Thursday, September 02, 2010
I love beads. I used to dream of being a bead artist...in fact I was one for awhile. My beadwork waxes and wanes with the orbit of moon beams dancing in my house of creativity. Sometimes they are in slumber for many years...but my love of beads never falters. One day, as I was whipping out my credit card to buy yet more beads, I decided that instead of beating myself up for not doing any beadwork, I would not set the expectation of creating any but would now label myself a bead collector. That covers a multitude of sins and puts it in the realm of religious icons. After all, when I go bead shopping it is a spiritual experience. I enter the doors of any bead shop with great expectations. I am filled with the ecstasy of potential as I grab a basket to fill with goodies. The glitz and glitter of beads call to my soul and I grab one thing then the next, then the next, then the next....until my basket is full and I've hardly gone ten feet into the store. But the joy is in collecting and I keep filling my basket until it is time to check out, then I go back through it, connect with my gut, and weed out things that don't look so good anymore, although they did when I first saw them. I put back beads that although lovely, do not fit with my nature and find that I was really thinking of someone else when I grabbed them. Then there are those that are so beautiful I just want to possess them. Put them in a box and save them. But then I realize they'll never see the light of day and they might be better served by someone who will embellish their beauty for all the world to see. Finally, I am left with those that nurture my soul. That go with other things I have purchased. That I can piece together in my head to create something beautiful and unique to me. That carry the potential to create beyond my wildest dreams. Then I pull out my battered credit card, hope it will go through. Carry my treasures home. And pray that someday I will pull them out to play. And create. And fill my soul.