March: Free art, books, road music, crystal (base)ball, more…

March. Weird, windy, wonky, watery, winter advisory.

Murder mystery instrument. He was hoist on his own bill spike petard. Ouch…

Well, my laptop went kablooey. Got a new one. This is a long story but it will not be told here, or anywhere, because it’s dumb, boring, and old. I hope that’s not a description of me, and I don’t think it is since you very good and loyal readers spike metrically (sounds painful) every time this blog comes out. Meaning, at least you open it and read some of it, often most of it. I thank you, metric spikers. Makes me think of those dangerous-looking things office people used to impale bills and receipts on. Maybe each other. They went the way of eye-shades and sleeve garters.

 Back to March. Wonky is covered with computer crash. Most of us know that awfulness. Windy is a given, but climate troubles may make that worse. 60 mph a couple of nights ago. Since that Punxsutawney weasel, Phil, saw his shadow in February and sentenced us to more crappy weather, we got it.  Thanks, Phil. More winter advisories right on up to spring. Wind, rain, snow, change clocks, blizzard forecast.

If it’s MOMA wall art you don’t need to change it, especially in Hawaii…hard to read, anyway.

 And that change of clocks, boy do I have plenty to say about that. I think we’ve been doing this clock thing since I was a kid, but why?  Health experts (maybe even RFK Jr.? God only knows) tell us that it’s bad, and stats say deaths happen because of it, and congresspeople do nothing about it. Just change back to time time is all I ask. Arizona and Hawaii said to hell with it and don’t change any clocks anymore. I’m all for that. Seems weird not to make it all one deal, just saying. Maybe DOGE “efficiency experts” can do something? Nah. They’re already a bureaucracy siphoning off funds to who knows where. Sigh. Well this is getting us nowhere.

Next item please. (It’s much more pleasant.)

Free art.

 That butterfly with the retro-gents? Free as a bird. And thousands more freebies. You can use them to emphasize your next Ted Talk, or Harvard classroom lecture, or congressional hearing when they ask for your opinion on how they’re doing. Book covers, story prompts, package design, note cards, or just browse through the stacks for inspiration, amusement, education—it’s a trove and it’s ours. Here are four links:

The Met. Colossal. Public Domain Review. NY Public Library.

What I’m reading, and what I think of it.

 I alternate between several books at once; maybe it’s a matter of poor attention span, I don’t know, but it works for me. Among others, I am now reading (and each bold title is an Amazon link), Didion & Babitz, by Lili Anolik, Cabin by Patrick Hutchison, and Why We Love Baseball by sportswriter Joe Posnanski.

Anolik’s Didion & Babitz first: Anolik is clearly besotted with Eve Babitz and not with Joan Didion, and that’s a problem. BIG problem with me, as Didion’s writing is compelling magic, and Babitz’s is…well, not. I read one of Babitz’s books a couple of years ago and that was plenty; it was kind of TMZ gossipy and Chateau Marmont-y “in.”

I even use a Vanity Fair bookmark to commemorate yet another Babitz book by Anolik…she looooves her some Babitz.

Anolik, herself, is a contributing editor for Vanity Fair and has written for Paris Review, Harpers and Esquire. She also created the podcast Once Upon a Time at Bennington College, which I intend to tune in on, if only for word of Bob Shacochis, the masterful author of The Woman Who Lost Her Soul and Easy in the Islands, two books well worth reading. Classics.

Anyway, Anolik seems to want to “expose” Didion and carve an epitaph of greatness into Babitz’s headstone. Fine. To each their own. And I’m only 80 pages into her book. Somewhere along the way Eve and Joan had a falling out, and I can guess why. Not crazy about this one, got to admit.

Cabin is a lively, DIY revelatory diary of faking and making a home in the woods. As Hutchison himself says, of his lack of purpose, “My long term plans ended at knowing when the leftover Chinese food would go bad.” So he bought a “cabin” on Craigslist. Of course. This book is fun, well-written and a balm to the craziness of the “real” world. (Subtitle: Off-the-grid Adventures with a Clueless Craftsman)

Why We Love Baseball, A History in 50 Moments is a keeper, a reference book and one to be taken from the shelf, opened at random and re-read when spring training arrives. That’s how I’m reading it now, randomly. Legends pop up. Casey to Kiner (a boyhood hero when I was a kid in Tulsa) to George Brett’s pine tar melee.

I recall a sunny spring day in K.C. when I, brash 17-year-old, tried out for Folger’s (Coffee) team at a field not far from my home. It came to nothing, quickly, and I walked home, baseball spikes shoelace-tied over my shoulder, contemplating the summer jobs I might apply for. That was in 1956. Haven’t seen those shoes since. Or my Ralph Kiner glove.

Waterford crystal. Fitting reminder of when the Kansas City boys of summer played hardball.

And I recall the summer of 2015 when Freddie and I watched the Kansas City Royals edge closer to greatness. Then The World Series. What a magical time. Eric Hosmer’s game-tying steal to home. Indescribable.

Freddie was so enthralled she wanted a token, an amulet memento, something that would enshrine the feeling properly; she found us a Waterford crystal baseball inscribed with the time, the accomplishment.

It catches my eye now and pours sun colors from that summer and that day at me. I pick it up and It reminds me, again, why we love baseball.

 

And, as is sometimes the custom, I’ll leave you with music.

Two new Joe Ely songs, one is “Odds of the Blues” with him and The Boss chiming in. And another, “Driven to Drive” sung by Joe and Donald Elwood Dykes. Nice! Pretty good visuals, too—hope you enjoy ‘em. Go to the No Depression music review link and catch both of them. Here’s the link. (Thanks, No Depression!)

And this: “The road goes on forever, and the party never ends.” Robert Earl Keen wrote that song, Joe Ely sang it circa 1992 and I love it. Old favorite, look it up sometime.

 And thank you. If you think someone you know might like this blog, send it to them. https://www.wisesculpture.com/blog/

Best March ever to us all. Gman xoxxx

What we heart about February: Super Bowl, Valentines, Hiroki’s 356, Halfpipe on Lake Tahoe, Library Month, The Good Immigrants, The KC donut man, more…

“A man after my own heart”—what does it mean?

 Usually it means that someone (the subject in this case is Hiroki Nakamura) is in compliance with my intent, my will, my inclination. My heart. In other words, I “get” this guy, I really do (link).That beat up old 1960 Porsche, by the way, is a 356 and I had one a lifetime ago. Slate grey. What a machine. My heart beats a little faster when I see one. I swear that’s not a tear; I got something in my eye is all.

I love me some old cars and bikes, would like to have some of them back, like that jazzy el camino with the loud pipes…

 And that motorcycle he’s fooling with, same story. That model of Harley—I had some old soul scooters, too. An old 40’s knucklehead, and a somewhat newer 60’s panhead. Ungainly big hog but once you got the center of gravity synched with your own weight, my gosh, it was power and torque that made any trip an adventure, whether to pick up a loaf of bread, or get totally lost for a week in Blue Highway country.

 My panhead beast was a sixties police bike (precinct five in Milwaukee had an auction and I won. Or lost, depending on your point of view. The mains were fried and the motor had to be totally rebuilt) with a tank shift, and it sounded like Nakamura’s when it finally ran again.

 Friends and I modified it beyond any semblance of safety and accepted engineering practices of the day. I sold it to The Outlaws MC, Milwaukee chapter, being a man after their own hearts, I guess, because they seemed to approve of the customizing and paid cash in $100 bills. I never saw it or them again, though I’ve owned Harleys before and since.

 Anyway, enjoy the short (3 min, 30 sec) video—it’s kind of a classic, whatever the vehicles in your past. (Here’s that link, again.) Thanks, Hiroki. You pushed some heart buttons with this one.

 

  A thousand footprints in the sand

 That’s from a song I first heard in 1982 by Tejano singer Freddy Fender titled Across the Borderline. It’s a haunting collaborative writing effort by Ry Cooder, John Hiatt and Jim Dickinson and it could well be the anthem of immigration.

 While searching the various covers of it, I came across this comment by one who crossed that borderline:

 “I was in the US in 2010, illegal by the way, and while listening to this song, I could not believe that a gringo would have written this song. I do not use the word to offend, just to show how the artist was able to understand what so many people go through when you leave all your history in order to find a better life.”

 I thought about that. It must be terrifying. And it takes grit. For many of us, our hearts align with immigrants whose values we share, and to the border patrols who face the ones whose values are nil. No easy answers here, but the big sweep will deprive us of people we would welcome, and who would become useful, pay-their-own-way citizens.

 I have to say few have approached Fender’s quiet fervor in performing this anthem, in my opinion, but I’ve chosen some versions that I like. I left out a few famous singers, who I felt phoned it in—I won’t name them but you’ll encounter them should you do your own search. Gaby Moreno, being hispanic, does it with honors and a beautiful voice. I’d love to hear her friend, Calexico’s Joey Burns, do the whole thing—he seems to respect it.  

 Here are the versions, and each is a youtube link to a performance. Do Freddy Fender, if you do no others. 

Freddy Fender

Calexico

Gaby Moreno, Jackson Browne

Ensemble Ibericus

 

  Why? Because it was(n’t) there

 Somebody (my early opinion, only) has too much time and money. They built a skateboard platform that floats (link). Why? It’s an expensive way to get noticed or find that elusive virality. Or it may be a clever promo for the builder,

Proprietor Hana’s Donuts, Kansas City, KS, looking wistfully at the front door where zero customers are entering, thinking “What can I do to move some really good donuts today?”

On the other side of this rare coin is the KC doughnut shop that lacked business, so he did a quick phone video that went crazy (link) and brought him a lot of subscribers and plenty of sales. Sweet. (here’s his facebook page) Of the two, I find the doughnut guy the clear winner here. He spent next to zero, a little pathos and inventiveness, and got vital (and viral) notice for his business and lasting impact that saved the day and will bring him repeat customers.

 The floater; had they built, say, a sauna, that wood woulda coulda been put to some lasting use. They could have made some beautiful furniture—they are obviously talented shapers and builders. As it is, this floating deal will require maintenance to keep it from warping and acquiring barnacles. A boat house in winter? It does get cold in the Sierras. Does Tahoe freeze? A way to get it out of the water. Etc. An owner’s nightmare.

 I applaud their skill and resourcefulness though; they built this beauty in four days! (here’s their website) And why? may be the wrong question. It’s a beauty. The ChrisCraft of halfpipes!

 

And that’s about it for this one.

There was to be a Super Bowl segment, something about the entertainment not getting paid for halftime (is that true?) but the whole subject of what goes on either side of halftime just makes me nervous so I’m skipping that. And what can I say about Library Month except take a librarian to lunch, and check out some books. Pay your overdue book bill. I know this guy who checked out a Robert Frost record about 60 years ago and never returned it. It was pretty worn out anyway. I wonder what that guy might have to pay if he returned said record today. I’ve said too much already. Oh, and that cookie in the first article? I ate it. But what it says is what I say to all of you. And happy February. Remember the significant other on Valentine’s Day. Gagosian has some gift ideas for rich folks. But Punxutawney Phil says we’re stuck with six more weeks of Bill Murray movies. XOXO, Gman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE FIRES. Special edition.

A special edition, unfortunately.

We know now that apocalypse doesn’t happen worldwide all at once; it happens in places it shouldn’t, almost randomly, with no regard for anything in its way. A fireman in Los Angeles said, wearily, to reporters, “It kicked our butts.” Not what you want to hear from the last bastion before death and certain destruction.

 It’s ugly out there.

 Looters are circulating in areas where buildings still stand. They are part of the wreckage, a foul part of the overall horror.

 Lists are circulating too; names and links to aid and help evacuees. Of course the internet is a world like ours; full of BS and downright savage profiteering. So the list that follows will be small. That doesn’t mean there aren’t many, many solid, caring organizations ready and willing to help. But vet them through Charity Navigator, make sure they will help.

 The Salvation Army, known to be first in, last to leave stricken areas is a safe bet for helping; the major part of your gift goes into helping victims. And A.S.P.C.A. will help reunite pets who made it out alive with family.

 And this; your employer may match funds, effectively doubling your gifts.

 I contacted a gallery-owner in Santa Monica, the only gallery that still represents me, and she has opened her home to some evacuees who needed a place to collect their wits and rest a bit. I hope there are a hundred thousand like her out there. That’s a rough count (so far) of newly homeless. A growing list, unfortunately.

 1. Los Angeles Salvation Army Earmark funds for fire victims.

 2. Los Angeles ASPCA The CEO makes a million bucks a year, (I checked) but the organization itself has a high rating in Charity Navigator, so he probably earns it. Again, earmark funds for fire victims.

 3. Another outfit helping is The Humane Society of L.A. Here’s a link showing what one of their arms is doing or has done.

 Thank you.  Stay safe. And warm. (blizzard conditions here in the midwest).

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Kelce Boys’ Cereal Box (It Ain’t Wheaties), Photography Books, Music, Indigenous Chuck Taylors, The Diplomat, more…

The Diplomat will return (Netflix)

Kate Wyler (Kerri Russell) huffs and puffs rudely around London as though she was the PM, the President and the very axis upon which the earth rotates—all while sporting flyaway hair and unkempt pant-suits, and, possibly, deficient overall personal hygiene. She’s kind of a mess. She looks like she tried to get dressed while baling hay. Not at all the polished foreign service operative/ambassador/diplomat/tactician she’s purported to be, yet, oddly, I am content to allow her harridan act to cover for a heart of gold and a razor sharp mind, even though this belief doesn’t pan out much. At first. (Trailer link)

Kate, on the go. She expends more energy going from room to room than she does diplomatting…

She was pulled from a mideast posting in Kabul (where women huffing and puffing get less done than anywhere, but signs of progress are popping up protesting that patriarchal system) and dumped into a hotbed of conspiracy surrounding the possible Iranian (or was it Russian? Or was it home-brewed? Or even us, for crying out loud) attack on a Brit vessel that killed 42 sailors. This is where it gets edge of seatness. And that just grows. No spoilers; it’s worth your time.

I should mention here that Hal Wyler (suavely played by Rufus Sewell), an ex-ambassador and Kate’s husband, is now confined to ambassador’s wife status, but as a master fixer and strategic chessmaster with global tentacles, he’s very much in the game. They actually come to blows over it in a woodsy setting, where her alarmed bodyguards watch through binoculars; it is decided that she is winning and they won’t interfere.

After this epic dustup, she appears before royalty with leaves in her hair. They seem to be getting used to her bedraggledness, so hardly an eyebrow is lifted, but looks are exchanged in her own camp. That group contains actors Rory Kinnear, Alo Essandoh, and Ali Ahn with great performances, and David Gyasi weighs in, handsomely, throughout as Foreign Secretary. For a full listing of actors with pictures, here’s that link.

The women in this thing range from iron-strong to behind the scenes string-pulling devious, and those of us who enjoyed West Wing will welcome Allison Janney as VP Grace Penn in the final crisis episode.

The rest of the casting is also top notch, displaying acting that runs from nuanced to comedic and is thoroughly enjoyable, and the twists and turns are unexpected and, at times, devastating. The ending is as jolting as, say, Kate glammed out in a red, train-dripping evening gown in Paris, which does happen. But wait until the last moments of the final episode—yikes!

I was well entertained by every episode and was sorry to see the last. It could certainly stand another year’s worth. Who knows—popular demand may—wait! I just found out season 3 is now filming! Good news for a smart, crackling series. Meanwhile, Keep Calm, Kate will be back to Kerri on. As will West Wing’s Allison Janney and a host of policymakers and shakers.  

The Kelce Mix Needs Work

Serially successful, cereaiiy lacking…

Travis and Jason seem to be everywhere these days (look to your immediate left at the top of the list for their entertaining podcast) and Jason’s wife knocked out Joe Rogan for Number One, recently. Some of that stardust, it could be argued, comes via Travis’s girlfriend, but that’s on top of it all; the Kelces are serially talented performers all on their own. Jason retired from the Eagles and has been popping up doing some NFL color reporting, while his wife, Kylie just bumped Joe Rogan out of the Number One Podcast position with her own debut, “Not Gonna Lie.” And, of course, Travis has been helping the KC Chiefs win-by-a-hairsbreadth last few seconds of game after game. After game. Cereally, though, I have to say, the boys need work. I tried their “Sweetened wheat oat & corn cereal with marshmallow” (Reese’s Puffs, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and Lucky Charms) and went Ptooey. Contains notes of sugar, peanut butter and bioengineered color marshmallows with sugar. Did I say sugar? Contains, um, added sugar. Hey, every great athlete should have their own cereal box, but just put Wheaties in it.

Indigenous Hi-tops by Freddie

Freddie’s grandmother was full Cherokee and beading was a tribal art…she didn’t learn it as a child, but discovered her talent for it in adulthood.

 Featured in the last blog for her silversmithing and print production, here she is again; she just did a ZOOM class on beading for groups of people in Chicago, New York and Kansas City through the workplace ERG (Employers Resource Group). I’ve seen her beadwork for years and it occurred to me, hey, I bet the folks who read The View From Wise Acres would like to see some of this. I dug out some Chuck Taylors and gloves she did that I especially liked and here they are. I think the Chucks are in a class all their own and would quite possibly be a sustainable business. Yo, Converse, you reading this? How many you want? What sizes?

For the photographic mindset

I’m recommending two photography books I recently acquired, and think they have a broad appeal to anyone interested in history, and, of course, the discipline of photography itself. Robert Frank’s Trolley—New Orleans is a companion book to his iconic The Americans (introduction by Jack Kerouac), one of the most important photo books of all time, and one, I’m happy to report, that has been recently reprinted in its original form. I’ve been lusting after the original 1950s version, no matter how tattered, on Ebay and Biblio, but it’s a bit out of reach. I will buy the reprint. Both are searing records of something many of us would rather gloss over; they force us to regard racism as it was in the 50s and 60’s. I am jolted anew by these powerful photos.

Photographers A—Z is a compact doorstop of a book, 640 pages of examples of every photographer you’ve ever heard of and many whose work you may not have encountered. A Taschen book, it’s beautifully produced, and a volume to pick up and browse through, over years of ownership. For pleasure, for research, for eye-opening marveling at the creativity on each page, this book was made to open time and time again.

That’s it. I’m done. With this, and with 2024.

No philosophizing. No damn resolutions. Oh, wishes for happy, merry, that sort of thing for all of you. No strings, like in every email that says “Spread joy, buy this” etc. etc. I will now take leave (hear bells in the distance? neither do I, wait maybe I do) of the whole year and odd plane of existence with some music. This is Billy Strings and a guy named Nelson doing “California Sober,” and I hope you enjoy it. See you in 2025, right? xoxx Gman

What the village (silver) smithy is up to, books, cameras, a long lost hard hat reappears, and other stuff…

Gus the striper, this hat, and I go way back. To Butch days.

This hard hat saved me many a headache from Oklahoma to Minnesota to Texas and back to Nebraska. And Gus gave it some style...

The friendship was instant; we were both aspiring artists, and both hot rodders and custom car enthusiasts. Gus, Bob Gustafson, was already well-known to Omaha car culture for his striping expertise. I was working in Ashland, Nebraska, near Omaha, on a bridge for Massman Construction and we had friends in common. We were on our way to an Omaha bar for a beer or two, and Gus saw a hard hat in the back seat of my car. He picked it up and brought it into the bar, along with a striping kit he had with him. Gus striped everything.

This I.D. button was inside on the hatband. It's an antique now. Me too. If the hard hat fits, wear it...

While we BS’d and sipped cold ones, he decorated my hard hat. I was still going by “Butch” back then. It was a name given me as a child due to the low-maintenance haircut I preferred. Anyway, I thought this hat was long gone but just found it in a box moved by furnace repairmen. Funny how objects can whirl you back in time. It was a hard-partying summer and a time of big decisions. Go back to school, or take them up on a foreman position? Construction is hard work. But the foremen I’ve seen, they just walk around and tell people what to do. I must admit that had its appeal. And people would always need bridges. But art?

Hat-wise, however, I opted for the fedora of the Mad Men era, and a Borsalino at that, once the paychecks got a bit larger. But, Gus, if you’re looking down, had I gone the other route, I’d have worn your striping proudly on jobs from Taiwan to Tucumcari. The much dented and scuffed hard hat will always remind me of you from a prominent spot in my office. R.I.P. sir.

Converting a Nikon to pure infrared was not a snap decision.

The Nikon J5 is a small but powerful ebay find and I'm itching to discover what it'll do as an infrared conversion...

I wouldn’t do it to my Canon T7, which I’m slowly learning as my go-to camera, but I did try some IR filters without much success. I researched various infrared methods and watched a few hours of turorial advice (all good, by the way—most of the camera advice I encountered online was serious and helpful) and set out to find my perfect IR point-and-shoot. I had narrowed my search to a Nikon J5, the last of a series of small cameras they made, then discontinued.

 I won’t go into all the good stuff packed into this aptly nicknamed pocket rocket—the info is easy to find if you’re interested. On ebay I found one in Japan, camera body only, near mint, and priced well within my range. Then I sent it to Kolarivision for its IR conversion, specifying infrared on the 720mm scale, which will allow some color in the sky and foliage. I’m waiting, bated breath, for the Nikon like I used to wait for a cereal top Lone Ranger secret compartment ring from Battle Creek, Michigan. The conversion takes three weeks and it costs more than the camera did. Meantime I bought a used Nikkor wide angle lens, an extra charger and a 140 page J5 user’s manual I found on ebay.

For an explanation of what IR photography is all about, here’s a pretty good link.

I read one of these twice just to see if it said what I thought it said. It did.

Twice-read first; In Plain Sight is one of the more definitively researched books on UFOs, now UAPs, and it begins to explain just why the military/intel community has cast the vast (more vast than ever) majority of those who see things in the sky as tinfoil hat-wearers, even threatening them, illegally. Ross Coulthart’s book (link) is not wild conjecture but based on fact and improved radar surveillance and more testimony from police, physicists, Navy pilots and commercial airline employees, plus FAA reports and military whistleblowers. A rarely bipartisan Congress is even fed up with the BS mil-feed and has enacted (2023) a law targeting the situation. Hang on to your hats folks, even if they’re tinfoil. (I’m keeping my hard hat handy)

 Willy Vlautin’s The Horse, shouldn’t be confused with Horse, the Pulitzer winner by Geraldine Brooks. Vlautin’s books have never given me a feelgood afterglow, but he sure can write. Joe Hell says we need him like we needed Johnny Cash. Jess Walter called The Horse “the literary equivalent of a classic album by Tom Waits or Townes Van Zandt.” Fair enough. Warning: It’s a heartbreaker, but, again, he sure can write. Essays One, by Lydia Davis, is 500+ pages of erudite precision and essays on artists, writing and writers that is, to me, oddly absorbing; I bought it to help me explore the intricacies of true essays, but it’s making me forget that, it’s so well done. Davis’s Collected Short Stories caused Rick Moody to call her “The best prose stylist in America.” Just sayin’, I don’t think I’m wasting my time with any of these.

This silversmith/jeweller is a multifaceted gem.

On her way to work in Chiefs gear in case she got tangled up in the parade last year.

She holds down a full time, very time-consuming job as Print Production Manager of a rather large global company, overseeing print production, color management, press runs, and much more beginning with the job’s onset and following through to delivery deadlines. This can involve client brochures, company items, banners, posters, books, all manner of swag and wearables, pop-ups, mailings, boxes, custom one-of-a-kind items and a big etcetera. She’s done this since I’ve known her and was a legend in the advertising community for it even then. How long? Years. Before we got married thirty-five years ago.

Twenty or so years ago, Freddie took up silversmithing in her “spare time,” and her devotion to detail and precision, plus an artist’s mind and eye, have served her and her customers well in this profession—I won’t trivialize it by calling it a hobby. She often spends a few hours each weekend learning from award-winning silversmith Genevieve Flynn, who holds classes on all facets of the profession, from casting, repousse, mounting, joining and more. Silversmithery is a precise art and the learning curve is forever. It makes sense she would gravitate to such a challenge. I’m so freaking proud of her and that’s an understatement. She makes astonishing museum quality jewelry and art pieces using copper, gold, silver, precious and semi-precious stones, and has taken courses with Thomas Mann and other renowned designers, like Ms. Flynn, who is right here in KC, and who often flies other luminaries in for week-long workshops at her studio. Freddie attends all of those she can.

She's wearing a silver pueblo pin, one of her first works. Photo by daughter Rhonda, at an ice cream stop a couple of weeks ago.

Above is a screenshot of some random pieces I have pix of; that large one on the left is a work in progress, silver with matte finish, about six inches long,with catalin and silver “framed” in the bottom. This is to be a necklace and will have gold “wires” extending from the three tubes with rounded bead ends so it won’t catch on a sweater. I’m excited to see this in finished form.

The (wedding) ring, at bottom, is cast white gold, diamonds, with a stone supplied by the person who commissioned it. Bracelet above it is silver, diamonds, gold beads, also a commission job. Far right is a necklace/bracelet combo.

Above middle is a bracelet, silver, blued somehow, irish motif. These are just a few of many more and it makes me realize we need a record of all the pieces in one place so people can see and appreciate the range of design and materials. (I’ll get her to do that in her spare time)

 

I’ll leave you with Ry Cooder, “Prodigal Son.”

I was looking for Paris, Texas, an old favorite of mine, and came across this which is a bit more bouncy and nice weekend listening. I hope you enjoy it. Here’s the link. Happy Fall. xxo G