Before leaping...

I thought I'd leave a note.

End of semester has come and gone, and I begin to feel refreshed, a brief window before the summer session begins and I am once again at the beck and call of students with mud on their hands.

I've joined a writer's circle, invited, for which I'm grateful. It's been a long time coming, having always been told, "You should write!" What people would do, if they were me...

I couldn't write a word in the two month lead up, anxious not about writing or about critique, both of which I love, but about finally doing so in a formal, and public sense. Oh my. Finally, compelled to write about the block itself, the day of the circle's meeting, I produced. This rendering having benefited from the circle's input, it still feels a little incomplete. Still, not a poor first outing, a good start to whatever may come.


Before Leaping


On the edge

Very Close

At the vertex

where this horizontal plane
vanishes suddenly into perpendicular
absolutism.

Nauseated

Sweating

Vertigo causing me to wonder if
I am thinking from somewhere around
my ankles or from my head
While I struggle to know whether head
can still be located on shoulders
or has been removed to
survey this situation from a safe
but strangling embrace in the fierce crook
of my protective arm

Orientation dissolving

My palms press hard and flat behind me against
the reassurance of granite
while the grit of its disintegration digs into my flesh
and my thoughts
grimy but familiar
providing the distraction that still serves to spare me decision
and anything more than brief,
terrified glances over the precipice.
.

Evolution...really??

Another migration from the old site. The end of the semester approaches; soon, I'll have real energy for something new. Until then, vintage.


If Bugs Can't Get It Right, Will We Ever?

After a gazillion years of evolution rapider than our own, why are bugs dumb enough to crawl on us? We're almost 100F in temperature, usually either a good deal warmer or a good deal cooler than our environment (due to a love of snow sports and the idea that tropical heat is a "vacation"--it's ok, we evolve much more slowly) and you'd think they'd notice? Isn't that differential the way mosquitoes find us, in the dark, while we're sleeping? OK, so mosquitoes do crawl on us and die, but at least the risk is worth it: they're propagating the species.

Most of the bugs that walk on us aren't. They can't kill us, they can't even get a decent mouth full, nor do they scavenge shed skin or any other biproduct. Are we the neighborhood shortcut? What's on the other side? Something worth dying for? I look on both sides of my mattress, both sides of any place I'm sitting, and they look the same. Why risk it?

Do bugs have rights of passage? "OK, now you have come of age and must find a human to cross. If you live, you will be a man-bug, a soldier ant, a worker and no longer a lowly white, soft useless..." Or maybe bugs have thug rituals. "You wanna join our gang? You wanna join OUR gang!??? OK, then you see that human over there..."

Then again, maybe they get a buzz off that spilled soda on the counter and start one upping each other. "I dare ya to walk on that vika's arm, go ahead I dare ya, you scaredy-cat, chicken-livered..." It's depressing. Not only do they outnumber us, they get a million generations to get it right in the span of just one of ours--and they still have no more common sense than the average toddler.

If bugs rule the world and they can't get it right, do we even have a chance?

Alarm Bell

Alarm Bell
Originally uploaded by la_v_i_k_a

It's been a long time since I nailed a really good one, or even tried.

If people could get what they want, would alarm bells ring?

Moving Along, and the Problem With Heirs

Well, moving along. For several years I had my postings elsewhere and by now I'm satisfied that this is "home." I'd like to work toward cleaning up and closing down the old place but really didn't want to lose some of the writing, so I thought I'd move it over here bit by bit, on occasion.

That said, what follows is certainly apropos to this month, with St. Patrick's Day barreling down upon us. My family was quite a mixture and it made for interesting interpretations and events during childhood...

The Problem With Heirs

Aside from us children (a million cousins) who were all born here, my family was full of people who came, recently, from somewhere else. I was not confused about who we were; we were just us. But, at times, those adults in the leading generation could definitely do and say some interesting and confusing things.

On my father's side, we borrowed words from German and French to talk about things which, in polite conversation, are not normally mentioned. English euphemisms were not good enough; they had no feel, no real grip. It was difficult to wield them.

And so for example, our bottoms, when mentioned, were not bums, or tusches or rear ends (that one made eyes roll). No, our bottoms were popos or derrieres. Which was just fine; we knew which end was up.

Even though both were equally foreign, the two sides of my family were quite different. Mom's side drank beer, my father's side regularly drank wine. Their side sang regularly, my father couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

It was singing, as it crossed paths with bottoms, that caused me the greatest confusion. Being Irish, Danny Boy was a great favorite with my mother's side and, being intent upon preserving culture, the adults NEVER failed to inform me that the name for the tune was "The Londonderry Aire," each and every time we sang it. And, each time I heard this, I would feel particularly appalled and look around surreptitiously at each adult to see how they were reacting. And, there was never any reaction, they just named the tune and then sang it.

I, however, always sat there totally mystified, trying to fathom the connection between old Danny and my family's earnest appreciation for London's claim to a song-worthy bottom.

And that, is the problem with heirs.

Buttons at Stitches West 2009

booth pics 047
Originally uploaded by Anzula

Quick post here! My buttons this last week/weekend at Stitches West, in Santa Clara, California. Sabrina, of Anzula, does the yarn and fibers...and hosted my buttons!

Go ahead and click on the image--the larger version ("All Sizes" option on Flickr) is great!

Busy week for me--I hope to have buttons up on Etsy by Friday, if not sooner. I've recently added three necklaces...more jewelry coming soon.

vika.etsy.com

My Buttons are in Stitches!

Unloading
Originally uploaded by la_v_i_k_a

These buttons (and others!) are headed up to the SF Bay Area with Sabrina Famellos-Schmidt, at the end of this month, for:

STITCHES West 2009
at the Santa Clara Convention Center
February 26th through March 1

You can find them on the Market Floor here:
Anzula
Booth 1037

I've blogged recently about a visit to Sabrina's house while she and friends were dyeing. That same day, she agreed to take my buttons with her to Stitches. Ever since then, I've been working my buttons off...

Pics below of her yarns, or visit her blog, too:
http://anzula.blogspot.com/

100 Green Buttons

100 Green Buttons
Originally uploaded by la_v_i_k_a

100 Porcelain buttons in the green state.

I started handbuilding with clay years ago and enjoy photography, very much. The processes from both have influenced how I make buttons.

I don't have button molds.

Instead, I roll and texture entire slabs with themes that interest me, then crop small vignettes. Each button is the "same," and yet just a little bit different. They go together without looking like they rolled out of a factory. Each one is unique.

These have already been cut, hand smoothed, drilled, and all edges beveled (including the holes, front and back!). I'm careful to work when the clay is leather hard, not completely dry; it cuts down on dust.

Next? I'll be signing the backs with a paintbrush, glazing, kiln loading, and firing.

I only fire once. It conserves energy.

There are 200 more buttons out of camera range!