.
Let's consider it a full cycle of thoughts.
A full season.
These are signs of it, too.