reconfigure

The spillover of frustration verbalized has been apologized for and equilibrium restored via sundry music exchanged and imbibing from the Sacred Vessel of St. Drogo, who extends his blessings over we the supplicants in all our unattractive slightly crazy coffee-drinking glory. 

Returned to the enameling studio last night experimenting with hues of sapphire blues and aquamarines clouding up and burning out around the edges. There are sheets of copper, discs and shapes, glass jars of powders untried, bits of colored and marbled glass and millefiori for infinite combinations. The age of the materials and the mere seconds of difference between an under or overfire maintain an element of alchemy and the lack of empirical formula. After almost a year of working in the studio, I still have no idea what I'm doing. There are metaphors that could be drawn out by someone more sagely but to be immersed in the creative process even for an hour or so is beautiful and needed.

I wish I had the time and the training to craft truly enduring works like these, and instead gaze in rapture at museum pieces and color plates in books. The process is even more arduous than my own, and the results infinitely more sublime.