A SACRED ENTANGLEMENT

The way the light falls at different times of the day changes the atmosphere in studio.

Some mornings start by desk lamp, depositing its singular light beam on the bench. Warm, focused, exposing sharp details on only what’s in front of me. Other times first light drops in through the windows to accentuate the shadows of things made of matter. And often I’ll be running errands all day and return home to find the fading dappled afternoon light playfully dancing in my studio as it navigates its way through the wind in the trees outside. Isn’t it the shadow that proves somethings existence, as only the trees give away the winds presence?

Each time I step into the studio to connect, to create, each feeling is acknowledged. A space that gifts so much deserve a moment of pause and consideration. Respect and adoration. Almost an energy of asking permission to be allowed to hold the creative reigns in hand. It is indeed, for me, a deeply spiritual act.

Metal speaks. I believe all things do. It’s up to us to hear the whispers uttered. Stories are hidden in the elements of the materials I use and although no soul or heartbeat present, a narrative is waiting to unfold. I allow for a moment of silence, from chaos to calm in a single breath. I sit for a moment longer to call the present in. Allowing the light to lead the way. The act feels drenched in ancient wisdom. Mindfulness, there you are.

Time stands still. The world outside no longer exists. The dance has begun. I think of the mountains. The lives lost and celebrated in these majestic spaces. The memories I carry with me of deeply moving times spent in these giants presence. The mountains I have climbed geographically, physically, emotionally, mentally too. How these protruding rock formations can hold ones heart safe when the rest of the world falls short. How the mountains has seen it all but keeps its silence in solitude.

A single line drawn from left to right. Uncomplicated and sure. The ridgeline of a mountain undulates poetically underneath the sharp point of the scribe. To have such a strong outline, presence and stance in this world must be a welcome peace. To not be moved but hold incredible space for those that call these valleys and rock faces home. How a single oscillating line can capture the power of a mountain sets my imagination alight. How a ridgeline becomes its identity, each peak, each drop a distinct identity feature. Mountain ranges have their own distinct identity. A ridgeline silhouette in the distance can give away the name of any mountain, that’s if you’ve taken the time to notice. In plain sight divinity hides, houses nature, in a way crucial to our existence.

My bench, bathed in afternoon light, brings my attention to the sawblade. As the wind blows outside, shadow and light play catch across the studio walls. Wooden handle, steel frame, tiny toothed blade, seemingly inconsequential but one of the most featured tools of the trade. Sharp, like a hot knife to butter, one gentle stroke downwards and it glides into the metal. The energy we put into anything will end up being felt by whoever is on the receiving end of it. Somehow, intentions are captured in things, cradled even, may it be for just a moment or a lifetime. We have the capacity to breathe life into all things, may our breath be conscious. Following the line drawn as the sun shows me glimpses of the gently etched mountain ridge. That something so seemingly invisible can make something so meaningful, do not be deceived by first encounters. Nothing is ever really what it seems. Be curious. The result could be the edge of a mountain bathed in light, where previously there was no mountain and no light.

I remember being in love. Head over heels, love drunk, let’s get married type of in love. It was our first trip to the mountains together, one we waited our schedules to allow for patiently, one that unfolded in the beloved Cederberg. An area that we both were fond of but have never spent enough time in to fully fill our adventure cups. After an already full day (setting up camp, climbing, swimming, slacklining) we were settling in for an afternoon of book reading by the fire and an early dinner. The sky lit up in the warmest palate of orange, pink and red, even we were glowing. We dropped everything, ran to the bakkie to go chase the setting sun, a race against last light, a race against time. And one in the end, we felt like we won. We found the nearest koppie drenched in possibility of a sunset view, without shoes I was grabbed and hauled to the foot of the mountain, from there it was easy to rock hop and run to the top. In the distance a rain cloud sprouted a double rainbow, the mist of all the colours of the colour wheel took hold of the wind and caught alight as it touched the last rays of the sun. Fractal rainbows showered across the sky. In that moment boy gave girl his heart. I’m convinced the rocks on that mountain where our feet stood and our hearts entwined carries the energy of that moment to this day.

I enjoy these heartfelt adventures I go on while creating pieces from scratch. Anyone looking in would see a craftswoman lost in concentration and focus but in truth I’m dancing with an inner landscape. Each fold, each edge imprinted with adventures from within.

I take flame to metal. It surrenders and softens. Quenched in water. Shaped by hand and a half round set of pliers, the mountain meets itself. Heated one more time to solidify the join by adding liquid solder. Metal reacts to heat, it will even cause its impurities to be pulled to surface, drawn out. Vulnerable, exposed. We have a choice in this moment. We can choose to manipulate the metal into what we want it to be or decide to hold space, honour, acknowledge and guide. The process is as much mine as it is the metals and often the metal gets to decide.

I leave the impurities on the surface of the ring. A mountain isn’t shiny and has no perfect skin. Let the metal and the mountain share with you their story, it’s not the skills I carry that need recognition here. I desire you to see your own challenges, conquered mountains, love stories and such in a piece of jewellery that simply might not seem like much. I invite you to be curious and step outside what you deem familiar to discover whole new facets of yourself.

By now the world has gone quiet, hours have gone by. In the stillness I reflect on the days adventure right here in studio. At this angle the ridges of the mountain holds last light, as if a sunset or rise is about to commence. I reminisce about the amount of sunrises shared in wild spaces, evenings of stars sometimes rain, from Knysna through to Namibia and beyond. It could just be me, but this jewellery making thing is quite the sacred affair.

Time to end the day, clean the bench and put tools away. I whisper thank you, as if not to disturb. I hold my breath as if expecting a whisper in return. My imagination half expects the studio tools and equipment to come to life after I leave, to dream up new stories for yet another day.

The music stills. The dance is done. Lights off. Reality awaits.

x

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