Finding my Feet

When around my horses I often say "find your feet." When Cholula first came to me she was a gigantic yearling that didn't really understand how to balance on 3 feet. In order to teach her proper etiquette (as in, the human cannot hold you up as they are picking the dirt and rocks out of your foot) I began telling her to find her feet before I reached down to hold one of hers off of the ground.

A handful of years later, both of my horses still get reminders. When out trail riding, Cho gets ahead of herself and trips. She awkwardly swings her huge body back and forth in attempts to navigate down hills (coordination is hard when you weigh 1500 pounds, ok?). In his excitement, Zeus forgets that the ground changes and the next step may be on gravel, not soft grass.

So I tell them, "find your feet," and I imagine they take a piece of a second to pause, gather themselves, and continue on, better than before.

I am slowly, steadily finding my feet.

Because you see, if I told you jewelry was my passion and my first love I'd be lying. I'm passionate about jewelry, but it does not drive me like other forms of art. Even so, I'm happy to be in a place where I can explore this further. I've never had that kind of time because photography, video, sculpture, installation...they all took precedence.

My craftsmanship improves all of the time.

Every batch of pieces I'm more excited about. I feel like every single piece I make is an improvement. I'm only in my 7th month of doing this after nearly 3 years of not (perhaps that is what I should title the limbo after college...The 3 Years of Not).

I'm finding my little spot in the world of metal and stone. I'm feeling my way through it all, seeing what sticks and what fades.

Find your feet.

Cholula, Spring 2004 (2 years old)