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I am UmberDove.
And by that, I mean an artist. One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.
[A photographic account of a single day in my life - A perfectly typical, perfectly unglamorous, but perfectly mine sort of day]
Monday October 7th 2013
8:43 am
9:12 am
9:56 am
12:33 pm
1:29 pm
2:08 pm
2:34 pm
2:48 pm
3:12 pm
3:41 pm
3:58 pm
4:26 pm
4:56 pm
5:45 pm
8:52 pm
10:04 pm
11:56 pm
* * *
Sometimes all the awesome comes together so seamlessly that I know the crows must have sprinkled fairy dust in the black of night.
Raven Stole the Moon
(100% sterling silver)
One of my most beloved concepts on art making is this idea that we never stop building. Over the course of a lifetime we compile experience, sight, sound, and story. We seek the answers to the questions we're asking, we study, we ruminate, we sit very quietly and ask for guidance. We remember who we were yesterday, and the questions we had back then, we look to who we want to become and step out in faith on that path. We write our own story in words, in pictures, in breath and movement. Every time I sit down in the studio I build but I also learn. As I hone my crafts I develop my thoughts.
This ring holds so much that is still wordlessly growing my heart. It is a story of the birds I hold as dear companions and teachers, the reclaiming of natural earth cycles lost to whole generations, the native Tlingit legends I intrinsically believe, the wearing of sacred adornment and the crafting of medicine. It is a thing of light and dark as equal and necessary, of joy and beauty for the sake of joy and beauty. It is exactly the thing I needed and wanted to create. "And my muse smiled and said yes, this is good."
* * *
Be so exceptionally well today my friends!
- Umber
(p.s. she'll be in the etsy shop later this morning!)
For she who holds mysteries in the iridescent flash of her eyes.
Who rises in the glory of day and fears not the black of night.
For she who weathers the tide of seasons and does not merely survive, but grows sleeker, fuller, wiser, and bolder with every new moon.
Corvid Medicine Rings
(sterling silver and labradorite)
I live alongside the corvidae, the flashy little tricksters who turn wings into rings. They call out the morning and pull up the blanket of night, they fearlessly dart into the shadows and leave their luck for us to find. These rings are multi-layered things; flashy mounds of labradorite set upon stacks of sterling and a strong silver wings to wrap and hold you gently. I've opened the backside to let the moon-time magic of these stones breath down upon your finger in secret, working them all by candle light and rain storms, praying as I created that they hold their owners well as the days grow short and the shadows deepen.
(you can find them in the shop right now)
Be well and be warm this weekend my flashy winged birds!
- U
Today it looks like this: morning fog, coffee in mugs, quiet drives, open fields, bald eagles, giddy puppies, wet socks and openness. Blessed openness. The type you feel in your chest, as though your heart has breathed deeper and wider than it has for days. When your light shines a little brighter, when your song comes a little faster. It's the type that feels like healing all the things no one else can see. I'm greedy for it. I'm near obsessed with it.
* * *
Earlier this week, it looked like this: thick skies, half-hearted rain, flickering candles, echinacea tea, hamming after dusk, harvesting sweetgrass, map-making, ugg boots, and writing out lists. Inspiration lists that is. This has become a practice for me. Not only for the satisfaction of seeing all those cheery little bullet points, nor for the clarification of the thousand flapping thoughts winging through my mind on any day, but for the practice of cultivating gratitude. I live a beautiful life; I know this much is true. That is not to say an easy life, there are no charms nor silver spoons, but it is my life and long ago I deemed it beautiful. When I stop, sit, sip and write out all those inspiring things circling my thoughts, it gives me a concrete list of things to be thankful for. There is beauty outside, inside, above and below. If I could, I'd hang little golden stars on every one of them, just to make them shine bright enough for all to see.
This list, which will continue to grow over the next week, is what I love, what I'm grateful for, what is driving my thoughts, my pencils, my saw blades.
I'd love to know what you love. Care to share in the comments?
- U
First, feel the sun against your back. Not scorching, not burning, but with enveloping warmth. Now scent the air, that end-of-summer smell, a chemistry of blackberries decaying on the vine, of dry earth cracking at the seams, the musty-rich scent of cottonwoods and the wet-green of new fescue. Now listen: the spirited hustle of treelimbs shivering in the wind, yellowed leaves rustling together with a thousand tiny voices. The rush and scrape of dry fronds filling the air, drowning out all but the sound of your own breath, rising to join the cacophony.
It is you and the mountain. You and the eagle. You and the churn of minutia below the soil. Sit down and let the grass sweep you clean.
* * *
