Back to My Roots

I come from a family of artists—my mom and her sister had a textile business in NYC in the 80s; my dad spent 10 years with the National Gallery; and both of my grandparents on my mom’s side were full-time painters. 

My mom earned her income as an artist when I was growing up, and our house always had a good stash of supplies. We weren’t allowed to watch TV on weeknights, so I drew and made dioramas and accessories for my model horses instead. I loved things in miniature, and I remember sculpting tiny high heels and bowls of spaghetti and meatballs out of clay for fun.

A few months ago I took a jewelry making class at our local arts center. We spent the afternoon shaping, hammering, and polishing silver rings. I left with my heart and head in the clouds, filled up with joy and the feeling of being myself. What an amazing thing! There had been no ring that morning, and then there was a faceted, glinting, delicate object on my finger and it was absolutely beautiful.

I have this lifelong fascination with creation. It’s the thread that binds art, farming, and Spirit for me. I want to live out that fascination, so I spent my paycheck on a small kit of silversmithing tools and have been hammering away into the evening after dinner. I practice being a beginner, I forgive myself for chipped stones and imperfect designs, and I make for the sake of making.

It’s good to be home.

An Annual Prayer

This is my meditation and my prayer:
The light, the soil crumble, the birdsong,
The patting and the smoothing and the tamping,
The pinching and dropping of one tiny seed at a time,
The finished trays row by row,
The glorious stench of spring!

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