All winter I longed for Spring to arrive and it finally has, so there’s not been much writing. The studio is extremely busy with both Dennis and I getting ready for shows. There are veggie gardens demanding attention, and flowers begging for admiration. There’s evenings by the ponds with conversations  out-bellowed by the frogs. That’s okay, I like the frogs. So,writing has taken a bit of a backseat for now, but here’s a photo that explains why sometimes words are just not necessary

Feb 13, 1988

March 11,2010

Started a new Facebook page for Dennis and it has demanded a lot of time, which is good because it means people are signing up for the Snobhog Studio page, but unless Einstein can come back and work on some kind of time extension thing, there’s just not enough “me” to go around at the present.

Shows are coming up and there are beads to be made, jewelry to be designed, websites to be finished, and of course taxes as well as all the other stuff that goes into being a road artist, so I best get back to it.

See you down the road…Clair

One of the coolest things about being a street artist is the immediacy of making and selling work. I can easily try out new designs and in a couple of shows find out if they are a hit or a flop. Although I sell to galleries, I don’t get that same immediate feedback. My work changes a lot, probably because I have a tendency to bore easily and am always looking for different ways to design my jewelry around the beads I make, so it’s important for me to know if a new direction is going to appeal to my customers.

The Florida market is new for me, and I made a number of  pieces with a brighter color palette than I usually use. It worked great and despite the cold weather, yes, even in Florida, people were chomping at the bit for some hot spring and summer  colors.

Pattern created on Colour Lovers website, go check it out, it's addictive and fun!

On the subject of color, I have found the coolest website called www.colour lovers.com where one can go play around with different color palettes, create patterns with the colors and get a feel for how color groups work together. What delicious fun, kind of like opening up a new box of crayons!  Since I work mostly in color groups when designing or making beads, I can see this as a valuable tool for future projects.

I promise, this week I am shooting photos of new work to post on Etsy…thanks for being patient!

See you down the road…

I always think I have more time than I actually have. It’s such a surprise to find that if I had just two more days I could get everything done. Which begs the question-why did I not start two days earlier? I have no idea, it’s just always this way.

Can’t wait to hit the Florida line-I’m looking forward to warmth, but better yet is the re-connection with some old and dear friends that I haven’t seen in years. And of course, there will be shrimp, lots of shrimp.

If you’re in the neighborhood  come see me in Mount Dora . I have no idea of my booth number since this is one of those shows that likes to surprise us at the check-in booth, but just look me up in the program under Clair Thompson/Illume` Design.

See you down the road…

It’s daunting to light the flame under these circumstances, but there’s nothing like an impending show to motivate me.  Sometimes I have to force the creativity; just because I don’t feel creative, doesn’t mean I can’t be creative.

As a master procrastinator I  get so focused on the starting of something that I sabotage the doing of something. And since the doing is so much more fun then the starting, best to just take action and have faith that things will evolve. Oh good, another lesson learned. Again.

There’s an ongoing learning curve with glass; it’s one of the things I  like about the medium because it keeps me challenged and interested. However, once I’ve hit a certain level, it’s tempting to stay there because it’s comfortable and predictable-especially if I’m trying to get ready for a show and really need to get a certain amount of work done. I had reached that place and needed to move forward. I won’t say that I had major breakthroughs this week, but I did have some little ones and that’s enough to get me in the zone.  At the very least, I’m over the hump of starting and into the goody of doing.

My next show is in Florida, so with this in mind I decided to merge some bright, juicy colors into my work. I’m very comfortable with warm , muted colors, but bright colors are a little out of my comfort zone. I added pink, turquoise, lime green and violet to my palette and discovered new color interactions I’d not considered before.

The addition of bright colors chased away the winter blues. I thought of springtime being just around the corner and the beautiful colors of the Ozarks when everything is in bloom. It made me feel good and when I feel good, the work looks good and prompts a cascading effect that translates through the entire design process. I now have a new batch of beads to play with, new designs to contemplate.

Ten days and counting to the Mount Dora show.

See you down the road…

When I was twelve, the highlight of my summer vacation was a week-long trip to my grandmother’s house. My mother drove my younger brothers and me to the train station, gave us each five dollars, kissed us goodbye and headed back home for a week of peace and quiet.

Granny loved it when we came to visit but I’m pretty sure she was equally ready to see us go. Her home was wall-to-wall white carpeting, with carefully chosen furniture in shades of aqua and cream. We were rambunctious little hooligans with a week of no rules and all the potato chips and Coca-Cola we could consume, not to mention five bucks to squander.

I was decidedly a tomboy. As the oldest of five, three of them brothers, I was aggressive and bossy. At home I spent most of my afternoons riding horses, building tree forts and smoking cigarettes I stole from my parents, but all that changed when I stepped into my grandmothers world.

I have many fond memories of that visit, but what I remember most is her dressing table. It was a triple-mirrored altar of femininity. A collection of silver-handled brushes and perfumed unguents in fancy jars adorned its bevel-glassed top.  Rouge, lipsticks and monogrammed lace handkerchiefs filled the drawers. A handsome cherry-wood jewelry box stood in the middle, a bounty of treasures spilling out of its velvet-lined compartments and trays. Draped in my Grandmother’s beads and rhinestones, I primped, powdered and posed before the triad of reflections in front of me, enchanted by the strange girl-creature I had become. My grandmother praised my efforts and told me I looked lovely.

Dola was not always pleased with me; instead of growing into the proper young lady she imagined, I stubbornly refused to be a debutante, go to church, or pledge a sorority. I scoffed at her suggestions that I dress more demurely if I ever wanted to catch a man worth marrying. I went barefoot every chance I got, ignoring her dire warnings that I would get worms. Despite these transgressions she never gave up hope that I would one day become the southern belle she dreamed of. Little did she know that  she was instrumental in fostering a career in jewelry design.

I remember my grandmother for  so many things; her fine manners, southern charm and unbelievably good fried chicken. She lived her life with grace and beauty. But what I  remember most of all  was that week during the summer of my adolescence when I transformed from tomboy to teenager, draped in my grandmothers beads.

There’s a delicious cocoon-like quality to the night. At some point I flip over into a hyper-aware state and I cook. The quiet of the night helps me focus and I get into an easy rhythm.

Last night was such a night. Designs came together easily. Production level was up. New ideas were flowing. Sometimes the muse cooperates.

The downside is once one has embarked on this kind of schedule, it’s  hard to break. Since I don’t go to sleep until around five a.m., I don’t get up until noon, finish coffee around one and hit the studio around two in the afternoon. It takes me an hour or so after that to actually settle into work, and it’s sometime after midnight before I really go into high gear. At some point I look up and realize its four or five in the morning again.

One of the best thing about working from home is the luxury of setting one’s own hours. On the rare occasion (usually an art show) I venture out in the real world, I’m shocked to discover how many people are up at the crack of nine. I’ve become so displaced from the nine to five schedule, I don’t believe I could go back.

That’s okay by me, I’m quite happy in the cocoon.

The new vintage designs are looking great-lots of movement and sparkle, springtime colors and floral forms. Can’t wait to show them off!

See you down the road…

In addition to  flame-worked glass jewelry , I also make a vintage line. I hunt for old, funky jewelry at garage sales, thrift stores and auctions, take it apart, clean up the beads and make contemporary jewelry. I know, this is just one more excuse to hoard, but at least I make a living off my syndrome.

Last night I sat down with a charming little collection of Millefiori beads from the 60′s. Millefiori means Thousand Flowers in Italian and just thinking about flowers took my mind off winter and inspired me to think of spring and Italy and my summer in Venice…the shimmering waters of the Mediterranean, the beautiful shop windows filled with trinkets of blown glass, the weather-worn colors of the architecture. When I feel like I am out of ideas I often rely on this cascading effect of daydreams, images and memories  to lead me in new directions.

Usually I start with a scattering of beads on my table. Much like cooking, I add  a pinch of this and a dash of that, just playing with the colors, shapes and textures. I don’t usually plan my designs out in advance, preferring to let them evolve…it’s more like playing than working.

There’s nothing like an impending show to stoke the fires of production. All whining goes out the window and self-determined doggedness sets in. The little stuff that seemed important yesterday seems not so important today. I’ll spend the next couple of days building new vintage designs, then head back to the torch to make some new glass beads. I should have some new work to post on Etsy by the week’s end~ I’ll be sure to post a link.

Two weeks and counting to Mount Dora, balmy weather, shrimp and palm trees. See you down the road…

While I still suffer from HAS (Hoarding Artist Syndrome) I am slowly transitioning  to normalcy. Here’s the problem; I can always visualize a use for something, no matter how obscure it is. There’s a rule of thumb for normal people; if you haven’t used it or touched it in a year, you don’t need it. I’m trying this theory out, but it’s a challenge. For example, I have a box full of fabric trimmings, laces and yarns. I have never been a fiber artist, have no wish become a fiber artist, and in fact, loathe weaving and knitting, but the colors are pretty and I might think of something to do with in my lifetime.

“Progress is happening, but the emotional toll of parting with that box full of empty toilet paper tubes might be  more than I can bear.”

I am crow-like in my compulsion to save stuff-if it’s colorful or sparkly chances are, I have it. Somewhere. In a shoebox, under a stack of styrofoam meat trays.

My father used to have a sign on his desk that read; A clean desk is the sign of a sick mind. I blame him for my inability to throw stuff away. You never met a man who could balance stacks of paper, drawings, books and catalogs the way he could. It was a thing of beauty, a  structural adventure on par with the flying buttresses of Notre Dame.

As a child, I used to love to spend hours in my grandmother’s attic. Full of trunks and boxes and old suitcases, it was a musty treasure trove of old photographs, books and vintage clothes. I still have that stuff too. This hoarding is a multi-generation thing, a cyclical pattern of collecting and saving stuff. It’s apparently up to me to break the cycle.

My husband, Dennis, is no help here. He’s got more stuff than I do. The difference is his stuff is useful. Or so he tells me. My friends are not helpful, either. I have one friend who has so much stuff, she had to buy another house just to corral it all.

As I continue to try to purge myself of this seemingly obsessive/compulsive desire to acquire,  I have made a new rule; I can only have so many of one thing. For instance, it’s okay to have stacks of Styrofoam meat trays, I do use them for countless things, but I just can’t have more than fifty. Okay, twenty-five. It’s not like there isn’t an endless supply of the things. It’s okay to keep last year’s files of art show information, but I most likely won’t benefit from  the info from 1982. And just how many tuna cans does one need?

Progress is happening, but the emotional toll of parting with that box full of empty toilet paper tubes might be  more than I can bear.