The Smoking Gun-PART 3

PART 3

All went quiet on the suburban front.

Which strangely seemed even more scary than the prospect of a wild foot race involving us, dad and what was left of his mower being swung overhead like a caveman. At first we could hear a lot of clanging from the workshop, like tools being thrown around and the loud, slightly hysterical sound of dad's ranting rising and falling like big surf on rocks. We couldn't make out any words though, which was just as well, but I was fairly certain they weren't discussing my Christmas presents.

We had no idea where Kelly was.

Hopefully she had decided, although un-heroically, to wisely go to ground and was happily curled up in her basket under our back steps. No doubt remembering all the other fun filled but ill considered associations with us and the many times we had gotten her into trouble.

More likely though, she was at this very moment searching everywhere for us with all those painful memories completely forgotten. And one thing was for certain, all her noisy barking  and slobbering would give our hiding place away, no doubt bringing  sadness and pain to our tender little backsides.

As children we vaguely suspect but cant quite grasp the subtleties of the psychological warfare parents assert on us kids during moments of, well, child caused calamity. The torment of not coming after us when they should be, instilling even the smallest doubt in our minds that everything was OK, maybe we imagined the whole thing, like we really didn't burn down the fence or pull dads mower to bits after all.  Lulling us into a false sense of security, tempting us to come home for a sandwich and then...

KA-BAM!!!

We find ourselves in a desert somewhere with the French Foreign Legion or even worse. I didn't really know what the French Foreign Legion was except that it wasn't good, there was a lot of sand involved and absolutely no Christmas presents whatsoever, ever.

We had to go somewhere. Except for our failed attempt to build a secret underground headquarters beneath Gary's house. I was fairly certain there were no subterranean caves close by to hide in. The next best thing would be to ascend vertically up the big Queensland nut tree overlooking dad's workshop in the far back corner of my backyard...

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The Smoking Gun-PART 2

Part Two    

I'm not exactly sure how we survived those first few moments, when dad drove up our driveway to find the three of us sitting there happily in our now greasy little flannelette shirts amid the tangled wreckage of his beloved and only recently working mower. 

But I do remember the strangled sob and his bulging bloodshot eyes glaring in total disbelief from behind the windshield of his white Ford Cortina. Signalling to all concerned that explanations would have to wait, because right then was the perfect time to drop tools and get the heck out of there. Which we did in three different directions and at high speed with the sound of my mum trying to offer some quick positive reasoning to my near psychotic father, which knowing him as I did was like trying to talk a hand grenade from exploding after pulling the pin.

I didn't hear the whole conversation going on between them, given the fact that at the time I was fairly absorbed with running around in noisy confused circles. I do however remember hearing dad say he was going to do something  that involved his bare hands at the exact moment that I reached our side fence.

Like an Olympic athlete and with my little legs blurring beneath me, I hurdled it in one terrified bound, hitting the ground on the other side on the run and with all the speed I could muster, headed diagonally up Gary's backyard and dived headfirst into the space between my uncle Alec's furnace and their back neighbours fence. Which I instantly discovered was crowded with another small petrified child in the shape of my cousin Gary looking owl eyed and disheveled and after yelling out together in shock and disentangling our arms and legs, we stretched out as flat as we could and like two panting little lizards squinted through some blades of grass expecting at any moment to see the Frankenstein like figure of my father coming to get us... 


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The Smoking Gun-PART 1

Part 1

I had a wonderful childhood.

Being under 10 in the late 1960’s was a joy beyond description. It was such a happy and uncomplicated time. To my young eyes the sky was tall and blue and the air seemed clean and fresh and smelled like cut grass. Magpies called and cackled to each other in the green trees and everywhere the sun shone down and kept us warm.

You could dress up like a cowboy and blaze away at people with your little silver six shooter with no frowning faces or offers of a good therapist.

The journey toward working with my hands began early, mainly because I couldn't keep them still. As a little kid I loved building plastic model aircraft, mainly to blow up in fiery air-crashes that occurred tragically and very frequently in our backyard. I was always fascinated with how things work and was constantly getting into varying degrees of trouble for pulling those same things apart.

Sadly, I wasnt really mechanically-minded though, except for the time when I was 9 when me, my cousin Gary and our little fox terrier called "Kelly" found ourselves all alone with my dad's shiny new Suffolk Punch Self Propelled Lawn Mower one cool Autumn morning when we pulled the head and any removable parts off it when he and my mother were out doing the grocery shopping.

That day our memories were a little hazy and we couldnt quite recall the fact that screws come off with a thing called a screwdriver and not pliers.  Also, that the removal of a carberetta and its housing  won’t go well for anyone using a hammer. Strangely though, it didn’t seem to matter much at the time seeing as how Gary and I were getting busy launching our engineering careers.


..... watch this space for Part 2


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Alchemy

Many times over the years, when I've been asked what I do for a living and I reply ..."I'm a  jeweller". Most people have no idea how to become one or what's involved in being one and are generally surprised when I tell them. 

For starters, the age old perception that jewellers work in dungeony places like alchemists couldn't be any further from the truth. My workshop is a sunlit studio with a view of beautiful Burleigh Beach, it's a wonderful creative space.

Personally, I'm a classically trained craftsman who entered the jewellery industry at a time when everything was totally handmade and nothing was mass produced. I was very fortunate to be indentured to a High-End Jeweller in Brisbane City. For three years I went 

to the Kangaroo Point Technical College where I studied history, theory, designing and was tutored in technical skill. My apprenticeship lasted a total of four years.

Because of my many years as a Master Jeweller I fully understand that at its heart, originality, line, balance and attention to detail are the most important aspects for the creation of all beautiful jewellery.

I feel honoured to be commissioned to create pieces for my clients that are destined to be their family heirlooms. My jewellery is given as important symbols of love and commitment that will last for generations. 

My next blog post will be a fun look at being a weird little kid, blowing things up, making new friends and how they all got me into jewellery.   

Creativity

                                 


In the dictionary creativity is defined as:    "The use of the imagination, especially in the production of an artistic work

"I don't think anyone realises their full potential as a creative artist until we have the realisation that the true source of originality lies within and not without.


As creatives, we are constantly being influenced by images of artistic expression. The flotsam and jetsam of ideas, of concepts and imagination. Constantly we encounter breathtaking examples of the human spirit being manifested in the most amazing of forms.


I believe our originality is like a precious gem, one that we were born with, one that we hold in the palm of our hand. In the beginning of our journey as we immerse ourselves in our chosen art we seek inspiration by digesting the works of our contemporaries.
As time goes by, little by little our beautiful gem is covered with layers and layers of images and ideas weighing us down, confusing our own work with the flavours and experiences of others.


The hardest thing to do is to close our eyes to most of that which influences us and to open ourselves up to all that lies inside, waiting for us to discover.
It can be an interesting place to be in at first, like being in a picture theatre with a blank screen and not knowing what's coming next. But one day we awake to find our gem, a shining diamond, reminding us that the greatest artist is and always will be inside us. 
Do you use your imagination for artistic expression - Do you see yourself as a 'creative' ?