There's something that every designer-maker (and every other breed of 'creative' I would wager) will tell you that other people sometimes don't quite grasp.
Making things is wonderful (you knew that already), and making things is difficult. No really. I know you think we're lucky to have jobs that are so little like the 9-5 grind (we are), and that it's not real work (which may be somewhat true) - but it really is genuinely difficult.
Making things is wonderful (you knew that already), and making things is difficult. No really. I know you think we're lucky to have jobs that are so little like the 9-5 grind (we are), and that it's not real work (which may be somewhat true) - but it really is genuinely difficult.
Ideas come however they come: because something you see strikes a cord; a childhood memory resurfaced; driving to the supermarket; in a dream; while you're brushing your teeth.
And then they have to sit about in your brain for a bit and percolate - see if they've found a home.
And then you have to do something about them: sketch them out; play around with some materials;
make a mock up.
And then your relationship starts to change - just subtly at first, so you can tell yourself it isn't happening (Not again. Not this time.) - but the honeymoon is definitely over.
You're no longer starry-eyed and excitable in one another's company. You're less kind to each other. You both get stubborn. And impatient.
Sometimes you think it would be easier to just jack it in and start afresh. And sometimes you do.
And sometimes you battle it out. And when you do that, you both come out stronger and better for it (although you almost never believe that at the time).
And then you have to let the idea - which is no longer a fluttering in your belly, but a tangible thing (How could this be? A miracle!) out into the big wide world.
And suddenly you wish you'd never thought of it in the first place. What if it gets hurt, or ignored, or no one likes it? What if it's a misfit? What if people laugh at it? What if they're ambivalent? Which is worse?
Letting your work fly the nest is difficult. It's a long time coming, and the process to get to the final product is wonderful, breathtaking, horrifying, painful. It's hard to let go of things that are made from little strands of yourself knit together into something new (in my case, with a little silver thrown in).
Working towards the launch of close your eyes hold out your hand. is fabulous, and frightening. But some of you people out there who have seen pieces from the collections already have shown me that they'll be OK in the big wide world, by themselves, where I can't watch over them anymore and make them feel safe. You - my dear friends and valued customers - swing the balance a wee bit further towards the fabulous.
Thank you. It means a lot.
And then they have to sit about in your brain for a bit and percolate - see if they've found a home.
And then you have to do something about them: sketch them out; play around with some materials;
make a mock up.
And then your relationship starts to change - just subtly at first, so you can tell yourself it isn't happening (Not again. Not this time.) - but the honeymoon is definitely over.
You're no longer starry-eyed and excitable in one another's company. You're less kind to each other. You both get stubborn. And impatient.
Sometimes you think it would be easier to just jack it in and start afresh. And sometimes you do.
And sometimes you battle it out. And when you do that, you both come out stronger and better for it (although you almost never believe that at the time).
And then you have to let the idea - which is no longer a fluttering in your belly, but a tangible thing (How could this be? A miracle!) out into the big wide world.
And suddenly you wish you'd never thought of it in the first place. What if it gets hurt, or ignored, or no one likes it? What if it's a misfit? What if people laugh at it? What if they're ambivalent? Which is worse?
Letting your work fly the nest is difficult. It's a long time coming, and the process to get to the final product is wonderful, breathtaking, horrifying, painful. It's hard to let go of things that are made from little strands of yourself knit together into something new (in my case, with a little silver thrown in).
Working towards the launch of close your eyes hold out your hand. is fabulous, and frightening. But some of you people out there who have seen pieces from the collections already have shown me that they'll be OK in the big wide world, by themselves, where I can't watch over them anymore and make them feel safe. You - my dear friends and valued customers - swing the balance a wee bit further towards the fabulous.
Thank you. It means a lot.
from my codify collection. hidden in the beads it says 'talk quietly' in morse code.
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