A lot has changed since my last - and only second - entry.
Blogger looks completely different. So does my life, incidentally. My husband Christopher died on January 9th of this year. Underneath our brave faces and attempts at routine, I can't help but feel that William and I nothing more than stranded orphans. Many days it isn't a matter of whether I can keep my head above the surface but if I want to. I'm still here, so that must count for something.
The jewelry continues and my etsy shop is well stocked. The stagnancy and drain of care giving gone, or maybe simply that grief and loss have given me new eyes, there's a shift in what I'm making these days. It feels the most right to turn to the broken things I find on the street on my way to the bus stop. The sharp things that no one wants to look at. Forgotten fragments of life that have been cast off.
I'm not really sure where all this is headed. I've begun to incorporate bone, which in the past was too...macabre? honest? for me. More rust and less sparkle is happening. My sketches and plans are for things I've never done before, to reflect the places I'm seeing that I'd never been before. And while on a very practical level I do hope that everything I make is appreciated, loved, bought and cherished - I am widow working part time after all - I've finally started the process of making art for me, I think. If you're along for the ride, kudos to you. If you're not, happy trails.
Next time, which hopefully won't be over a year away, I will share pictures and details on my Spring Exodus. Spoiler alert, I went places, and the grief went with me.
Blogger looks completely different. So does my life, incidentally. My husband Christopher died on January 9th of this year. Underneath our brave faces and attempts at routine, I can't help but feel that William and I nothing more than stranded orphans. Many days it isn't a matter of whether I can keep my head above the surface but if I want to. I'm still here, so that must count for something.
The jewelry continues and my etsy shop is well stocked. The stagnancy and drain of care giving gone, or maybe simply that grief and loss have given me new eyes, there's a shift in what I'm making these days. It feels the most right to turn to the broken things I find on the street on my way to the bus stop. The sharp things that no one wants to look at. Forgotten fragments of life that have been cast off.
I'm not really sure where all this is headed. I've begun to incorporate bone, which in the past was too...macabre? honest? for me. More rust and less sparkle is happening. My sketches and plans are for things I've never done before, to reflect the places I'm seeing that I'd never been before. And while on a very practical level I do hope that everything I make is appreciated, loved, bought and cherished - I am widow working part time after all - I've finally started the process of making art for me, I think. If you're along for the ride, kudos to you. If you're not, happy trails.
Next time, which hopefully won't be over a year away, I will share pictures and details on my Spring Exodus. Spoiler alert, I went places, and the grief went with me.
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