Well, what the hell then?, you may ask. I have indeed been productive, and I have indeed been sharing thoughts and opinions (both invited and uninvited) in other venues. Just not this one.
I did some custom work that I'm choosing not to share (that is more typical of a style I used to embrace, but no longer, so I'd just as soon nobody saw it), and I've been creating some pieces that I'm hoarding to be released in mid-September when I think there might be a publicity opportunity coming my way that I'd like to take full advantage of--I don't want to be caught with my pants down, because I haven't bought new underwear in a really, really long time.
That said, this below is the first non-custom, for-the-shop-today piece that I've created in a while. I've had it on a list to do, and hemmed and hawed about stringing vs. knotting, and finally went with my gut instinct, which was to knot it. Which was contrary to my leisure instinct, because it took forfriggingever. But I think the waxy little brown knots add just the right touch to the beads. I wanted it to feel rustic, old and kind of southwestern.
Oh, show you the damn picture already?
|A Southwest Neckpiece|
Here's another picture:
Matte finish Indonesian glass beads in "burnt clay" (i.e., orange), cocoa brown, striped brown, and striped orange from Happy Mango Beads; silver heishi from Kenya, and little pewter sun-type bead, also from Happy Mango Beads; metal buttons from Lyanwood; turquoise lampwork glass spacers from Meital; some carnelian and etched red agate Dzi-style beads; and some other stuff. Nifty dotted cube beads in pewter from Monsterslayer. (My new favorite beads--they remind me of a Borg cube. It's a Star Trek thing.)
This picture almost looks Egyptian to me. They liked their turquoise.
Well, that's all for now. I'm off to witness some, oh, probably crimes against nature, genetic travesties, and crimes against common sense. If you don't hear from me for several months, it will be because America has gone fascist, adopting some long-needed public attire legislation, and an I'm-wearing-my-8-year-old-daughter's-sweatpants-even-though-I-weigh-more-than-my-husband woman (my apologies to anyone who raids their pre-pubescent children's closets) caught me gaping at Walmart and put me in cement boots and dropped me in the Flathead River.