Growing up, growing older, growing old. It's such a strange journey. It's almost like it's an illusion when you look a yourself from day to day. Only adding to what you see today to the facade of yesterday... but when you take a picture trip, see yourself only a year ago, or two, or three... it's almost numbing.

It's easy to say, "man, that felt like it was only yesterday," but to see yesterday, it's hard. To see your face, your body, the way you stood and posed and smiled for the flash, and to compare that.. to know that all there is left of that person is that single moment in time, held in a frame, ink to paper, pixel to screen.
Taking for granted all the time we had, the youth to our pulse, the ease of our lives.

Growing old terrifies me. It terrifies me to think that one day I will be my mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother. To think that our lives are always about advancing and growing and becoming something evermore positive each and everyday.. and then we decline, we stop and shift into reverse and suddenly we are once again the children of our pasts- needing help, loosing strength, losing mind and thought and sight. It terrifies me more that that day will come sooner than I can even image. That one day I will be celebrating the birth of my children and the next they will be celebrating the life in which brought them to be, lowering me to earth, peace, returning me to where I first began...and so the cycle will continue. So beautiful, yet so short.

I blame technology. We're so connected, so fast, so knowing of each and every second. We are no longer left to wait.. nothing is what it was and time is a meteorite. Time is a double edged sword, adding such beautiful shimmer to our lives while also scouring off a small layer of our surface each time as it sweeps back past.  Maybe I should start buying depends now... you know, every time they're on sale-- that way I don't have to worry about it later. Or I could have all my real teeth pulled out and replaced so that no ones notices when I start wearing big horse-like dentures that fumble in my mouth as I try to eat my Jello.  How is it so fun to make fun of the crappy stuff that happens as our bodies begin to end? I guess you make fun of what scares you. Then, when it happens, you shit yourself anyways. ...(I had to make some kind of crass joke to make us forget about the deep stuff I said earlier.)

Last week, Phoenix New Times came to my house and did a "personal space, studio interview." I've talked about this already, and whelp, it's here. A whole four pages to me, wee! It's insane to look at my studio now, and think that just 4 years ago, I was soldering on a stool top and that's really all I had... well, a pair of pliers and my torch also. That's it. Now look at it all... and I still feel like I don't have half of the things I need. I think that is one of the things that is so awesome about metalsmithing. Collecting and growing the tools as you collect and grow your skills.  Grow grow grow grow. I'm trying to justify that this goes along with my ramblings of growing and aging. My little business is getting old!

Do you think fish dream?


Read the full article, here.

I hope they have this, 60 years from now, so that I can buy it for my old, wrinkly, liver-spotted companion.