One more day of unobstructed sun before the clouds are slated to return, and the air is war, and inviting. Too warm, truth be told, but there is snow forecast for Monday, so perhaps more seasonal temperatures are on the way.
It’s a beautiful day, the kind that beckons one out of doors to enjoy it, but the warmth has consequences. Already, green shoots are pushing up through the melting snow in the yard, striving for the embrace of the sun. There is green in the fields, too, and we are already having to curtail the horses’ grazing time as a result. And we are watching the trees carefully, their bare branches already studded with embryonic buds. For there will be many more freezes before winter is done, and we have already been witness in recent years to the damage done by too much early warmth.
It’s ironic: The whole world waits out winter with bated breath, hoping to see the very first of a green earth, flowering in the light of spring. And yet, with winter here, we know we need to push back on such notions, need to try to persuade the earth to wait. Winter is the time of birth, but the year is in its infancy, and as with human children, there is risk in growing up too fast.
There are reasons why cultures the world over associate “maidens,” to use only one term for a young woman, with the flowers of spring and early summer. Part of it is found in fertility tropes, of course, the obviously visible growth to physical maturity and the presumed ability, like the flowers themselves, to reproduce. It’s the most obvious and perhaps largest part of the metaphor, but also, by virtue of its obviousness, perhaps the least significant.
The deeper meaning is less tangible, more esoteric, one that connects fresh unlined faces to notions of endless possibility: in a word, hope.
And so it is with the Earth herself. Spring, after all, is hope born of winter snows, hope made real in leaf and petal.
Today’s featured work embodies this hope, and its tangible expression, too. From its description in the relevant section of the Bracelets Gallery here on the site:
Earth, Flowering In the Light Cuff Bracelet
A healthy Earth, flowering in the light, creates a world in harmony for us all. Wings honors both spirit and goal with this cuff bracelet, sterling silver in full flower. The band is scored freehand into seven separate spaces, a sacred number that in some traditions is the number of the directions, the clans, and the spirits. The inner spaces are boldly oxidized, then lightly polished and left smooth, with wing-like ajouré excisions flowing gracefully down either side. The two outer spaces remain whole, and are hand-texturized by hundreds of strikes of a tiny jeweler’s hammer, dotted earth embracing air and water. At the center of the band, an extraordinarily low-profile tube is soldered into place to elevate the setting slightly above the band’s surface. The setting itself is formed from a traditional concha wrought in Wings’s signature style, a blossom pattern cut freehand with scalloped edges that turn hand-scored rays of light into the petals of a flower. At the end of each “ray,” fitted into each scalloped edge, rests a hand-stamped sunrise symbol, each edge connecting it to the next by a single hand-stamped hoop. The concha is domed slightly, repoussé-fashion, then set at the center with a simple, elegant low-profile bezel holding a beautifully banded malachite cabochon in shades of earthy, fertile emerald green. The band is 5″ long and 1″ across; ajouré designs at either end are 1.5″ long and begin 3/4″ across at the widest point, narrowing to 1/8″ at the end; concha setting is 1.75″ across; cabochon is 3/8″ across (dimensions approximate). Side view shown below. [Note: This cuff is designed for a narrow wrist.]
Sterling silver; malachite
$1,025 + shipping, handling, and insurance
The cuff is the shimmering silver of sunlight on a trail of ice, a sight found here regularly now at day’s end as the snow melts and refreezes before the dark, opened here and there to allow the earth to breathe. The flower is the nascent green, found now only in brave blades of grass struggling to survive. And it is a reminder to us not to rush its flowering, lest it not survive.
For hope is a gift, but one not yet made real; possibility, unactualized; a promise as yet unkept, one to be fulfilled in its own time and not before. On this bright and beautiful day, we are granted hope born of winter snows. We should also hope that the Earth, and the year, are able to grow in their own good time.
~ Aji
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Wings and Aji, 2020; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
