Brazil July 2011: The Roundup

Trip Highlights:

• Selling the Casa Rosa. By far the most efficient turn of events possible. The house had been on the market for many months already, and Rico and I decided to go down to Rio to clear out all the furniture and the few personal belongings we had there so that, when a sale did eventually take place, the Casa Rosa would be ready to hand over. Never in our wildest dreams could we have anticipated that, not five minutes after stepping in the house the first Monday of our trip, the phone would ring and our broker would let us know that an offer had been made by an extremely serious buyer. Within 24 hours the house was off the market, and we were busy moving furniture and taking care of the initial paperwork for the sale.
• I anticipated this being a really hard trip for me. It was, but only for a small moment. I'm happy to report that selling the Casa Rosa really did feel like the right thing to do. I had no remorse in letting go, my desire to cling completely dissipated. Simplification really feels good, as does recognizing and accepting when a particular chapter has run its course, as opposed to fruitless, tiring attempts to prolong it unnecessarily.
• I got over one of my fashion hang-ups and actually wore Havaianas in public in Brazil. The mere thought of wearing flip-flops outside the house and/or beach used to provoke a cold sweat in my afraid-to-be-identified-as-a-foreigner person. I'm over it. When my feet are swollen and it's hot outside and I have blisters, I'll wear Havaianas and like it. Aside from going into the lobby at Citibank, I didn't even feel weird doing it!
• The opportunity to catch up with most of the family and friends we wanted to see. So nice to reconnect.
• Rico and I redecorated my mother-in-law's apartment. It looks amazing. We bought only a couple of pieces, relying rather on rearranging what my m-i-l already had and supplementing it with furniture, lighting, and paintings from Casa Rosa.
• Rico and I celebrated our 3-year wedding anniversary. It was a treat to be in the Casa Rosa and at the church across the street, hard to believe that so much (and yet so little) time has passed. We had a photo shoot to say goodbye to the house and to celebrate our anniversary. The proofs arrived yesterday, and they look amazing.

The Lowlights:

• I realized that, not only do I get slightly motion sick, I am *really* afraid of sailing at anything but a children's pace. We went sailing at Angra, which was incredible, but the winds were good and the boat was big and eventually we were at an extreme angle hauling through the water. For Rico and his family, it was paradise. For me, it was tear-inducing. Literally. I was so scared by the feeling that the boat was about to capsize, I couldn't help but cry. Not my finest moment, but everyone was very kind and understanding.
• Speaking of such things, I also am increasingly scared by air travel. After years of not partaking, I am now a happy airport and in-flight drinker. And if I didn't feel like such shit after taking sleep aids or something like Valium, I'd be all over those, too.
• I ate way too much fried food in Brazil. Inevitable, really. Everywhere you look there is a fried treat. Bars, highway rest stops, street fairs - hell, even breakfast - are the glorious kingdoms of bolinhos, pasteis, coxinhas and more. And if you manage to avoid the fried stuff, you will be satisfied to encounter large quantities of puff pastry, cheese and sweetened condensed milk. Not surprisingly, I put on a little weight.
• To be fair, Brazilians do eat lots of healthy, fresh things. And drink lots of beer. :)

The Rose Chapter

The other night I indulged in a pity party on my mother-in-law's veranda, a good half hour of hot tears and thick, wailing sobs provoked by the impending sale of the Casa Rosa. I thought about the parties I'd never throw, the atelier I'd never have, the friends I'd never make, the sense of community that would remain forever fleeting. It felt like I'd somehow failed, given up not only on my bohemian dream life in Santa Teresa, but given up on Brazil.

And then, after that good crying session, there was a shift. I was sad, yes, but it was as if a fog had lifted and I could suddenly see the bigger picture. Casa Rosa was but a chapter (and a wonderful one, without question) in a much greater story, one in which I wasn't the lone protagonist but a member of an interconnected cast. Selling the house was a collective decision for a collective good. A shared future. Family.

At the end of the day a house is just a house, no matter how spectacular the salmon pink Neoclassical columns or the crystal chandeliers or the banana grove in the winter garden. It's okay to say goodbye and move on, even if your dreams and plans involved a different ending.

I frequently remind myself that selling the Casa Rosa doesn't mean that I've lost my traveler's spirit, that I've abandoned my international lifestyle, that I've become somehow less special because I don't call Santa Teresa home. A house is not an identity, and if it has become one, priorities should be reexamined. A house is just a house, and it is a welcome feeling of lightness to move on, to simplify, to let go of attachments.

I feel satisfied, centered, at peace. It's not the address or the neighborhood or even the country that matter, it's who you are with. I am looking forward to the next chapter, full of family and friends, at home at Casa Cali or wherever else the story takes us.

Farewell to the Garden

One of my favorite aspects of the Casa Rosa is the internal courtyard. The banana grove, the lion head fountain, the mini pool, the pedra portuguesa that replicates the paving pattern of Copacabana beach... Some of the features were there when we bought the house, but much of the current look is thanks to upgrades we made over the years. Perfect for a garden party. Happily we've had many a great festa in that courtyard, the crowning glory being our wedding reception. :)

The Master Packing List for Traveling Light

Last year Rico and I traveled to Brazil for nearly 3 weeks with only a small carry-on suitcase each. This year, we have traveled with a bit more stuff (a lot more, really, in my case). My big, not-at-all-surprising revelation has been that I would have been just as happy with half the clothes and knick-knacks. I could have easily gone carry-on only for this trip as well, and have really learned what is essential and what is not.

In the spirit of creating the perfect minimalist packing list for our next trip (and for you to use, too) I offer the following guide. This list is geared for a destination that has a moderate climate that is somewhat unpredictable (e.g. San Francisco Bay Area in the summer, Rio de Janeiro in the winter), so the clothing choices are layering-friendly. Also, there isn't anything for really cold weather, although in my experience you could easily throw in a heavy jacket and boots and tailor things as necessary for chilly climates. This list should get you through 1-3 weeks of travel, with the occasional need for washing underwear/socks/exercise wear. Here are my suggestions:

- 1 pair black trousers

- 1 pair dark jeans

- 1 pair cargo or khaki pants

- 1 casual skirt
- 1 pair shorts
- 1 pair leggings

- 1 pair lounge pants

- 1 lightweight jacket

- 1 zip-up hoodie sweatshirt
- 1 cashmere sweater
- 3 long-sleeved tops
- 5 short-sleeved tops (some fancy, some casual)
- 5 tank tops (some fancy, some casual)
- 3 dresses (1 beachy, 1 casual, 1 fancy)

- 3 sets workout clothes (+ sports bras, socks)

- 3 pairs regular socks
- 1 bikini
- 8 pairs underwear/3 bras
- 1 belt

- 1 pashmina scarf

- 1 lightweight scarf

- 1 kanga/capulana/pareo

- 1 baseball cap or sun hat

- 1 pair mary jane-style high heels
- 1 pair ballet flats
- 1 pair leather sandals
- 1 pair havaianas flip flops

- 1 pair running shoes or canvas sneakers

- complete set of travel-sized toiletries

- sunscreen
- makeup
- jewelry
- reading material
- cell phone
- camera + charger
- wallet + passport
- a laptop or ipad
- glasses and sunglasses
- empty water bottle

- breath mints or gum

I've found that I have a few "warrior pieces" that are super versatile and can easily be dressed up, dressed down or layered. These include a lightweight navy blue jacket from Pilè ou Face that can go effortlessly with a fancy dress or a pair of jeans; a pair of dark stretch jeans in a slim bootcut from Adriano Goldschmeid; a sailor-inspired striped top that goes with everything; a long-sleeved black lace top from Victoria's Secret catalog; and a black shift dress that is appropriate for an afternoon with friends or an elegant evening dinner. I also swear by my high-heeled mary janes from Clark's Indigo. They are super comfortable and instantly dress up any outfit.

Do you have any "warrior pieces" to recommend?

Classification Fever

I am incapable of passing an unfamiliar tree, fruit, vegetable or animal without feeling a desperate need to identify it. Languages, too. Hearing people speak some strange tounge makes me go crazy. I want to know what it is, where they are from.

I keep a running mental tally of things I need to google. The latest searches have been prompted by the caimans that hang out in the canal down the street from my m-i-l's house (jacaré do papo amarelo), the medium-sized rodents I spotted in the bushes while on a run yesterday (pretty sure they are cotias), and the tree full of mango-like yellow fruits I saw while eating lunch in Santa Teresa this afternoon (cajás).

I remember frantically trying to identify the caterpillar that stung Rico a few years ago while cleaning vines out of the pitanga tree (tropical relative of the io moth caterpillar), not to mention the myriad snakes spotted along the roadside in Mozambique (forest cobra, puff adder, and what I'm nearly positive was a black mamba).

When I'm able to make a classification it gives me such great satisfaction. Like all is well in the world because I strung together the magic combination of key words to find the beast or fruit I so desired to identify on the internet.

Jet Lag and News of a Sale

Traveling East is always so much harder for me than traveling West in terms of jet lag. Although I love to sleep, I really dislike sleeping in (strange, I know) so the fact that I'm not tired at night and then sleep until 10 or 11 in the morning is really hard for me to manage. It makes me feel like I've wasted half the day, and there's nothing I can do about it until I've adjusted to the new time zone (by which time, of course, it's time to go home).

At least my jet lag is compatible with our social schedule here. Cariocas like late nights, and nearly every day we've arrived home between 11pm and 2am after birthday parties and bar outings. We've had a chance to catch up with many friends and relatives, which has been wonderful. A welcome balance to dealing with the Casa Rosa and the general stress of trying to get a few too many things done in a short number of days.

The big news is that it seems the house has sold. Rico and I literally set foot in the Casa Rosa last Monday and the phone rang with the offer. We were getting ready to do our 'despedida' photo shoot when the news came, which gave a bittersweet but ultimately very satisfying sense of closure. I wonder if you'll be able to see that look in my face in the photos? Our photographer is on holiday, so we're anxiously awaiting the proofs when he returns.

We've managed to tie up a lot of loose ends in the last week. The house seemingly has sold (still have to close, so it's not a 100% done deal yet), we've sorted out our housekeeper/caseira B.'s situation and hooked her up with another job, we've sold/donated/moved most of the furniture that was still in the house, and in general it feels like a clean end to the chapter. It's so incredibly nice to simplify and move on while the moving is good, even if it's hard to say farewell to such a special house.

Here are a few photos from our trip thus far:

Jacaré

Every other day or so, Rico and I have been going running along the beach near my mother-in-law's house here in Recreio neighborhood. To get to the beach, we have to cross a small wooden footbridge over a drainage canal. The canal runs through a residential neighborhood and is surrounded by paved streets and apartment buildings on either side. There is a narrow swath of forested area along the margins.

Imagine my surprise when we spotted a fat caiman (a type of alligator commonly known as a jacaré) lounging in the water as we walked along the creaky bridge just a few feet above the canal's surface! Upon closer inspection, it wasn't just one lone caiman; there were eight, a whole group of scaly beasts ranging in size from just over a foot long to well over five feet with a belly the girth of a whisky barrel.

Apparently these urban alligators are quite common and residents don't even look twice they are so used to them hanging out in the canal.

I did some googling and found out the exact species: http://www.iucncsg.org/ph1/modules/Publications/ActionPlan3/ap2010_04.html

Rio Trends: Workout Jumpsuits and Knee Socks

This lovely trend is hot right now in Rio. Patterned fitness jumpsuits with knee-high socks pulled over the legs. I've also seen many ladies with these socks over regular gym pants. Their fashion sense may be questionable, but at least their bodies look good!

Chegamos

After a very long, line-filled trip, we've arrived in Rio. I have to say it was one of the worst arrivals in the city I've ever experienced.

We had a foreshadowing when, while pulling away from the jetway in Atlanta, our plane lost all power. The auxiliary power failed and we were left in the dark, literally, with no lights, engine, aircon, or PA system for the attendants to offer an explanation of what had happened. My stomach was in knots as they finally managed to recover power and we taxied toward the runway on our merry way.

The flight itself was uneventful. Arrival in Rio, however, was awful. The line for immigration stretched outside the labyrinth where weary travelers wait for processing by the federal police, all the way into the corridor that circles the airport where you first get off the plane. We waited in line for over 30m just to get in the proper line for immigration (foreigners vs brasileiros). We waited another 40 minutes in the foreigners line, thinking that because I don't have Brazilian residency we had to go through with the tourists. Apparently we were wrong and could have sped through the locals' line. Now we know...

Baggage claim and customs were a crowded mess. Imagine a metro car during rush hour, with people smashed up against each other, others trying to push their way in an already super crowded train, and others desperately attempting to wiggle their way to the door in time for their destination station. That's what the entire arrivals section felt like. Another hour and we were finally out.

The saga didn't end there, though. Exiting the airport we got stuck at a blitz, what people here call police checkpoints. We idled on the highway for another hour. We are used to blitzes, but this one was different. The army showed up, and soldiers on motorcycles pulled rank and "took over" the military police blitz. After quite some time, an escorted convoy of buses zoomed by. They were from the Jogos Militares da Paz, the Military Games for Peace (now there's an oxymoron for you!). We thought all was ok after that point, but when we finally inched our way to the actual checkpoint, we saw 4 officers with dead serious expressions, guns loaded and actively pointed towards the occupants of the vehicles going by. They were not messing around. We had to lower the windows and hope that all was ok as we drove past. This is definitely not common in a blitz. These guys were ready to shoot, a testimony to what kind of trouble they were anticipating coming through the blitz that morning.

Four hours after our plane arrived, we finally made it to Rico's mom's house. My comment to Rico was that I'm glad this wasn't my first impression of Rio, otherwise I don't know if I'd be motivated to come back for another visit!

Baggage

I am agonizing over what clothes to take to Brazil. Usually I am such an efficient packer. Last year we traveled carry-on only for a 2 week trip and I was fine. But this year, my packing skills and objectivity have gone out the window.

It's almost like if I bring the perfect mix of dresses and lounge wear, going-out clothes and beach attire, boots and sandals, I will somehow be prepared for whatever emotional craziness comes my way. If I just have the right outfit, everything will be okay...or so it seems with all the obsessing over details I've been doing in the last two days trying to pack this damn suitcase.

So what am I bringing? Lots of black. More dresses than I'll likely manage to wear. High heels. Tall boots. Workout clothes and running shoes. A fuschia raw silk scarf that I've never used here at home. Gloves. Sunglasses. Havaianas.

I hope it's the right mix.

Good Times with Good People

One of my favorite things about the Casa Rosa is that over the years we were able to host so many friends, friends-of-friends, and relatives. Here's a few memories.

Despedida Rosa

Selling Casa Rosa has stirred up such complicated feelings for me. The most similar feeling I've had is my myriad "despedidas" over the years. Despedida means goodbye, both in Portuguese and Spanish. I remember being overwhelmed by a mix of grief, reluctance, fear, excitement, and happiness with nearly every goodbye party I've had. You're leaving behind people and places you've grown to love. You've set down roots. You've created dreams and plans involving the place you've called home. And then it's time to leave, to forge a life in another setting and start the emotional roller coaster anew.

Selling Casa Rosa most feels like my despedida when I was a high school exchange student in Maringá, Paraná. I spent a year down there, my first experience in Brazil, and had such a fantastic experience I didn't want to come home to New Mexico. I remember sobbing for weeks leading up to my departure date. When it came time to actually get in the car and drive to the airport, I bawled like a baby and had to be pried from the arms of my then-boyfriend Fernando. For as much as I didn't want to leave Maringá, I was also excited to see my mom and dad again, to be starting college in the fall, to make new friends and have new adventures.

In the big scheme of things, I knew that moving on was the right choice, but God was it hard. I had terrible reverse culture shock, and spent a good several months being an arrogant pill. All I wanted was to go back to Brazil and resume my fun life as an exchange student, and that totally clouded my vision of being home. I thought New Mexico was provincial, that our culture was piggish, that my peers were dumb, that my parents didn't understand what I'd experienced abroad, that I'd fundamentally changed and could no longer relate to anyone in my daily life. Of course, sense eventually returned to my teenage head and I had a fantastic college experience, but it was a long, bumpy road to that point.

When I think about selling Casa Rosa, I'm right back to that last desperate, weepy embrace I gave Fernando before going to the airport. I cried so hard, all I wanted to do was cling to this person and this life I'd come to call my own. Deep down I knew Fernando wasn't my forever partner, that we didn't have enough in common to continue a satisfying relationship. I knew that Maringá wasn't the right place for me either, a beautiful city but slightly isolated and hickish. Still, it was tremendously hard to let go.

We originally got Casa Rosa back in 2001 because a) it was a fantastic investment, and b) I was certain I'd return to Rio to live "for good" in the near future, and Casa Rosa would be my home. Well, plans changed. Mozambique wasn't even on my radar at that point, much less getting together with Rico and moving here to California. It's become clear that Rio won't be our home base, and we simply don't get down to Brazil enough to take advantage of that spectacular pink house.

Renting seems like an obvious solution, but it's not that easy. Casa Rosa is on the equivalent of the historic register, and it is full of the original features from 1910. Renters, no matter how well-intentioned and careful, end up destroying property. Things break. Old houses constantly need maintenance. It would be a challenge to be good landlords were we based in Rio; doing the job from another continent is a massive headache and simply not worth the effort.

We could also just leave the house empty, with only the caretaker around, as we've done for the greater part of the last decade. This option is tempting - we could hold on to this one-of-a-kind property and not have to say our goodbyes - but again the energy and resource drain is not insignificant. I think we're all at the point (and by "we" I mean me, my mom and Rico) where we want to simplify, concentrate on the lives we are currently living in the homes we currently occupy.

I do feel a bit like I'm walking away from an unfulfilled destiny with the sale of Casa Rosa. I always pictured myself living there, fully integrated in the funky, bohemian neighborhood of Santa Teresa. I'd be the artist in the pink house. We'd throw fantastic parties and host friends from all over the world. We'd know our neighbors by name. I'd suntan on the veranda and sketch the architectural details of the house while the bonde rattled by on the street below. Casa Rosa would feel like home, something that in all honesty it never truly has.

Of course we could pick up everything tomorrow, sell our furniture, put the cats in their traveler crates, and move to Rio. This Casa Rosa dream life isn't out of our reach, but I'm at the point where I have to admit that I'm not prepared to make the sacrifices for that Brazilian fantasy to come true. The life I imagine in Casa Rosa is definitely viewed through rose-colored glasses (ha, ha). It's not all bohemian wonderland. Maintaining the house is hard work. There are security issues and quality of life issues. More than anything, the life I desire in Casa Rosa would entail leaving this blessed existence in California, something I'm uninterested in doing. We love it here, and in contrast to the pink house in Santa Teresa, Casa Cali has felt like home from day one.

It's also a very good time to sell property right now in Rio, so the timing is good and we're hoping that the sale will allow our family to do new and wonderful things here in California.

We have some fantastic memories of Casa Rosa, the most spectacular being our wedding in 2008. I'd rather that amazing night be what I associate with the house, not another 10 years of long-distance maintenance that will leave us all with a bitter, resentful taste in our mouths. In my rational mind, I know it's time to move on and let someone else fulfill a dream and live their destiny in Casa Rosa. That gorgeous house deserves to be lived in, to be someone's home. Still, I can feel a lineup of sobs deep in my throat and all I really want to do is cling.

To say goodbye, a proper despedida for Casa Rosa, I've asked Rico to arrange for our wedding photographer to do a photo shoot of us in the house. It will be fitting timing, as we're just a week away from our 3-year wedding anniversary. The house is still on the market, so it still feels like it's "ours" and I'm hoping to be able to get some closure.

On My Mind

- I'm annoyed because I have a pretty bad blister on my left ankle. I got it thanks to what I'd hoped would be a comfortable, cute pair of sneakers. Instead, they tore up my feet in less than 10 minutes. I wonder if an 8 would be any better (I wavered between buying 7.5 or 8 in the shop). I love the mustard color so much I would be willing to break them in, but I want to do the least amount of suffering possible.

- I worked out with my personal trainer and then went for a run with my friend E. this afternoon. Recently I made the leap from doing intervals of running/walking to just straight jogging with no breaks. It is quite exciting. We go running around Lake Merritt which is 3.1 miles, and usually can do one loop around without stopping. Not today, however. My blister got in the way and crippled me about 3/4 of the way through. I was really frustrated, but some run is better than no run.

- My week in Mendocino was life-changing. It's the first time I've felt truly validated as an artist, and I had a really good time teaching as well. I was the studio assistant for a chasing and repoussé workshop taught by a total master. He's one of these people who seems to deliberately avoid an online presence, so I won't call him out here. He's amazing, though. I felt like I was taking a workshop from Morgan Freeman in his role as God.

- The Mendocino trip was good because I feel it centered me, helped me put things into perspective. I will need to draw on this for the next four weeks.

- Rico and I are going to Brazil on Thursday. It will be a great trip for many reasons, but it will also be an emotionally and physically exhausting one. We are selling Casa Rosa, and need to clear out all the furniture and see what we want to ship back here. We need to find a place for the woman who looks out for the house to live, and a way to get her a monthly stipend since she doesn't qualify for social security yet and has health issues that prevent her from continuing to work. We need to say goodbye to the house, which will be heart-wrenching for me, but in the big scheme of things what I recognize is the best way forward. I anticipate coming back from Brazil feeling very, very, very drained. I hope that's not the case, but if I learned anything in Mozambique it's to start with low expectations and go from there.

- I wish I were a bit tanner and a bit thinner prior to going down to Rio.

- I also wish I had more time to be in studio, as I'm just dying to work but don't really have time to finish anything (or really even get started) before we fly South.

- Hazy, the neighbor's cat who adopted our house for a brief period some months ago, came back for a visit. I was in the garden picking strawberries when he appeared by my side, seemingly out of nowhere. We were so happy to see each other. I really love this cat, even though he's not ours. When we first met him, we thought he was a stray and even took him to the vet to have his microchip scanned. That's how we found out Hazy belonged to our neighbors. About a month ago they moved to Hawaii and didn't take the cat. He's now being taken care of by another neighbor, but I think he's meant to be ours and that's why he keeps coming back and being so loving. He's such a beautiful boy, a soft gray tabby who is endlessly friendly and playful. He reminds me of Parceiro.

A Glimpse of My Week in Mendocino

I learned some basic blacksmithing to make my own chasing tools.

I did many, many hours of repoussé in silver.

I walked around this very charming town and drooled at all the homes and gardens.

I went running in the Mendocino Headlands several times.

Geo Floral Pattern. Digital Skills Needed.

I've recently started hand-drawing patterns that are repeatable. This means you can use your designs in textiles, wrapping paper, wall paper, web backgrounds, etc. I do it the old-school way that involves scissors and tape. I'm sure it's more efficient digitally, but my 4D class at school was a waste and I learned very little as far as Photoshop and Illustrator go. Thus the paper method.

Anyhow, I have this pattern tile that I know will repeat, but I can't figure it out with the few digital skills I do possess. So here it is as a single unit.

Any quick tips as to how I can create a grid of these? I want to see the full pattern repeat, ideally digitally so I can fix any alignment issues (like I'd know how to do that, but one thing at a time). I still want to draw the patterns by hand, because that's what I love, but I want to be able to scan and arrange them using the computer.

Edited to add:

My friend E. is the best ever. She made my pattern repeat digitally and sent it to me last night. Now I just need to convince her to teach me her magic! Also I need access to a larger scanner so I can scan instead of photograph my pattern next time. That will help with the funky shadows and the slightly visible border.

Mandala Necklace (In Progress)

Edited today to add the story of how this piece made me cry. I was too tired last night and forgot.

Last semester (Spring 2011) my jewelry class concentrated primarily on chasing and repoussé, a technique that involves hammering steel punches against a softer metal (e.g. copper, silver) to create three-dimensional relief and fantastic texturing. It's the closest to drawing in metal I've ever experienced. Chasing is when you work the front side of the metal, creating outlines or adding detail to a previously "pushed out" section. Repoussé, or more properly repoussage, is when you work the back side of the metal to create volume, the aforementioned "pushing out".

In preparation for our first big assignment, we made tools (intimidating but useful) by grinding steel punches into different shapes. We then practiced tap-tap-tapping the tools against copper to get an idea of how much you can manipulate metal into the form and design you desire. Metal really is more like clay than you'd ever imagine. It's amazing how elastic it can be when manipulated with punches and a hammer.

Our first assignment was to create a piece that expresses a dichotomy, ideally using chasing and repoussé. We were challenged to be conceptual, and to express two polar opposite concepts within one piece of jewelry or sculptural object.

Nearly all of my ideas for this project revolved around the idea of ornamentation vs. clean space. I love patterns and embellishments, but they need some negative or quiet space to feel balanced. Taking it further, when I create hand-drawn patterns or do repetitive decorative work, I get into a trance-like state. The work is very meditative, and I find it ironic that by making something so "busy" I am able to attain the clean-mind state of being that is the goal of most meditation. That was my conceptual dichotomy - the contrast between ornate, busy embellishments and the quiet, blank mind-space I reach by creating them. Now how to express that idea in metal...

I first started by sketching some pattern progressions. I wanted to make a necklace where each link would be progressively complex in form as well as texture/ornamentation. My inspiration was from a Nanettte Lepore dress I coveted earlier in the year.

Once I had a progression I was happy with, I started to sketch out the center medallion for the necklace. I wanted it to be mandala-like, a repetition of the shape used in the links. My idea is for the outside of the mandala to be super textured, but for the center to be very clean and smooth to express how my meditative mind feels while making all these patterns and textures.

After I got my idea sorted, I started to work in sterling silver. In order to chase and repoussé, you need something to support the metal when you strike it with the steel punches. We use a bowl full of a resin-like substance called pitch that is viscous and tar-like when heated, then dries to a hard consistency that will securely hold your metal in place while you work it, yet is supple enough to allow the metal to expand and contract. It's messy but pretty amazing.

Once I'd worked each link in my necklace, I cut them out with a jeweler's saw and soldered a border on the back to reinforce the edges (they get pretty thin with all that hammering). The links between the chased and repousséd pieces were cut from very thick silver that I recycled myself.

Back and forth, back and forth. You have to flip your metal several times in order to get the desired effect. It takes time. Lots of time. And all that hammering and holding tools is pretty hard on the hands and forearms. I struggled with repetitive stress injuries nearly all semester despite being really vigilant about stretching, resting and good posture.

I also had a mini-breakdown due to this piece taking so much out of me. I had about 10 times the work I'd anticipated, and spent 12-hour days in the studio everysingleday of Spring Break. That Wednesday it got to me. I hated my work. I was exhausted. I resented not having a vacation when I already so desperately needed one. I was especially frustrated because it was a *choice* to do this project, and a *choice* to work every damn day of my break, and a *choice* to push myself so hard. I had nobody to really blame/thank for how I felt but myself. After stepping outside into the alleyway outside the studio and having a good, lonesome cry I felt somewhat better. Still, I thought quite clearly, "I don't want to do this anymore." In that moment, I wasn't sure what that feeling encompassed. My specific project? School? Becoming a jewelry artist? Having my own business at all?

Although I worked a ridiculous amount on this piece, I wasn't able to finish it in time for the deadline (or even for the end of the semester, although I had good intentions). That was tough, but there came a point where I just had to set the necklace aside and concentrate on the next project so I wouldn't fall behind on that one as well. Being super burned out didn't help either. Honestly I didn't want to work on the dichotomy piece anymore. We needed some time apart. It was useful to see how much I can push myself, where my limit is, at what point I burn out physically and/or emotionally.

At least I was in good company for this whole experience. I think nearly everyone in our department has turned in a piece late despite their best intentions and efforts, and definitely everyone has had a crisis or three. I felt ashamed, defeated, tired, and stressed...but I felt like part of the team. Ha!

This is how far I've gotten on the necklace. I still need to do some texture work on the center mandala and then saw it out. I also plan to use dark patina (liver of sulfur) to add shadows to each of the elements and bring out the texture of the chasing and repoussé. I also need to finish a clasp. I'd estimate I have another 40 hours or so before completing the piece. Looks like I have my work cut out for me this summer!

The center medallion is about 5 inches in diameter and will hang just above the bust when worn. This is not a necklace for the faint of heart. Fittingly, it's being custom-made for a very strong woman: my mom. :)

Summer Blues

I thought I'd have shaken the post-semester blahs by now, but seemingly they're keen to hang out for a while longer. I tend to feel blue for a few weeks after school is out (something akin to adrenaline withdrawals, I think) but this summer I'm feeling particularly down. Nothing concrete is wrong, in fact life is pretty terrific. I just frequently feel sad for no real reason.

Maybe this is leading up to some fantastic art? Or a turning-30 crisis? Perhaps both.

On Becoming Boring

It's a thought that crosses my mind frequently these days: I'm becoming boring. More accurately, perhaps, I already have.

For so much of my life I lived abroad, traveled at every opportunity to places far, far off the beaten track, attended house parties frequented by an achingly cool international crowd, befriended people on planes and long-haul bus trips, changed plans in whatever way suited my fancy, and generally threw caution to the wind. I had many adventures, that's for sure, and a lot of my identity became defined by that exciting expat-traveler lifestyle.

Not that I wasn't aware of the downsides of the path I'd chosen. The frequent loneliness and depression, the culture shock and reverse culture shock, the isolation from family, the inevitable distancing from friends. Still, despite the negative aspects, it was a hell of an exciting way to live.

For the last couple of years, I've been shifting out of that mode. There were signs of it in Mozambique, as I increasingly craved time at home, with Rico and the cats, doing nothing and going nowhere. I thought it was a natural reaction to the crazy work habits we'd been keeping, taking on every freelance job that came across our plates. I figured I was burned out, in need of a break.

Then we moved to Casa Cali and the introverted, homebody tendencies continued strong. I rationalized that it was because we'd just moved, that in time I'd want to venture out and explore, that we'd make friends, that my old adventure-seeking self would bounce back.

Nearly two years in, and that hasn't exactly happened. I still feel like I'm plain, stay-home Jane. I have very little desire to go out, even to the city. My days are spent in the studio, gardening, hanging out at home. Social events sort of exhaust me. I can't remember the last time I set foot in a dance club or went to a fantastic late-night party, much less take a spontaneous weekend trip. We have a mortgage. We're in bed by midnight. Signs abound pointing to my very adult life.

Part of me loves this slower, home-oriented pace. I spent lots of quality time with Rico and my mom. I hang out with the cats. I cook and decorate and get my hands dirty in the garden. I make lots of art. It's relaxing, comforting work. More than anything I like the stability, the idea that Rico and I are building our home at Casa Cali and we will never, ever have to pack boxes and move ourselves halfway across the world again.

Another part of me, however, feels like I've let the train pass me by. I turn 30 in the fall, and I can't quite believe I'm this settled, this quiet, this grown-up. If I'm like this at nearly-30, the panicky part of me wonders, what will I be like at 40, or 50? When will I ever be adventurous and spontaneous again? When will I visit Lençóis Maranhenses, hike Monte Roraima, attend the Festival au Desert in Timbuktu? When will I do any of the other things that have been on my dreams list for years if all I want to do at this point is stay home? Because after art school comes kids, or so the plan goes, and if I find it hard to lead an "exciting" life now, I can only imagine how distant that concept will be with a child or two on scene.

I guess this is part of the grand cycle of getting older, making choices, becoming more conscious about what path you follow and how you spend your time. What a strange, bittersweet feeling to mourn and long for the person you once were, while at the same time not regretting for one instant the person you've become.

This Tropical Life

April Showers Bring...May Showers.

I wish it would stop raining. We've had an atypically wet winter and spring here at Casa Cali and, while we're grateful for the full reservoirs and reduced fire danger, I find myself longing for sun and warmer temperatures. I am happier when it feels like summer outside, no question.

At least one upside to all this rain is that it makes for easier gardening. Rico and I are still waging a war on weeds, blackberry and ivy, those overly aggressive inhabitants of our backyard. We're making progress, though. We just covered a large portion of the big hill with a layer of weed-block fabric, burlap and bark chips. Hopefully it will do the trick and that part of the garden will remain clean.

We watched the final match of the Champion's League this morning with A. and D., a couple we've become friends with. He's a fanatic Barcelona supporter and a hilarious heckler, so it made for a really good time.

Later in the afternoon, Rico and I took the cats to the vet for a checkup. Never my favorite thing to do. Going to the vet stresses me out so much, I feel almost as worn out as the cats do once we are finished. Everyone seemingly has a clean bill of health, so we're hopefully good for another year.

We have a fire going in the fireplace this evening, complete with red wine and a game or two of Scrabble. Hard to believe given that it's Memorial Day Weekend, a holiday I associate with sundresses, barbecues and pool parties. Still, not a bad proposition at all...