le-blog

Beneath the Skin

Lisa Hirsch

When you're physically faced with something- you might see it for what it is. The look of it. The texture. The smell even. You may look no further and just take it in and move on.

This -relatively speaking- is a good thing.

Being able to take something/ someone at face value is hand in hand with having an honest disposition. It's honorable, really.

When faced with a piece of art- be it a painting, a statue, a necklace- perhaps you do the same. But do you ever pause to think of the multi dimensionality of things? 

Every living animal has a back bone. With out it, the body would be but a pile of flesh, arms and arms and legs and legs all splat out. The innards keep us up and together. So what about art?

To understand anything is to have a deeper place for it in ones heart. A background story on a person deepens your love for them, no? Or at least you compassion- adding to their humanity.

Art calls for this as well.

And I'll tell you- was reluctant to write a blog. 
I've had a surprising number of people gently encouraging me to do so, mostly because I have some gifts in writing, and also because it's good for business, but I resisted, thinking "Who in the world wants to read about jewelry? How boring." Obviously we're all fond of the stuff. We love looking pretty and admiring beauty, but to read about it? No thanks. 
Then it hit me; this blog doesn't have to be about anything boring at all.
It can speak of bones.
It can speak of the back bone behind my creations, and of how the art grew in me, shifting and shaping to this current manifestation that is actually increasing in lucrativeness all the time! Well well well.

My make-up:
My moms grew up in a brownstone in the Boogie Down Bronx. A curious child; she ran around with skinned knees, climbing trees, asking too many questions, dreaming of classic cars, singing songs...
My pops was born and raised in Bolivia, a serious boy who's childhood was an abrupt introduction to adulthood. Bookish, the man of the household, big eyed, kind and timid. He came to the US for a better life.
My folks met on a blind date in Central Park. He liked her legs, she liked his accent.
They fell in love. They traveled the world. They settled down again in NYC.
My father feared the inability to financially support a child and my mom wanted one badly. I suppose I was their compromise.
Being just the 3 of us didn't hinder their love of travel and because of this, I have seen beauty that few will ever know, from a young age.
Because I was an only child I had a lot of alone time. This was comprised mainly of art, evident in the massive boxes in my parent's attic. Mostly I drew girls and ladies. Fashion. Homeless children. Eyes. Charcoal and pastels were my faves, and then watercolors were the best.

My mother, a potter, a folk singer, a seamstress... She built our back deck and my sand box that was to last no more than 4 months before the Great Slug Takeover became too slimey a war to contend with. She drew. She did calligraphy. And she worked in Manhattan, holding down her own business- still with time to create and raise me good.
My pops- the thinker. Concerned and serious; left brainer. He was supportive in spite of the fact that we were quite different then.
I took after mama.

In high school I got turned onto Janis, Jimi, Led Zepplin, the Beastie Boys, Parliament Funkadelic, Sista Nancy, Sizzla... and a lot of weed. The pot we initially had access to was brick and full of crackling seeds and stems, but was perfect because I could smoke  a whole joint to the head and zone out and do stuff like make peyote stitches. This was a hint of foreshadowing into  the now, but like my mama, all art and craft were cyclical and it had it's day. I think most creatives are this way too. 

Fast forward the story to 6 years ago. 
It was one of those times in life where everything was confetti in the air. 
I had just graduated with my MA in teaching, was working full time in the public schools, was also working as a cocktail waitress at a tiki bar in town, was in a stressful marriage, was just starting to tinker with jewelry... 
Then as if struck my lightening- I picked up guitar, got a divorce, moved into my own spot, and gathered a lot of momentum with my new jewelry baby.

It wasn't till I moved to the Bay Area that PHD really spread it's wings.
I was teaching English in a university, but kept getting new store accounts that I had to turn down because I just didn't have time to do it all.
My guy at the time encouraged me to take the leap... and I did! I went full time with PHD and quit my day job. Yes! It's been almost 2 years now!

I love writing and reading, and to learn about the details of other people I admire and how they achieve success, and where they gleaned inspiration from will never grow old.

So is a painting just a painting? 
Is metal more than how it's banged into and told to behave?
Are a pair of earrings hanging in isolation?

Or does everything carry it's own tune and have it's own tale.
We are all full of ingredients.
Here's my list for you once I distill the unspoken years, months, days, and untold seconds, to bring you each piece that is full of life, backstory, and love.

And a reminder; that everything is everything. It's all connected.