Kelee: Alien and Robot Jewelry

I was once asked what inspires the jewelry that I make. I had no good answer. Now no one ever asks me, and I have an answer. Isn't that just the way it goes? People also never ask for advice about the few thing which I really feel qualified about giving advice. Which is why my New Years Resolution this year was to give out unsolicited advice. With that in mind, you should increase your intake of beans. They have lots of fiber, protein, vitamins, and taste fabby. But back to the jewelry.

When I first moved to Vermont, I was amazed at the number of people who claim to not have a tv. According to the official list of Stuff that White People Like, white people like not having a tv. And Vermont is very white. I agree that if you do it wrong, tv can be the most annoying thing on the planet. Luckily, I know how to do it right. TV on DVD. Watch Instantly. These are the tools necessary for successful tv-viewing. But back to the jewelry.

My husband is obsessed with science, nature, and animal documentaries. Obsessed. We watch them all of the time. My kids like cartoons. While I sleep through these two types of shows I get ideas like this:

I am a space archeologist. I am flying from galaxy to galaxy. Here is a planet that has had life on it the same amount of time that Earth has. I will visit and see how life played out here. How lucky. I landed right next to an alien archeological dig. Wow. That alien archeologist is offering to let me help with the dig. This excavation is exciting and successful. We have found many pieces of alien fossils and robot remains. After a long day of work, the alien is offering to take me to the local town to observe local lifeforms. This alien beer is delicious, calorie free, and healthy. Interesting, I hadn't noticed how handsome the alien archeologist is until now. And rich.

But back to the jewelry. I decided to make a line of jewelry based on this fantasy, er, inspirational artistic experience. I have been using a really nice Cone 6 white porcelain for a few years now, and I found these glazes that were perfect for this series. The alien fossil glaze is the weirdest mix of silver and green that I've ever seen. It's very earthy and organic and metallic and shiny all at once.

One robot remains glaze is a really beautiful rusted iron-looking blue and brown.

The other is oil-spotted black.

I am so happy with how these pieces turned out that I will definitely revisit this fantasy, er, inspiration before I move on.

What's that you say? Where can you get your own alien fossil or robot fossil necklace? I'm glad you asked. They are available at The Flying Disc in the beautiful historic downtown of Enosburg Falls, Artist In Residence also in the beautiful historic downtown of Enosburg Falls, and online at my etsy shop.

And in the interest of more unsolicited advice, be sure to stay hydrated.

Alison: Going home.

Raggedy Ann and Andy surrounded by my high school graduation photos, blue bear, my squeak toy gorp, a watercolor from college days, the first skirt I made for myself, books from my past.

Alison: There's No Place Like Home.

I am going back home next week, to southwestern Connecticut. I am homesick not for the place it is now, with its plethora of SUVs and its hamster wheel what’s-everyone-else-doing-that-I-must-be-doing mentality. I miss the world I saw when I was younger.

I miss crisp November days walking for miles through fields, along streams, to Old Mill Pond (on Elia Kazan’s property) or through bogs below the power lines being careful to step on mounds of grass, and avoid the mud, stopping to warming my chilled feet - wearing only thin black waders on below freezing days.

We lived in a 250 year old house back then. I’d come in from my long cold walk to a fire in the living room fireplace - one of three in the house - the Whiffenpoofs and the smell of a roast dinner in the oven.

My mom never did go to college. Instead, she worked in a record store in New Haven selling albums by Gershwin, Artie Shaw, Judy Garland - hoping to be swept off her feet by a Yalie, no doubt.

My parents had a wall of books tucked behind the sofa in the living room. I’d spend many days with my head in a book. My mom liked books about history, biographies, and the occasional book of cartoons. I learned about lust from a book by John Held, Jr. with his commentary on the flapper era with knobby kneed women and men in coonskin coats.

My mother could sew - and loved to. She made me pleated wool skirts, coats, jumpers... I remember a pink gingham shirtwaist dress with a full skirt and lace trim. I felt so pretty and grown up in that dress. There was a fabric store in Southbury, Conn. where I purchased my first incredibly beautiful fabric - Viyella, which is so soft and warm. It had small blue flowers on a cream background. I made an oversized shirt from a Vogue pattern. At the time the saleswoman questioned my need for such a high end fabric but my mom was adamant that I be allowed to create with whatever I wanted.

We lived in a creative home. Mom loved to draw, and we were never without paint, papier mache, play dough. My grandmother was a painter of still lifes and a stern critic of our paintings of the apple blossoms - our yard was full of old apple trees.

I miss the richness that was at my fingertips. The old house, stone walls, lots of climbing trees, weird metal parts buried in the old road that led to some back fields now overgrown with houses.

One warm summer day I sat in Murphy’s fields across the street painting a watercolor of the pastures and hills beyond when I looked up to see I was surrounded by an audience of cows, I never even heard coming. I sat up slowly, softly talking to them, all the while hoping I wouldn’t get crushed by an errant oversized hoof. The painting was ruined by one nastily critical bovine but after a while bored cows moved on.

I miss all that. I miss the tree houses with their flowered curtains; picking raspberries in summer, and cherries in spring. Climbing vines next to our overgrown field. It is in my bones. My childhood is still in my bones - it has shaped my perception of the world, a life entwined around fairy tales by the brothers Grimm. Old copies of Heidi and Little Women were my companions.

It was the romantic life in my mind mixed with the world my mom created for us that I miss so much. The scent of that life will haunt me when I return for just a few days next week.

Another Felted Bag

[Use your imagination to picture me putting the bag into the dryer at this point]

Surly Meets Pom-Pom

Although I'm well into my thirties, a home-owner (technically, I'm more of a mortgage-owner), a business owner, a mother of two, and have been out of my parents house almost as long as I was in it to start, I still don't feel like a grown up. For the most part I feel like a slightly-less surly teenager who is pretending to be a grown-up. Luckily, I'm not a teenager so I no longer believe that every moment of every day is the only moment that has ever and will ever exist. And I no longer write terrible poetry about my angst.

When I first started making hats, I was always happy to take special orders. “Sure, I'll make you a hat exactly like this one except for totally different. I'll be happy to.” Only I'd never actually make the hat. The truth is, I hate being told what to do. The business-owning adult in my head says this is a great way to make money. The surly teen in my gut says “Why can't they just buy one of the awesome hats that I've already made?” Or “If you want a hat that looks like that, you should make it your own damn self.”

I don't tell you this because I'm proud of it. I only tell you to set the stage as to what happened next. I was on a hat-making spree these past three weeks. I had a stack of yarn, and I decided to use it up making hats. I was on a roll. I made tons of them.
I was creating new designs, new styles, new stitches, and new combinations of yarn the likes of which hadn't before been seen. Then, out of the blue, the girlchild said to me, “This one needs a pom-pom.”

I would have told you that I'm not really the pom-pom kind of handicrafter, but it seems that the one thing that can overcome the surly teen is the chance at wowing the girlchild.

So like generations of mothers and daughters since the beginning of yarn, we got our yarn, needles, and vanilla chais and gathered around youtube to learn to pom-pom. Only it turns out you don't need a needle. And the girl was right. The pom-pom rules.

GOAT-TEE

Up the road a piece is a goat farm. Attached is a store: Boston Post Dairy Country Store. They sell all things made from goats: most excellent chocolate cookies made with chevre, goat cheeses, soaps, as well as delicious crackers, breads, and so many more goodies. The goats are pregnant right now, and soon cute little babies will be here for cuddling.

In honor of these beautiful creatures, I thought I'd make some bags with goats silkscreened on the front and see if the store would like to carry them. (I hope they will!)

I took pictures of the goats (and the barn cat, of course) and sketched from the photos till I came up with a reasonable facsimile of a goat. I scanned it into the computer

Reversed it so the goat would be looking at you from the lower right hand corner of the bag. Then called for someone to take over from here. (help?)

I’ve always wanted to try my hand at silkscreening. Luckily, I was put in touch with Kathy Boumil of Cownty Screen Printing in Swanton (868-6146). I came by on a Saturday so I could watch her work.

She walked me through the process from making an acetate print of my sketch to the finished panels for the front of the bags. It was so exciting to learn a new technique - more than seeing the actual result of my sketch.

I LOVE the behind-the-scenes part of making art. And Cathy was wonderful for letting me do the work with her. She’s just starting up her own business and I’m so glad to have met her.

After all the panels were done, she silkscreened a goat on the back of a t-shirt. Cool, huh?

(Next idea... a mouse bag...)