thinking aloud

March 2, 2016 by The Noisy Plume

The point of this is not to rush, not to hurry, not to make as much as possible as quickly as possible, not to be wooed by the promise of profit and fame and attention, not to suffer from narrow sight or insecurity.

The point of this is to aim for perfection, to strive for honesty, to hone craft, to draw on personal experience, to comprehend the depth and root of inspirations, to develop a personal aesthetic, to allow that aesthetic to evolve and change, to be breathed into and thereby connected to the Creator and thereby connected to creation, to turn off the light at night and have a sense of completeness and enough-ness, to feel joy while working but to understand and embrace suffering, to transform each scar and wound into fully healed and robust beauty.

The point is to grow big enough as an individual to not embrace envy, to not foster bitterness, to do your own work (work of the hands and work of the soul), to shine brighter yet, to feed passion, to create with conviction, to learn how to fuel intensity, to keep your commitments, to apologize when you need to, to hear intuition, to know when to say yes, to know when to say no, to build successful boundaries, to grow generous, to bravely fail and courageously succeed — they are one and the same.

The point is to do it because you love it. To love it because you have to do it. Whatever it is. To break your own heart in the pursuit of it. To be healed by it. To have your weaknesses illuminated by it. To be refined by it.

Work is work whether it is rooted in an 9-5 office cubicle, a janitorial closet, a schoolroom or in a small nook you’ve claimed as a studio space in a strawbale house perched on the flank of an emerald river.

Love your work.

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https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2016/03/02/11329/

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: jewelry, thinking aloud

An Ordinary Night

February 19, 2016 by The Noisy Plume

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Suddenly, I found myself with a wealth of time on my hands. I was supposed to spend almost all of March with my cameras in Canada on a sort of expedition and at the last moment, the main backer for the trip dropped the project. That part of the situation was a touch annoying but what I felt more than annoyance was utter elation — a strong sense of freedom replacing the urgency of all things schedule related.

I put on my boots at the back door that evening and stepped out into a wide expanse of possibility, high desert and gale force wind, a low ceiling of flying cloud. I stepped out into over thirty days of life-space such as I haven’t had in…well…in longer than I can recall. The dogs and I practically ran up the rim rock ledge behind the house, to get closer to the sky, to gain a firmer grip on the lay of the river, to grasp at the corner of the concept of horizon.

The corn stubble up there was rickety in the wind and the dogs immediately dislodged a small flock of Canada geese from their roost. They rose into the air, hammering at it with all their practiced might, I heard the zithering of their wings churning the night air white. Many were missing flight feathers, either naturally lost or shot off over the past few months. I stood beneath them, marveling at their ability to stall, hold easy and steady in invisible currents; they are masters of water and wind. I am ashamed to be mildly clumsy and terrestrial in the presence of such gifted beasts.

I had an earache from the force of the breeze and while I waded through grass of stature and aimless tumbleweed Farley and Tater located a group of pheasant — still in hunting mode, those dogs are. Tater was backing Farley beautifully so I took the moment as a training opportunity for Tater who’s steadiness to wing and shot mysteriously turned to rust and ash part of the way through the upland season this year. I walked forth and flushed the birds while keeping an eye on him. He held. We went on like that as we walked, finding more quail and pheasant hens to work.

I looked around as I walked, mittened hands shoved deep in my pockets, noting the palate of the landscape and the cautious fringe of green slowly parading down the canyon walls, the sudden green-silver of the sage leafing out, the evening tunes of birds. I was compelled to lay down in it for a spell, as I have been known to do, since I could afford the time.

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: idaho, thinking aloud

Catching Up

November 22, 2015 by The Noisy Plume

Well, the first one of a kind piece finally rolled off the studio bench today since the move to Idaho for the winter. I think I’ve talked about it before, but yanking a studio up by the roots is tough business for me. I’m doing it twice a year right now because of Rob’s job and it’s hard on my soul, time consuming and I lose stuff every time I do it — tools, partly finished projects…you name it. There is always a handful of items I can never find ever again, they simply disappear into the ethers between Washington and Idaho. Setting a space up again is becoming grueling for me. Once my work space is set up, there’s also the spatial re-learning that can make me a little impatient.

It’s muscle memory, you know? The way your hands and body move between bench, anvil, vice, and all the other tools of the trade. You find a rhythm. You can reach for objects and tools without looking. It becomes like playing a twelve page sonatina by Beethoven by memory — your fingers and heart and senses just wind themselves up and then merrily tap away at things. I love getting back to that place again where I’m flowing in the studio and I’m almost there right now but it’s been a slog at times. The small victories come slowly. I just try to give myself a little grace along the way.

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Things I currently find inspiring:

-birds (waterfowl, birds of prey, upland birds, song birds, flickers…you name it, I’m obsessing)

-the idea of rags turning into riches, or the old adage that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure

-Russian olive trees

-the image of a sleepy —- ——— ————– — — ———- (can’t share too much about this one yet because it’s going to be beautiful and I cannot unveil the image I have in my mind yet…I hope it turns out when I sit down to actually make it

-water and wind (what those currents feel like and thereby what they must look like to the unseeing eye)

-sage

-running, running fast and how to make myself run faster and stronger — I often imagine I am a jackrabbit running through the sagebrush with an owl at my 6 or a salmon swimming inches from the dark tunnel of a bear’s throat — I’m constantly thinking to myself, as I run, “Be faster. Be wilder. Be stronger.” and I try to run like I’m scared, like I’m surviving, I pin my ears back and lean into it, it feels glorious…

-cobalt blue, salmon, ochre

-the skills animals are naturally and instinctually equipped with (or taught by their parents)

-amethyst

-everything upland…everything

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Reading/Recently Read:

Desert Solitaire (Edward Abbey)

The Moon Pulled Up An Acre of Bass (Peter Kaminsky)

M Train (Patti Smith)

Never Broken (Jewel Kilcher)

Big Magic (Elizabeth Gilbert)

Station Eleven (Emily St. John Mandel)

Mary Oliver New and Selected Poems Vol. 1

MORE HEMINGWAY

Hearing:

First Aid Kit

Patti Smith

Bright Black Morning Light

Hey Rosetta!

Bob Dylan (Desire & Nashville Skyline)

Phantogram

Jewel (Spirit)

Atmosphere

Watching/Recent Viewings:

Song of the Sea (…watercolor animation about selkies!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!)

Dances With Wolves

Wolf Children

Point Break

Velvet (The era! The fashion!!! The subtitles…)

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I’ve been consciously practicing omission lately, with regards to writing.

“…you could omit anything if you knew that you omitted and the omitted part would strengthen the story and make people feel something more than they understood.” [Hemingway :: A Moveable Feast]

I mean it. Everything I’ve been writing lately has been hacked to bits before it’s been submitted. And I like it. But I think I’ve been practicing omission for a while, specifically with my decision to write less about jewelry designs when I present them to you — choosing instead to let you feel your own way about them instead of assigning obvious meaning and symbolism to the objects themselves.

What do you think of that?

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What I jotted down yesterday:

The youngest sister is here and so eager to vacuum the floors which need cleaning daily because the claws of the high desert slip so easily through the ribs of the windows and doors and the dust rides in clinging tightly to my feet the way I used to dance with my father when I was very young and I always like to see her for her humor and because we are like two mice, one from the country and one from the city, but we still like to nibble at the same cheese.

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The dogs and I are trying to start every morning with a quick river walk. I take a cup of tea or coffee with me and we see if we can find some pheasant feathers down on the river edge and we marvel at the trees and the coldness of the winter sun and we squint a little, too, and the quail are always bombing out of the thickets and the herons are doing their awkward calling to each other and the ducks fly over. I love a quiet morning walk, so much. The dogs are so much better behaved, too, throughout the day and my lungs feel scrubbed clean.

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Lastly, I have to tell you about something crazy — I’d actually feel like a bad citizen if I didn’t share these details! I was made utterly ill by laundry detergent and literally gave up ten days of my life to an agonizing rash that covered 75% of my stomach and other random parts of my body (including one earlobe, one eyelid, and part of my ribcage…and almost my whole right arm and wrist). It was awful. My lymph system is totally shocked out, I mean, honestly, it derailed my life! The situation is still pretty awful but I’m slowly recovering from it and beginning to catch up on all the catching up I WAS doing when I came down with the rash.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re all like, “Huh? A rash? Please Jillian, let us spare our compassion and prayers for those with leukemia and scarlet fever.” Fine. But I’ve had broken bones and my share of physical ailments and my servings of suffering I have to tell you that this is one of the most difficult ailments I have endured in my lifetime for the plain fact that the agony of it caused my mind to unravel. I almost went crazy. I still haven’t really slept in about eight days. The rash looked like 3rd degree burns on some parts of my body. It still does, a bit. Lordy, it’s been terrible.

The last thing I will say about it is this: Please do not buy the lavender scented Kirkland brand eco laundry detergent from Costco. It has affected many, many folks in the same way (go read the reviews on the product on Costco.com if you’re struggling to take me seriously, you may have even had a similar experience, yourself). I don’t usually write about things like this but honestly, I’d feel awful if one of you or your kids came down with a similar, systemic rash. I’m utterly (and may very well be literally) scarred by the experience.

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: jewelry, studio, thinking aloud

Resistance of the heart against business as usual.

September 15, 2015 by The Noisy Plume

I’ve locked my keys in the truck twice in the past three days. It’s totally embarrassing. My brains are tired. I’ve been working so much. Every day I have this massive yearning to escape to the woods or a mountain top or the river — to lay down and just breathe a little and relax and not strain my eyes or feel my shoulders and neck tensing as I saw out ten thousand little bits and pieces of metal. I’m overwhelmed by the feeling as soon as I roll out of bed. But still I come to the studio to work. It’s not joyless work, not at all, but I am getting tired and ready for a break. And there is rest coming to me.

A friend told me to not work too hard. I replied, “It’s my hard work that gives value to my successes. I will work as hard as I can.”

Yesterday, while waiting for Robert to save me from being locked out of my truck, I was sitting in a pile of rocks at the post office and feeling so angry with myself for being such an idiot and wasting time that I couldn’t afford to waste — especially since as I was hopping out of the truck I thought to myself, “Do NOT lock your keys in the truck!” And then I did anyway.

I realized it didn’t do anyone any good for me to get all crusty and terrifying about my life situation. I could feel myself beginning to tornado. And just like that, I stopped it. I quit it, cold turkey. When Robbie arrived I think he expected me to be outwardly frustrated with myself and the planet and the chipmunks and the beautiful wind in the trees. Instead he found me pleasant and peaceful and simply OK with the mistake I had made and the time it had cost me.

I caught him off guard with my peace.

Sometimes all you have to do is choose the other thing.

I think it’s probably always as easy as simply choosing the other thing: love, peace, kindness, joy, forgiveness…

Just choose them.

Over and over again.

My friend sent me a small poster that says, “RESISTANCE of the heart against business as usual.” I look at it constantly as I work and am becoming my own little rebel unto myself, making the changes that need making, destroying old habits, learning new rhythms, and being ok. Just being ok.

It’s so beautiful on base right now. Quiet. Golden. We had the mess hall to ourselves last night. We cooked gorgeous ribeye steaks, roasted garden squash, chopped salsa, sipped gin & tonics, played Bob Dylan on the stereo and chit chatted about our plans for the winter. I love this time of year. We’re about to break away from it all and I’m ready to run free.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: doggone truck keys, jewelry, photography, thinking aloud

August 27, 2015 by The Noisy Plume

I was grabbing a coffee yesterday while in Twisp and wound up having a meaningful conversation about the Methow Valley, where it has come from, where it is headed to, and how forest fires play a roll in the going and coming of life here — and in all of the interior West, for that matter. Fires seem to be the way of the future.

This is the second year in a row that the Methow has burned and while the valley is home to a brilliant community of mountain folk, it is largely economically fueled by tourism. What will happen to this place when people stop coming because they think it’s no longer beautiful? What will happen in years to come when summer is literally burned out from under our feet and we are forced to spend August and September mopping up after loss of trees, homes, lives, crops, livestock? What will happen? How do we cope? How do we rebuild? What have we learned?

I looked out as the mountains were burning last week and I thought, “It’s a little worse for wear, but it’s still ruggedly beautiful. It will always be beautiful, bless it’s enduring, stony bones.”

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On base, Dan built a swing. It’s a beautiful swing that hangs low and strong from a pair of locust trees. Swinging on it is a kind of bliss built of a long, graceful glide that seems like it may never change direction and head back to where it started. I was swinging on it late last night, searching the sky for stars, hoping their light might pierce through the smoke, and as I watched the trees shift and move beneath the weight of my movement I thought, “They like this. The trees like this. They like to have a job.” I was guilty of downright romantic anthropomorphism in my suspended state — sweeping through thin air like the goddess of wind and stardust. But it’s true, you know. We’re just like the trees; counting the years in rings, spending the seasons, eventually ashes to ashes.

It was beautiful last night, swinging. It was the first time I’ve felt moving air on my face, wind in my hair, in days. I felt alive and clean.

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Yesterday, I missed a gathering for fire wives in the valley regarding dealing with stress levels and fear (I think that’s what it was about) because I was out fishing and because I didn’t know about it because no one told me about it. I wish I would have known about it.

Last night, when I found out about it, I told my friend, “Well, you know, I don’t really feel stressed. I feel sad right now. My lungs feel black because of this doggone smoke. But I’m not worried about Robert on the line. I trust that no news is good news. I know he’ll make good decisions out there and that he’ll take care of his brothers; that’s all I can ask him to do. In his absence, I simply have to live fully.”

I’m fishing most mornings, because I can, and because it’s a meditation (casting out over the water). It’s quiet. I do my thinking there, hip deep in a prolonged baptism. Each loop I throw out is a prayer, a forgiveness offered to myself for my own shortcomings, a hope for anger dissolved, gratitude for lessons learned, the stripping away of my fears. The river is the coolest, flowing-est, loveliest, most consistent thing in the valley and the fish give me something extra to tether my faith to.

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On September 5th I have a group exhibit opening at the Confluence Gallery in Twisp. I’m delighted. This is the first exhibit opening I have ever been able to attend (I’ve had to miss everything in the past) wherein my work is part of the show. You are all invited to attend.

Additionally, on September 19th and 20th, I am happy to announce that I will FINALLY be a part of the Methow Valley open studio tour. I’ve wanted to be a part of this tour for years now but have never had a studio space that could be easily accessed by the public until this year. I’ll be opening up my doors to the public, sharing my space, and naturally, I’ve been working on inventory for this event. I should mention that the Methow Valley is home to an astounding array of incredible artists and it’s an honor to stand shoulder to shoulder with some of them for this studio tour.

Both the studio tour and exhibit opening come at a wonderful time when your support and visit to the Methow will mean the world to the community here. Please feel free to attend, if you’re in the neighborhood, or not in the neighborhood! I speak for the entire Methow when I say we’d love to see your shining faces.

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2015/08/27/10470/

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: methow valley, photography, summer, thinking aloud, washington