A Button Bought in BeanBlossom

After finishing the straps of a necklace I'd been working on for some time, I was in search of a button to use as a clasp. Button clasps are one of the simplest connectors for needlewoven necklaces, but I often macramé the straps instead when making loops on toggle clasps.

At a place in BeanBlossom, Indiana—boasting both antiques and charm—I spotted a basket of buttons marked 10 cents apiece. Digging through the assortment, I found a likely candidate. It was the right size, nicely patterned in a bronze color that perfectly matched the beads I'd used in the necklace. The owner was gracious when I apologized for my meager purchase, even offering it to me free of charge. Little details can make all the difference and that single button was well worth the dime.

There's something satisfying about reusing a button—even though brand-new buttons are certainly plentiful. A button's provenance gives it meaning, but I find the hidden history behind recycled buttons nearly as intriguing as knowing they came from Grandmother's wedding dress.

When I found it, it was just a button in a basket. Now it's a detail on what I hope will become someone's cherished necklace, acquiring a new history—my part in the story quickly forgotten.

A Babble of Bluebirds

It's easy to be inspired by nature, but hard to surpass it. For the past few weeks I've been enjoying the sound of Bluebirds singing, and today they outdid themselves—a regular Babble of Bluebirds. I'll try to capture their colors and sounds on camera and translate an image into necklace form. If successful, I'll post the results here.

I enjoy using fiber, beads and found objects to make jewelry— representations of the natural world—but my creations fall short of the real thing. Here's my interpretation of the blossom of a tree whose blooms will soon be blanketing the hills and ridgetops of southern Indiana—the Flowering Dogwood.

It's challenging to translate nature into a work of art—and humbling. I've always felt like something of a copycat, even when an idea feels like my own, so the message in the lyrics to 905, a song by The Who, has always resonated with me.

Until then, all I know is what I need to know
And everything I do's been done before
Every idea in my head someone else has said
At each end of my life is an open door

Nature won't care if I copy—it's inevitable—and any too-close similarity to the work of others is unintentional. We absorb the world (and the work of other artists) unconsciously. Later, what we've seen (or heard) resurfaces at the conscious level as our own "brilliant" idea. I subscribe to  the idea of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, and hope to remain inspired by Bluebirds, The Who and others—before that second door closes behind me.