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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


On Pigtails and Histories


Ten Thousand Small Histories No. 4
Ten Thousand Small Histories No. 4
(because I can't stop)
The other day I was rooting around in one of my studio drawers, looking for something that still remains forgotten when I came upon these two coloricious bits of beach pottery.  When I took my first smithing class last winter I took along these two.  And I mean really.  Truly.  How could you go wrong with teal the color of Florida's gulf and chartreuse as bright as any budding fern?  They are a dynamic duo I tell you.  I dropped everything and went to work.  A songbird feather pressed into sterling, rusticated bits and rings reminiscent of pocket treasures... le sigh.  It feels lighthearted and ancient all wrapped up in one.

And while we're on the subject of lightheartedness, can I tell you about a physiological marker I reached this weekend?
Pig tails.
Really they're more like two tiny puff balls of curls and a mass of bobby pins BUT for the first time since the hair was lost, I've been able to put it up.  And somehow, with hair piled back on top of my head, I feel more like me.
Grow, grow you silly little proteins!