Visiting with Elise
I got together with elisem on Friday night, going over to her house. We grabbed a couple of bottles of hard cider and retreated to her workshop in the attic, where I oohed and aahed over the necklaces that she is making for World Fantasy Con. I was particularly drawn to one which was titled "Down All Those Glittering Halls." I held it up and thought, hey, it reminds me of the ice palaces (I just had the book delivered to me)--pale and glittering, but with faint tones of other pastel colors, like when the ice palaces were illuminated. If she has sold it by the time I finish the book, she'll make me another, smaller one (this one was about twelve feet long, so it could be worn as at least a quadruple strand). If she hasn't sold it by the time I finish the book . . . well, we'll see. I held it and admired it for close to a half hour as she repaired the clasp on my charm necklace. It's fascinating to watch her work. She bends over her worktable with intense concentration and talks to whatever she's working with as she shapes the wire with needlenose pliers: "There, now bend over that way, yep, um hmm, no, go that way. Excellent. No, stop that!" She wears an industrial hood with a plastic visor over her face to protect her eyes.
I love elisem's workshop. It's cluttered and dusty, more than I would be comfortable with if it were my own space to work in, but there are so many fascinating things to look at and admire that it's certainly a wonderful place to visit. I saw: clothes racks with vintage clothing, wooden pegs hung with her finished necklaces, a wire dressmaker's dummy hung all over with finished earrings, baskets full of sea shells (she had made one by weaving a twig handle through a birds nest) art postcards, boxes of lace and ribbons, dolls (like a mermaid sewn out of raw silk, with sea shells covering her breasts; embroidery floss for her hair, in a wild array of green and blue colors), books on every conceivable subject, from Minnesota history to the pre-Raphelites. There was a chest with labeled drawers: "tacks, tags and rude mechanicals" read one. (?) Ribbons were woven through dried grapevine over the window, and paper mache goddesses hung from fishing line. There was a row of strange alien creatures made of pottery, lined up in a ledge on the window frame. Mardi Gras beads draped over a window frame. There was a basket she had sewn from a rainbow array of tiny seed beads. In the hour and a half I sat with her, I kept finding more and more things to look at, both whimsical and beautiful--when I could tear my attention away from the stunning necklace I held on my lap. We chatted about the book as she worked on the charm necklace clasp, speculating about how I could work the Minneapolis Aquatennial in as the summer magical counterpart of the St. Paul Winter Carnival (hey, it even has a torchlight parade)!
When I finally left around 11:00, I carried a bag with the charm necklace, about three books she was lending me for research, a black velvet coat that she gave me ("I got it last year when I went shopping last year with Betty Friedan"), three pairs of earrings that she had whipped up for me on the spur of the moment ("I'll make you a pair with owls since you love Harry Potter so much"), an art ribbon for me to sew on a jean jacket, and a Juliet cap of silver beads ("Better on your dark hair than my blond hair.")
That's what an evening with Elise is like. Surrounded by beauty, with absorbing, humorous conversation, ending with gifts.
Damn, I admire her so much.
Cheers,
Peg
I love elisem's workshop. It's cluttered and dusty, more than I would be comfortable with if it were my own space to work in, but there are so many fascinating things to look at and admire that it's certainly a wonderful place to visit. I saw: clothes racks with vintage clothing, wooden pegs hung with her finished necklaces, a wire dressmaker's dummy hung all over with finished earrings, baskets full of sea shells (she had made one by weaving a twig handle through a birds nest) art postcards, boxes of lace and ribbons, dolls (like a mermaid sewn out of raw silk, with sea shells covering her breasts; embroidery floss for her hair, in a wild array of green and blue colors), books on every conceivable subject, from Minnesota history to the pre-Raphelites. There was a chest with labeled drawers: "tacks, tags and rude mechanicals" read one. (?) Ribbons were woven through dried grapevine over the window, and paper mache goddesses hung from fishing line. There was a row of strange alien creatures made of pottery, lined up in a ledge on the window frame. Mardi Gras beads draped over a window frame. There was a basket she had sewn from a rainbow array of tiny seed beads. In the hour and a half I sat with her, I kept finding more and more things to look at, both whimsical and beautiful--when I could tear my attention away from the stunning necklace I held on my lap. We chatted about the book as she worked on the charm necklace clasp, speculating about how I could work the Minneapolis Aquatennial in as the summer magical counterpart of the St. Paul Winter Carnival (hey, it even has a torchlight parade)!
When I finally left around 11:00, I carried a bag with the charm necklace, about three books she was lending me for research, a black velvet coat that she gave me ("I got it last year when I went shopping last year with Betty Friedan"), three pairs of earrings that she had whipped up for me on the spur of the moment ("I'll make you a pair with owls since you love Harry Potter so much"), an art ribbon for me to sew on a jean jacket, and a Juliet cap of silver beads ("Better on your dark hair than my blond hair.")
That's what an evening with Elise is like. Surrounded by beauty, with absorbing, humorous conversation, ending with gifts.
Damn, I admire her so much.
Cheers,
Peg