July 23, 2014 § Leave a comment
I am teaching a class at RISD this fall:
Jewelry Studio: Call + Respond
Come join me Thursday evenings, researching at the RISD Museum + making in response
For more info:
July 4, 2014 § Leave a comment
September 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
July 17, 2012 § 2 Comments
when the old man took his place on stage and began to play all the room fell silent. it was the blues – he played alongside a young man – their two pianos angled inwards. they played off of one another – with one another – i wondered who they were. i looked at the old man, i was sucked right in. his white hair – his thick horn rimmed glasses – his silver rings : one on each finger – his seemingly frail silhouette – his black high top chuck taylor’s sporting flames. he was gentle yet aggressive and played with a refreshing looseness that conveyed his level of comfort with his instrument – and yet after years of mastery he was coy – humble. they jammed – i watched – and when it was over neither one of them spoke a word – and left the stage with little more than a nod of their heads.
i encountered them on my way out – as i was running to get my car and came to know that this man’s name is mark. sam – his son, played with him on this night, ‘a rare moment’ they said because they live in different cities. mark said his rings fly off sometimes when he is playing – but that they always come back.
photo credit: Rick Farrell | mojophotori.com
July 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
each time my eyes focused i was delighted to find shades of the past, a weather beaten landscape dotted by ramshackle cottages – the kind of beauty that i seek so heartily yet eludes me so often – it still lives here for now, a way of life that seems to be constantly eroding
June 8, 2012 § Leave a comment
May 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
Bertha Beth Freeman. My maternal grandmother’s maiden name. Her wooden jewelry box a large flat square, was hand painted with a border of verdent green which, framed scenes of gold-leafed hunters and dogs. Inside this treasure chest, I used to pillage for hours, fingering carefully thru her collection of things. There were many diminutive jewels to explore, a fierce gold lion roaring, finely filigreed bees in flight, and resplendent emerald hummingbirds. But her family jewelry was the most memorable as each piece seemed to carry with it a story; these rings and brooches and watches and necklaces passed down thru generations so that each had acquired its own unique experience – watching the world from one body or another, living out one era of history then being re-given and re-born to a new owner and a new future. I might not have known my great-grandmother, but perhaps a little twinkle of her spirit lives in the sapphire ring she had given BBF for her 18th birthday, which now sits somewhat awkwardly on my finger. I stare at it, thinking it looks out-of-place on my hand, wondering, where has this ring gone, and what has it seen? The life story of this ring – the same life story of my grandmother – begs to be shared.