eggs

[Sterling, pearl, Kingman turquoise, half an egg shell (located on the shore of Gray’s Lake, Idaho whilst recording the trumpeting of sandhill cranes with Lang), resin, lichen and vintage paper.]

Oh.

Well.

You know.

This little ditty came from all sorts of places.

Some dark. Some light.

Which is essentially the sum of life.

The most beautiful part of this necklace is the egg shell I’ve bezel set. It’s been back filled with resin, neon green lichen and vintage paper that says “the truth” — just for the non-heck of it — I’d love to tell you all about it but it’s locked up in the center of my chest for the moment.

I’ve been secretly doing a few things with eggs lately. I might show you the byproducts some day. In the meanwhile, someone please come by for a basketful of farm fresh eggs — the ladies are laying double overtime!

Cluck cluck,

I just collected eggs. Judith’s offering was gloriously imperfect, perhaps even mildly abstracted. Her approach to creating is fantastically organic. Don’t you think?

Yesterday, out in the studio, I was pushing myself so hard to bring something “novel” to my work that my efforts fell flat, trembled with some caustic and synthetic overtone instead of the deep, crushing, textured velvet of organic emanation…on days like that, I wish I was like Judith pushing out wonky little mildly abstracted eggs, not thinking of anything in particular while doing my work, perhaps even working involuntarily, like a heart beat or the tickled twitch of withers on a horse fending off flies in summertime sunshine…

There’s something so satisfying about the accidental and the serendipitous. The surprise turns in creative work might be my favorite part. The stumbled upon. The ideas gone so wrong that turn out to be so righteous and genuine.

My hands want to speak honestly, always, and I suppose, even when I force them into foreign motions, there is good that comes from that too.

I always keep in mind that everything leads somewhere, even if it falls down, flat on its face, from time to time.

An egg can be lumpy.
An egg can be perfect.
But in the end, an egg is still an egg.

…whatever that means.

:::EDIT:::
Believe it or not, this egg was NOT a double yolker!
Shocking!

Oeuf

The Art of Egg