Tuesday, March 19, 2019
It had snowed in early Spring, and a warm snap caused a cloak of mist to settle among the trees. I walked in the heavy air, so dense it made my breath sound like that of a stranger. I was grieving, and the stillness was a salve. Moving shapes emerged and I found myself among a herd of deer; they slipped around me on invisible legs, horns soft as wings against the swirling ether. I froze, I held my breath. They paid no mind to my presence. I wondered if we were ghosts.
about 23 hours ago
"Where Bluebirds Brood" An imagined wearable memory in three chapters, inspired by a photo found in a family album. Cuff bracelets. Sterling silver, enameled steel, bronze, rosecut pyrite, original poem and calligraphy. Electro-etched, lost wax cast, torch fired, hand fabricated. . . . . . .