An Origin and an Ending

On February 12th, 2019 at 6:41 in the morning, I experienced the greatest origin there is - the arrival of our daughter after 26 long hours of unmedicated labor. Life changed in an instant with the birth of our baby and my subsequent birth as a mother. Our girl has already taught me everything and then some about being in the moment, letting go of control, cultivating gratitude, and amplifying love.

I'd been contemplating for some time - years really - how and when to write the final entry for this blog. I want to keep writing, tried to start again here, but never quite found my momentum. Life has moved forward. I have a new home now, a new partner, a new family. I'm a new person. Only right that I'd have a new space in which to share.

And with new beginnings there are endings. The news of Cyclone Idai last week, and the subsequent devastation of Mozambique's central region (as well as Zimbabwe and Malawi) has my mind and heart back in Africa. It's surreal to see the places I lived and worked in when I started this blog back in 2005 completely underwater, decimated, the future precarious and uncertain.

Photo credit: Denis Onyodi/IFRC/HANDOUT/EPA-EFE/REX/Shutterstock

Here is a link to donate to relief efforts - I personally know the country director for Save the Children Mozambique and, despite all my NGO cynicism documented in this blog, this is the best way I know to help at the moment - cash aid, in the hands of a team I know is "real".

May these waters recede and somehow there be a thousand miracles.

If you'd like to stay in touch, you can find me at www.aliambrosio.com - a space that is still very much a work in progress. I will be starting a blog over there, and updating the content regularly.

Much love and my most sincere thank you for following me here over the past fourteen years. Here's looking forward to the next chapter, the next routes, the next adventures.

xx,
Ali

The Quiet Moments

I a home in California after nearly a month traveling. My itinerary included New Mexico (Valencia County and Albuquerque), Texas (Houston and Austin), and Mexico (Playa del Carmen and Tulum). The trip was filled with moments of excitement and energy, but also lots of quiet time. I so appreciate my solo reflective time while on the road. It's what gives me perspective on my life "at home" and allows me to reconnect with my internal North. Here are some visual captures of some of those contemplative moments:

While on the road I turned 35. This blazing sunset was taken on the eve of my last day being 34. I was in the parking lot of Bodyshock Fitness, a gym in Los Lunas I discovered on this trip that was my salvation while in New Mexico. After a particularly hard workout, I was rewarded with this fiery sky. I thought about the past year and all the change it has brought for me, the wild ride my heart and body have endured, and what I want from the next cycle - be it a day, a year, or a decade.

This snapshot was taken at sunrise on my 35th birthday, taken from the ditch road that runs behind my dad's house. I was feeling very proud of myself, as I'd managed to go to a 5:30am body combat class to start my day off right, an intense bout of movement before getting on a plane and heading to Houston later that day. I could hear the soft sound of water flowing through the irrigation ditch some doves cooing in the distance. I kept my ears and eyes alert for signs of sandhill cranes (they migrate to New Mexico every fall, often arriving on the day of my birthday) but didn't hear/see any although I knew they were out there somewhere.

As part of the Texas leg of my trip, I decided to drive to Austin for a night and experience the last place I called home prior to moving to Mozambique. I haven't been back since I left in 2005. I decided to visit the Umlauf Sculpture Garden and journal for a bit amid the greenery and bronze figures. It was hot and humid, but the scenery was so perfect for reflection that I found a bench in the shade and wrote for about an hour, trying to ignore the sweat dripping down my legs. What a strange experience to revisit Austin after 11.5 years. So much has happened in that time, yet in many ways it feels I'm back in the same psychological place I was in when I left Texas and headed to Africa. The end of one major chapter and the start of another, tumultuous at times but full of promise and adventure.

In the Mexico leg of my trip, I enjoyed reflective time while swimming in cenotes (freshwater swimming holes that dot the Yucatan Peninsula and were considered sacred by the Mayans). This one pictured here is Cenote Azul. The water was clear and refreshing, and the jungle scenery all around made it feel like the garden of Eden. Swimming here felt like hitting the reset button on my life, which may be a bit dramatic but it really did seem that way in the moment.

Finally here is a moment from the women's wellness retreat that brought me to Tulum. We did a clay treatment and then went into the ocean to wash it off. I am the person on the far right. This was the start to me swimming far out into the water, what I wrote about in my previous post. I felt very calm here, at ease with myself and my surroundings.

My hope is that I can carry these feelings from my trip into my California life, especially as I gear up for the busy holiday season with my jewelry work, and continue to navigate the up's and down's of my personal life transition. Starting my day today with blogging was a good way to reconnect and reflect, for sure.

Tulum Reflections

Today I swam into the ocean, going further out than I ever have before. I used to be afraid of the water, afraid of the waves, afraid of being at the mercy of a force so much greater than my own strength. Previously I refused to get in the deep water unless I had a companion to cling to. But today I was at ease. The water was warm and clear, and I let myself drift out beyond the breakers. I made sure to periodically check if I was being dragged further out to sea or if there was a lateral riptide, using a large rock outcropping and the distant view of our beachfront hotel as landmarks. To my relief I seemed to have found a spot without a strong current and I stayed more or less stationary. I felt calm, treading water and occasionally submerging my head under the swells. With each dive I would invent a mantra: This is for letting go of the past. This is for embracing the future. This is for being in the present moment. This is for all the loss I have endured. This is for all the love that is yet to come.

I am in Tulum, Mexico right now. I came here with a group of women that I know from Hipline, the dance studio I go to in Oakland. We are on a wellness retreat that involves dancing and strength training and journaling and relaxing. I have been on the road for about three weeks already, and this comes as a welcome opportunity to slow down and reconnect with myself. I am grateful that the format of this retreat is opt-in/opt-out, that each participant is invited to do exactly that which feels right at the moment, nothing more and nothing less. Letting go of the should's of life and instead seeking out what we want, what we need. I have been opting out a lot, foregoing dance class in favor of solitary beach walks. Relaxing in the hammock. Reading Solo Africa, an account of a filmmaker's journey across the Sahara, Sahel and Congo in the late 1980's. Observing the ocean. Drinking mezcal cocktails. Reflecting on the past three weeks I have been traveling, on this year of transition, on my life of habitually moving from one place to another.

I feel compelled to travel, if for no other reason than it brings out my very best self. The person that is aware that moments are fleeting and change is the only constant. The person that is up for spontaneous adventures and road trips and solo yolo salsa dancing under the stars. The person that says yes to what feels right and is unafraid to take risks. The person that had no regrets. The person that cliff jumps and goes skinny dipping and takes long-distance buses and makes friends in an instant over a shared smile and a familiar song.

I don't want to veer away from this path. I don't want to sacrifice this feeling of freedom and endless possibility. I am aware it is a privilege to be able to travel and be self-employed. I hope to do it justice. I hope to move forward with courage. To get in the ocean and swim beyond where it seems reasonable and realize that I am safe there, that I am at ease in the world, that everything is as it is meant to be.

My Dance Story

All I want to do lately is dance salsa, bachata and kizomba. It's definitely been my remedy these past several months, the activity that has allowed me to find myself and connect with others amid great transition in my life. 

There is something uniquely special about partner dancing. You are given the opportunity to connect physically and energetically with another person (often a complete stranger). You have to relax into each other and find a common language of movement and flow. It's spontaneous and intuitive, expressive and intimate. It is an exercise in trust and vulnerability and being in the moment. And at its best, dancing feels like falling in love - a euphoric suspension of space and time, where all that exist are you and this other person moving together through the world.

I first danced salsa when I was in college in Albuquerque. We would have these glorious house parties attended by friends from all corners of Latin America. Someone would throw on a mix cd and we'd all dance into the wee hours of the morning. I didn't exactly know what I was doing, but it was always a damn good time.

Then I got a boyfriend who didn't enjoy dancing. He was also a jealous type, so I shifted from partner dancing to taking cardio-salsa classes at the gym. I got in shape and met many incredible women in the process, but didn't really register that I had abandoned something that sparked great joy for me.

In the time between college and now, I had the strange luck become involved almost exclusively with people that weren't into dancing. Rather than push someone to take up an activity they found akin to pulling teeth, I dove deep into the world of solo dance to satisfy my passion. I discovered Nia in Austin, did samba de passarela in Brazil, learned all sorts of fun moves in Mozambique, and eventually found my home crew of ladies at Hipline in Oakland. Dance has been a constant in my life, but moving your body solo (albeit in a room full of other people) is a different animal from dancing with another person.

It took me fifteen years to return to partner dancing. Fifteen years!!! Better late than never, though, right? Actually I returned somewhat by chance. At the beginning of this year, as I was planning a trip to Gorizia, the small city in northeastern Italy where my maternal grandmother was from, I had a strong desire to do something different, to meet new people. I've been visiting this place of my roots since I was a child, but always the trips were centered around my grandmother: who she knew, who she wanted to visit, how she wanted to spend her time. I have some childhood friends in the area who I enjoy spending time with, but I really wanted to break out of my family's circle of influence and find an expanded social scene.

I randomly googled "zumba Gorizia" thinking I'd find a gym with some cardio dance classes. I came across Arte Dance Studio and messaged them to see if I could take a bunch of different classes for the two weeks I'd be in town. They were super receptive to my request and welcomed me with open arms. I took zumba, modern dance, pilates, piloxing, and something called Latino Base. I showed up to the latter imagining a class akin to zumba; instead I found myself smack in the middle of a salsa and bachata dance course with no partner, no knowledge of the moves everyone had been practicing for the past several weeks, and sweaty palms.

It didn't matter. The instructors Marco and his wife Mikki welcomed me with open arms. They allowed me to jump right in and made me feel like part of the group despite my language and dance limitations. With them I was introduced to cuban-style salsa and moves like dile que no, enchufla, setenta, and all manner of variations on the vuelta (turn). Classes were a funny mix of Italian and Spanish, with students a mix of Italians and Slovenes. I felt as if I'd finally found my people.

About a month after that experience, I found myself in Playa del Carmen, Mexico with my best friend Angel. We were looking for a spot to grab a bite to eat and go dance, and a local friend recommended La Bodeguita del Medio, a Cuban restaurant that has apparently franchised in other locations (I went to the original location in La Habana with my mom back in 2000). It was pretty quiet when Angel and I arrived, but there was a live band with salsa music and I ended up dancing with our server for much of the evening (I guess dancing is part of the job description?). I had tons of fun, and vowed to find some lessons and keep dancing upon my return to the Bay Area.

The first time I went to Allegro, a dance school in Emeryville, was with Rico's mom. Sort of strange to go to a dance social with your ex-mother-in-law, but we are friends and enjoy hanging out, and she was interested in taking a salsa class. So we hit the beginner lesson, then I stayed for the intermediate one and the open dance afterwards. Honestly it wasn't the best experience - I got stuck dancing with a creepy, overly-touchy dude and sadly was not practiced at setting boundaries or making the great escape after one dance - but live and learn, right?

Despite the slight trauma, I knew I'd be back, and this has been my go-to place for dancing for the last five months. I've gone way up the learning curve in salsa, and added bachata and kizomba to my repertoire. Actually kizomba has become my favorite - it's a dance originally from Angola that is slow, sensual, and deceptively simple. You basically embrace your partner, with chests and belly buttons touching (no contact below the belt, though!), and then proceed to "walk" in very close proximity to different rhythms. There is no clear pattern to the steps, which makes it impossible to predict what's next - and therefore as a follower it is impossible to back-lead.

That's one of my main objectives in dance, actually: to be a good follower. It means relaxing, connecting with your partner, and not anticipating or forcing any of the moves according to your own agenda. Harder than it sounds, especially after so many years of dancing by myself. It's quite different from the ultra-independent role I have in my "regular" life, and the balance and lessons to be gained are not lost on me.

My 35th birthday is in a couple weeks and as a gift to myself, I got private lessons with Isabel, one of the instructors from Allegro. I want to be sure I have good habits and know my basic footwork before proceeding much further down this dance path. Much better to build on a solid foundation as opposed to one that is flawed.

I have plans to dance salsa and kizomba in Albuquerque, Houston, and Mexico this coming month as I embark on yet another travel adventure. Here's to meeting more lovely people and learning some new moves. See y'all on the dance floor!

 

Hands and Meteors and a Song

This song just hit me hard. Driving up the hill in Point Richmond after spending the evening at the gallery with my friend Carolyn and brainstorming jewelry stuff for our show, and for our lives. It felt good to be there, in that space. A welcome coming-round of sorts after being very burned out.

Life has been full lately. I've been traveling like mad, spreading my work wings broadly, dancing. Sorting. Measuring and evaluating. 

One exciting thing is I believe I've started to "cure" my chronically cold, clammy hands. (A standout memory from 10 years ago is a salsa partner telling me that my hands were like eels, slick and hard to hold on to.) Beyond sweaty my hands also "loose their blood" periodically and become numb and white in patches thanks to Reynauds Syndrome.

Anyhow, after decades of avoiding people's touch but also really, really wanting to do things like dance and hold hands and safely grip onto a subway pole when when the train lurches, I've been searching for a solution. Over the past 3 months I've been doing a mix of acupuncture and herbs to treat circulation and digestion. Over the last 2 weeks I've been shocking my hands in water (a therapy that seemingly works for many people). And over the last week I've significantly modified my diet to be very low sugar and low carb. 

I don't know if it's a mix of these things, a coincidence, or whatever but my hands have been totally different these past three days, maybe even week. They are not sweaty or cold. I lost a bit of circulation this morning, but it was cold and foggy out and I went running at Tilden without gloves on, so to be expected I guess. 

But I danced on Saturday and Sunday and pretty much had warm, regular person hands. This seems like a miracle, and I'm almost afraid to believe it.

In other news, Carolyn and I drove out to the middle of nowhere outside Antioch the other night (madrugada, really) to see the Perseid meteor shower. I miss the dark, dark skies of the Sandias. We saw several dozen meteors but even way out in the Sacramento Delta there is still so much light pollution. And it was cold and windy as shit. But absolutely worth the effort.

Here's the sky from earlier that evening. No meteors in Point Richmond, though. Too much fog later in the night when the moon was gone and the shooting stars visible.

Finding Sri Prem Baba

Yesterday on social media I came across a post by my acquaintance Carolina Bergier that really resonated with me (interesting aside: I met Carol because she is part of Casa Soul, the organization that made Casa Rosa its headquarters when we sold the place several years ago). Anyhow, she had a quote by someone called Sri Prem Baba that majorly hit home. Here it is in Portuguese, as I originally saw it:

"Quanto mais freneticamente você busca por algo e mais esse algo parece fugir de você, maior é o seu não inconsciente para isso que conscientemente você deseja; e mais é a sua inabilidade para lidar com esse não. Ao tomar consciência desse não, você inicia o processo de compreensão e transformação dessa dificuldade. Então, talvez você descubra que isso que você quer não é exatamente o que você precisa; talvez seja somente um capricho do seu ego; uma obstinação para satisfazer uma vaidade."

Here's a translation on the fly:

"The more frantically you search for something and the more it seems to escape you, greater is your unconscious 'no' to this thing that you consciously desire; and greater is your inability to deal with this 'no'. By becoming conscious of this 'no', you begin the process of understanding and transforming this difficulty. Then, perhaps you discover that what you want isn't exactly what you need; perhaps it is just a whim of your ego; an obstinacy to satisfy vanity." 

Boom. That so incredibly incredibly resonates right now. Ufff.

After a bit of research this morning, I've learned more about Sri Prem Baba, the Brazilian-born spiritual master and humanitarian leader. Sometimes you find exactly what you need at the precise moment you most need it. This is how it felt to come across Sri Prem Baba in general, and in particular these words.

Back to Bay Life

My freeform pattern painting from last week. I never know what direction these pieces will take...

I've been back in the Bay Area for about a week now and am enjoying the particular pleasures of my life here, namely:

- Painting group. Every Tuesday I go to the house of my 87-year-old neighbor to paint for several hours. He is a retired architect, originally from Colombia, who could easily pass for 15 years younger (he has no wrinkles, is totally mobile and independent, and has a great sense of humor). Each week he opens his garage to me and a few other local artists and we paint, drink wine, share stories, and listen to music. This past week we had a turntable out and listened to Spanish records from the 1960's. Our host taught us to play the castanets, although none of us were particularly successful - they are way harder than they look.

- Cooking and eating fresh, simple meals. After three weeks in Italy and Slovenia, one of which was intensely spent doing wine and food tourism, it feels really good to be back to my regular routine. Since being home I've enjoyed making/eating white beans, roasted potatoes, arugula, radishes, zucchini, nectarines, bananas, oatmeal, cottage cheese, eggs, and almonds. Not all together of course, but this is the base from which I create salads, frittatas, and bowls. There have been some treats, too, of course. But it feels good to detox a bit from all the alcohol and sugar and fat of my trip.

- Running. I ran while traveling, but there's nothing like being on my home turf. I am privileged to have a beautiful place to run right outside my doorstep. I can do an easy 3 or 5-mile loop along the water's edge, through a park, and into a marina area...or I can go the other direction and do some intense hills through the residential heart of Point Richmond, admiring architecture and gardens and killer views as I go along.

- Dancing. Perhaps the thing I most love about my life in the Bay Area these days. Be it cardio-fitness with the lovely ladies at Hipline in Oakland, salsa/bachata/kizomba at the dance school I've been going to in Emeryville, or most recently forró with live music in San Francisco, dancing is what keeps a smile on my face more than anything. I'm getting better at following, too, which makes the experience of partner dancing all the more enjoyable. 

- Studio life. Currently I'm trying to clean out my studio and get back to the minimalist state of being that makes me feel at ease. I see the light at the end of the current clutter tunnel, though, so hopefully tomorrow I will resume actually making jewelry instead of just organizing and purging stuff. I am looking forward to soldering again, I've got the itch to make some chandelier earrings. Plus I have some client work lined up, which isn't always glamorous but I'm grateful it's part of my life here for sure.

- Hanging out. I've been doing a fair amount of taking it easy these days, which feels good. Hanging out with my mom and her cat, Tuxa. Drinking lots of tea. Re-reading "Como Agua para Chocolate" and wishing I was eating all that divine food and living a love story of my own in Mexico. I'm hoping to sunbathe at some point, although the weather has been quite foggy which has me wearing slippers and snuggling with the electric blanket rather than reaching for my bikini. Hopefully I'll have a chance in the coming week...

Munich-SFO

The last time I was on this flight from Munich to San Francisco I sobbed silently at takeoff.  Not because of fear of flying, which I definitely suffer from, but because I was hit with a wave of emotion and in that instant I knew my relationship was over. No more pretending an alternate destiny was possible, no more head in the sand. I had gut-level certainty that the next step was a breakup, a chapter change, and the pain that comes when a love that once flourished must be laid to rest. I was grateful when the seat belt sign was turned off and I could go to the lavatory for a real ugly cry, with nobody around to witness my scrunched up face or hear my wailing.

That was in March, nearly four months ago. Now it is the last day of June and I am on the same Lufthansa flight headed home from spending some time in Italy at my grandmother's house. I cried again, but only because I watched an inspiring film (Joy with Jennifer Lawrence). It's amazing how much has changed in this short period, how different I feel.

Unlike the last time I was on this flight, I am not dreading coming back to California (even though I know divorce papers and the slog of moving my things from one space to the next await me). I also don’t wish I had stayed in Italy, although it was tempting to extend my trip after a successful beta experience of organizing wine and culinary tours with a childhood friend and a fabulous group of ladies as guests. It’s nice to feel a balance of saudades for the place I am leaving and the place that is my next destination.

I see myself coming into a new phase: one of being single and independent, having multiple jobs I create for myself, and with no clear primary residence. I’ll be bouncing between the Bay Area (the work-live artist space I’ve created in the basement of my mom’s house), the Italy-Slovenia border region (where my grandmother was from and her big, uninhabited property awaits its destiny), Houston (where my best friend lives), New Mexico (my dad’s place), and who knows where else in between. I envision lots of geography, lots of change, wearing lots of hats. Just how I like it.

I am trying out the elevator speech about my life as I meet people on the plane: “I am a jeweler, artist, translator, traveler, writer, and dancer.” Yes, all of those things together in one complex ball of self-employment and creativity and travel. Interdisciplinary, interconnected, international. Untitled for the time being. Following my gut. Seeing where the road takes me.

Where I Started and Where I am Now

Getting ready to cross the bridge-less Rio Lucite in Manica Province, Mozambique. 2005.

I started this blog in 2005 while living in Austin, Texas. I was about to move to Mozambique to work as a freelance consultant with some friends I'd met while in business school in Brazil. (There's a lot of geography in my life story!)

Initially my blog was a way for me to keep in touch with family in friends while in Africa, but it soon became much more. I met hundreds of people through my writing, many of whom were also moving to Mozambique and looking for support, many of whom became friends.

Over the years I chronicled my work in international development, my growing passion for making jewelry, my marriage in 2008, our move to California in late 2009, my decision to apply to art school and change careers, my experience starting my own business, and now the most recent chapter: my life as a single person, with many exciting unknowns, lots of travel, and a heart full of love to share with the world.

Contemplating what's next while on the ferry from Isla Mujeres to Cancún, Mexico. 2016.

Spreading Love All Over the World

Caricature my friend Rrramone did of me back in 2006. I was living in Maputo at the time.  I definitely feel like this.

As you can imagine, I am going through a roller coaster of emotions these days. But mostly I feel peace and excitement, and lots of love amid heartache.

For many years the thing I most feared was not being together with Rico. I knew how much it would hurt for us to break up. I felt the weight of the multiple personal-family-business connections our parting would disrupt. Rico works with my family. My mom is his boss. My aunt and uncle are the investors in the businesses they run together. (Rico and my mom actually are involved in three different businesses together, all under the same big umbrella though...) Also, there is the small detail of me wanting to make a living as an artist and translator and traveler, which is not always easy even with a gainfully employed partner.

And of course there is a geographic component to how connected we are. My mom lives just up the hill from us, so it's about 3 minutes walking to get from one house to the next. My studio is in my mom's basement. My gallery is downtown, two blocks from the clocks and home decor business Rico now runs (one of the above-mentioned businesses). Rico's mom lives 10 minutes down the road by car, near the marina.

Everything is together. Has been together. Is always together. Family, business, not wanting to intrude, having to always strategize, compartmentalize personal and professional, put up limits but also have no definition to what is family and what is business.

Rico and I started out working together, as you know. Living together. Being 100% together from the moment I set foot in Mozambique. We were a team on all fronts. We continue to be a team on all fronts. We are a really good match, life partners is how it feels. We could run the world together, that's for sure.

So all of this to say...deciding to separate was excruciatingly hard and took a long time for me to find clarity about what I was feeling. But, after a long summer and winter and start of spring examining ourselves and our relationship, Rico and I looked at each other a couple Sundays ago and just knew. It was over. We have evolved into something new, whatever's next.

It is one of the greatest gifts I've ever felt to know that he and I are at peace. That we see eye to eye and feel heart to heart about where we started and where we are now ending. That we are separating but the other interconnected layers of our lives can continue, will continue.

Likely there will be better harmony there, as well. I really like Rico's mom, for example, but it's a bummer to hang out with your mother-in-law when you are contemplating the impending breakup with her son. So she and I can hang out now like I imagine we've both always wanted to. Having fun. Dancing somewhere. I can hang out with my mom again and have it be just mom. I'm not self-censoring all the time, we can travel to Italy together, eat and drink and visit and hike. Enjoy life.

I am in awe to see how many of the other relationships in my life have also healed in the wake of me and Rico separating - and also of my grandma passing away. Gina, my mom's mom, finally let go at age 94 and went to have a party with all her friends up in the sky from Italy and all around the world who have been waiting for her arrival.  So after my grandma passing and then Rico and I separating, I have experienced so much healing, so much closeness and authenticity with the people I love. I am grateful for all the support and to be able to be real with my people, without walls around my heart and constantly putting up a positive front.

Gina Paola Cantoni. 1922-2016. I look a lot like her and have inherited many of her traits and interests.

Also, conveniently, people can give double condolences to the family. Sorry about Gina. Sorry about Rico and Ali.

I've been meeting the most incredible strangers lately, too, as a bonus gift from the universe. People with whom I can share a moment or two whenever paths randomly cross in a café or restaurant or while listening to live music. Travel reminds me to disconnect from the phone and be a person in the present moment. Eye contact. Breath. Sand. Saying hello and good morning. Smiling whenever people pass me to see who I can get to smile back. Spreading love all over the world.

Return to the Origin

I consider myself to be New Mexican, as I was born and raised in Albuquerque and have green chile coursing through my blood. Ask me where I am from and that will forever be my answer (as opposed to where I currently live, which is what most people actually mean with that question).

Ask me where my roots are, though, and I will say a small village in northern Italy called Peci. It is a speck on the map, really. A rural outpost where my grandmother was born and where my maternal side of the family has lived for over 400 years. In European time I suppose that's somewhat commonplace, but the centuries-long continuity blows my mind even though I am part of it.

I spent summers here as a child. This house is etched in my memory. I used to ride a pink bike in the courtyard and make tiaras with the daisies that grew amid the grass. I was afraid of the lizards that would sun themselves on the walls, and (obviously) of the scorpions we'd occasionally find in the cellar or hidden in a forgotten shoe. This house is my heritage, my legacy, my blood.

There are many stories here, well before mine. A lot of gossip. A lot of ghosts. A lot of borders - both international and between neighbors. Class divisions. Endless preoccupation with wealth and status and reputation. Loneliness. Abandonment. Mental and emotional anguish. And yet also the blessed possibility of change. Of growth and evolution from one generation to the next. Of being able to break down walls and rearrange furniture and say, "This isn't how we do it anymore."

Things are different now. We are different now.

The Ride

Amid the heavy emotions I'm feeling lately, there are also many lighthearted moments. Solo dancing for the security cameras in my gallery, enjoying wearing new spring clothes and high heels, trying new restaurants with Rico, being around the family's assorted cats and their funny ways.

Ups and downs, choices, and a big-ass learning curve on this ride called life.

Next up: three weeks in Italy - two of which will be with my mom, and one will be solo. I'll be doing lots of art and writing and dancing, exploring, eating and drinking the region's delights, and taking a welcome break from my regular routine.

I am very lucky.

Yes to This, No to That

This year I'm making some intentional shifts in where my yes's and no's are. Some of this feels terrifying, some of it feels like a relief, some feels like adventure waiting to unfold.

SAYING YES TO TRAVEL means saying NO to:

- a geographically fixed workspace

- a consistent open-to-the-public schedule at the gallery 

- being able to attend all of the local events that interest me

- other tempting ways of using my time and money

SAYING YES TO THE WORK I WANT TO MAKE means saying NO to:

- certain requests for custom work or repairs

- certain social activities because I need lots of time in the studio

- an easily defined image/style (which causes me stress because I like to be cohesive, and the work I want to make feels pretty random right now)

SAYING YES TO MY PHYSICAL HEALTH means saying NO to:

- eating too much sugar

- smoking too much weed

- weighing myself obsessively

SAYING YES TO MY EMOTIONAL HEALTH means saying NO to:

- behavior patterns that cause me pain

- toxic relationships

- the stigma of being in therapy

SAYING YES TO THE SPACE I NEED means saying NO to:

- a shared studio space

- employing an assistant

- a boundary-less existence with the family business

SAYING YES TO MY CREATIVE PRACTICE means saying NO to:

- having my phone in the studio

- the need to make "good" work

- fear of being vulnerable

Half-Life

I turn 34 tomorrow.

I can't remember my birthday last year or what I did to celebrate it. I mean, I'm sure if I look back at my calendar or photos I can piece it together, but offhand it's a blank.

A lot of last year felt blank honestly. Well, a mix of blank and bouncing between "I feel incredible joy, my life is exactly what I've always wished for," and "I feel unbearable pain and something major in my life must change." Exhausting and deeply confusing, all these opposite feelings.

It had been creeping up on me for a while that a major life inventory was due. Then one day in August, it happened. I was no longer afraid to look inside and name my truths. This unstoppable stream of words and emotions and bravery came out of me, and I shared with the people I love.

It's so refreshing to feel like myself again, to turn on the fuck-it button (ligar o foda-se), to learn about what I want and don't want, to be humble and grateful, and to make sure I am living my life accordingly.

Tomorrow, on my birthday, I will:

- Go swimming at 6:15am at the Plunge (the pool by our house that I had been curious about for ages and finally started going to with a couple of girlfriends to swim laps).

- Find something that seems delicious as a birthday treat and go buy it.

- Have a picnic lunch on our deck with Rico, his mom (who is here and loving life in California), and my mom. Hanging out with the moms is one of my favorite things.

- Then I have therapy in Berkeley, with a woman I recently started going to and totally love. (I had been thinking about going to therapy for the last 7 years. Seven!!! I guess you go when you are ready, and I'm so glad I did.)

- In the evening I will go paint with my painting group. (My 90-year-old friend Manny hosts it at his house, and there are two other local artists who attend regularly, plus guest participation by Rico's mom every once in a while.)

Already my birthday this year has been a good one. Pre-birthday, I guess, but whatever. I feel like it's started. My dad told me the first cranes made it to New Mexico on their fall migration, so the kick-off is official.

I just had solo dance party in my gallery, which was fabulous. And I am working on the sketches for a challenging commission, a geometric ring in sterling silver. The design is two lines zig-zagging through life (around the ring band) that eventually converge and intersect at two points. Beautiful concept, but a nightmare to calculate and draw (although this is just the kind of math + pattern + aesthetics problem I love).

There is some major full-circle synchronicity to these rings, too. In the summer of 1999 I was 17 and fell in love with a boy in Brazil. Very long story short, it ended with me heartbroken and full of self-hate. Although we eventually found closure, this person and that relationship have been riding shotgun in my unconscious for the past 17 years. I just realized this is exactly half my lifetime ago!!

Again long story short, I now find myself making promise rings for him and his girlfriend. Today while sketching yet another version of the design, I had an epiphany about the reasons why this half-life relationship has continued to have such a hold on me. I had a major cry, and then lightness. What a wonderful birthday gift, this moment of self understanding.

Compass

The compass, a tool for finding the way no matter how lost one might feel. Its imagery shows up in my life a lot...from my business logo to my tattoo to the pattern in the first faceted stone I ever cut (pictured above). A reminder to stay true to my internal North.

Groove Back

What have I been up to lately? Oh, you know, finding my fabulousness again.

Sometime around February things began to shift. After many years of not feeling like myself deep down, I was ready to reconnect with ME.

I started painting (something I've wanted to do for-ever), allowing myself the pleasure of creating spontaneous worlds of color. For all the fun of abstract painting, I've also been drawn to the insane technical challenge of representational painting. Still lives and even a portrait. Really what I need to do is practice drawing - learn how to lay a good foundation for the color and volume that come next. I so struggle with lines and perspective. But that challenge is a big part of what keeps me coming back.

I made some ballsy custom jewelry that threw me way outside my comfort zone but also showed me I can be confident in my work. This necklace has 23 repurposed diamonds from my client's mother's wedding band, set in 18k gold in a field of blue enamel. Technically this was a major challenge, but I did it!

I decided it was high time to get the tattoo I'd been thinking about for the last few years, and now have my personal map on my back. It's a mash-up of the places that are/were home: Casa Cali, Maputo, Austin, Albuquerque, Rio, Peci (Italy). Six dots, lots of geography, lots of living.

I also cleaned up my eating and drinking habits and lost 10+ pounds in 3 months. What was the trick? An app called MyFitnessPal where you can log foods and exercise. Well, that and finally dealing with some emotional/personal stuff that I'd been desperately avoiding for the past ten years or so. Ten and ten. Lots of weighty stuff. Ha, ha.

I've been going to Hipline (the dance studio in Oakland I love so much) a lot, as usual. And doing pilates, and running. And I even started swimming at the Plunge (lovely pool by our house) on Tuesdays at 6:15am. I feel so good, I'm on my way to a six-pack, and my thigh-waist proportions are less drastic which means I can wear pants again without feeling like I'm being squeezed to death.

Speaking of, I recently held a snake for the first time (well, the tail end of my friend Emi's ball python) but even so - major phobia overcoming right there! I thought I'd be brave enough to hold the whole snake, even wrap it around my neck, but there was no way that was going to happen. I was pretty proud of getting this far given my history.

It's good to be back.

Power Rings

Mozambican ametrine and 18k gold power ring.

Over the last year I've been making power rings for women. Large gemstones, minimal settings, lots of personal significance. There's something magnetic when a person finds the right stone at the right time. There is an energy that makes you never want to take it off your finger. 

Blue topaz and 10k gold power ring.

These rings are some of my favorite pieces to create. They usher us through chapter changes, whether a round-number birthday, the beginning of a new career, or the loss of a loved one. A power ring is a reminder to be courageous, to be present amid heartache and triumph, and above all to be true to one's self.

Raw Mozambican blue topaz and sterling silver power ring.

Recently I felt the need for a power ring of my own. Back in Maputo, I was introduced to a Dutch diplomat whose hobby was lapidary work. I went to buy some gems one day, and spotted this incredible blue topaz in his "trash pile," an empty Ricoffy container full of rocks that had been rejected for one reason or another. This particular topaz has an inclusion, or internal flaw, that looks like iridescent water bubbles from the right angle. My diplomat contact had started to facet the stone, but when he discovered the defect he abandoned ship. For me, however, it was pure magic. He gave me the stone for free and I remember thinking that one day I would know how to make it into a ring.

Rough blue topaz in asymmetrical sterling silver setting.

That was before we moved to the Bay. Before I applied to CCA. Before I learned how to solder. Before knowing for sure if this crazy idea to change careers would materialize. Six years later, settled in my new identity as a jeweler and an artist, I finally made that fabulous topaz into a power ring.

And just in time... Now more than ever I need a reminder to find myself, be true to myself, be in the moment, and have no fear of the unknown destiny that lies ahead. Life is a bumpy-ass road sometimes, and there's nothing like a luminous, geologically ancient, perfectly flawed rock on my hand to guide me through the turbulence.

Fabrication

Here's a little behind-the-scenes insight for you all, thoughts about my jewelry and art and business, two years out of school and a year-and-a-half into the gallery:

- I still buy double the materials I need for most custom jewelry projects. I am a firm believer that Murphy is always riding shotgun, and things will go wrong at the most inopportune times. No matter how careful I am with planning and measuring, mistakes happen. Things melt or are cut wrong. Also, the black hole that lurks in all jeweler's studios will swallow up pieces of metal or tiny gemstones that manage to escape our death grip or drop through our inner thighs a nanosecond after we slam them together because something has fallen off the bench. Between the possibility of ruining or losing a critical component, I have to have double materials on hand. Expensive, but I have no regrets.

- For tricky client projects, I make prototypes. Often at my own expense in terms of hours and materials, but I still see myself as such a learner that it makes sense this way, for now. I want to make sure that things will work, materials will behave, that I'm not promising something I can't deliver. I understand the piece so much more after making a prototype. At a certain point, I imagine being comfortable and experienced enough that I don't have to buy double materials and don't have to spend quite so much time in the prototype phase. I think of it as building a knowledge library that I can access in the future. I take really good notes on what I am doing, and what specifically I am learning from not just the prototypes, but all the work I make.

- I make most of my jewelry by fabricating. This means I start "from scratch" using different dimensions of wire and sheet as the building blocks for a finished piece. Occasionally I will make pieces using lost wax casting, where you start with a wax model, make a mold, and then cast in metal. Casting and fabricating have significantly different design and production challenges. Fabricating to me is like miniature engineering. You have to be exceptionally precise and consider the order in which you do things. Casting is more like sculpting a beautiful wax and then following instructions, like baking a cake. To get more pieces, you just "bake" another round. Casting is way more efficient, time and cost wise...but it's the mental and structural challenge of fabricating that really gets me. So a big challenge for my business is that I prefer the slow and expensive but technically brilliant way of working.

- Custom work is what keeps coming to me, which is exciting. I have made some really incredible pieces for people this year. I can't share all of them yet, which is the burden of the jeweler who must keep secrets, but I am very excited and will be able to post photos in the coming weeks.

On Point

Once again I'm reminded that the things I'm good at aren't always the things I want to spend my time doing. Back in Moz, this was the conclusion I came to about writing proposals for development projects. I could write a kick-ass proposal and get projects funded, but I always felt sick and burned out (when doing the work, as well as in general). When you are self-employed, your work affects your person so much.

Now, I'm feeling sick and burned out again. When this happens, it's time for an adjustment. Sometimes it's in the life side, sometimes in the professional realm, more often both.

I've been doing a lot of travel recently - two weeks ago Rico and I went to St. John in the US Virgin Islands for the wedding of my longtime friend Mark (who was also one of our groomsmen, and met his girl when he went traveling after attending our wedding in Rio). I also went to Albuquerque to hang out with my dad for a lighting quick couple of days. Then over the weekend my best friend Angel came to Casa Cali with her man, and we celebrated her birthday and went wine tasting in Sonoma. In all, a solid period of vacation with a couple manic work days tossed in the mix.

It gave me time to think. I managed to figure out what's got to give, and now I have the task of making those changes. Not always fun, but feels so good afterwards.

Over the last year I've been co-organizing a community arts event called Point to Point Richmond. It has been an incredible grassroots experience, and I've met so many of my fellow artists here. I've put a huge amount of volunteer energy into launching Point to Point, and for that I have no regrets. But I'm at a point (ha, ha) where the balance is off, it's taking my focus and my time away from the work my gut is demanding be made. So I am majorly stepping back.

I feel strongly that it's time to be in my studio. I've received many custom requests for jewelry pieces and repurposed heirloom work, and I'd like to be able to say yes to those. I am also wanting to paint more, and do figure drawing, and experiments with enameling. I want to make weird work, wall pieces that I deliberately ruin, and then ruin, and then ruin again and see what's happened. I want to work with the rusted railroad steel I collected here at Ferry Point. Practice my sketching.

When I feel a gut-level pull to the studio that can't be ignored, I know it's not just about the work. It's connected to personal growth, relationships and decisions outside the studio. Diving into the art helps me take the steps I want to in life.

I want to have art dates with my friends. I want lazy weekends where I can sit around and do nothing, but also get laundry done and some prep cooking for the week. I want to train with Hilary for another 10k, and then possibly a 10 mile run next year. I want to hang out with family, and also to travel. Reclaim our yard. Design a churrasqueira with Rico. Take a nap every once in a while.

The exciting thing to me is that I believe I can do these things and also my studio work. Having the gallery open fits in, too, as long as I have some help. But all of this plus major community organizing does not add up. Actually, I guess it over-adds up because the feeling is a whirling, unfocused cloud of pending stuff. Overwhelm for sure. So it's time to take a step back, and deal with all the feelings and fallout that come with that. Hopefully it will be smooth, and if not, at least lead to some interesting art.

The Paradox of the Positive Front

Year one of my creative business was all about projecting a successful image. Call it "fake it 'till you make it", call it the Secret principle...the basic idea is the same: having an optimistic perspective while you bridge the gap between where you start and where you want to end up will lead to a positive outcome. Present yourself as successful, the world sees you as successful, treats you as successful...and hopefully one day your own perception follows suit as a new reality unfolds.

Over the past year I have been asked countless times:

- So, how's it going?
- Have you been busy?
- Are you getting lots of foot traffic?
- How are sales?
- Did you get a lot of people buying for the holidays?

Usually these questions have come from well-intentioned, curious people wanting to be supportive. Regardless of how things were actually going, or how I felt on any given day, the answer would always be the same:

- It's been going really well, thank you. (accompanied by a humble smile)

Sometimes this response felt totally accurate, other times it felt like the ultimate false front. But no matter. I would always answer with the same optimistic vibe of success.

I truly believe that projecting a positive image in year one was critical. Because here's the thing: MANY PEOPLE EXPECTED ME TO ANSWER THAT THINGS WERE NOT GOING WELL. Because it's hard as hell to make it as an artist. Especially when you take on a brick-and-mortar location. In a place with practically no foot traffic. And are only open three days a week. And your pieces are expensive and you are based in a community that's perceived as unable to support nice things. People don't expect you to succeed.

I could see it in their faces. People were ready for me to say that things were not going well. That nobody was coming in my doors. That I wasn't selling anything. That I wasn't enjoying success. That I wouldn't make it through the first year. It was almost funny to observe the surprise in their faces. "Oh really? Ummm, that's great!" And then this strange, subtle transformation as their perception of my business shifted from "just another struggling artist" to "wow, she's making it happen. I want to be part of this."

After a solid year of fake-it-'till-you-make-it, here I am. I had a good first year. I had sales. My guest artists had sales. My business has been a success.

I believe that my positive responses had a direct influence on creating all this. If I'd responded that things were slow, that I wasn't sure how I'd cover my expenses, that I felt discouraged and uncertain, that this was a tough occupation and a tough town to be in...people would have perceived me to be a sinking ship. And who wants to support some debbie downer business that is destined to fail?

But here's the thing: fake-it-'till-you-make-it creates an image of success that leads to actual success...but it can also work behind the scenes to cultivate a rotten sense of fraudulence, insecurity, and insatisfaction within the person faking it. At least that's how it's been for me. Not just here with the jewelry/art stuff, back in Mozambique it was the same thing with our consulting work.

There comes a point when you have to stop fronting and get real. Acknowledge your insecurities and weaknesses and frustrations. Voice your doubts. Truly evaluate how things are going, what is working, what isn't. Start being a little more authentic. If not with everyone who asks you how it's going, at least with yourself. The relentless positivity can quickly become denial if you don't let it fade away at some point.