Performing with Tanzhexen at Jewel of Yorkshire. Photo by Violet Ann.

In my other life, I am a tribal belly dancer.  Originally it was something I did as a dare to myself and then it was something I did so I could socialise in a new place where I knew few people and now it has taken over most aspects of my life that are not already occupied by making pretty things.

There’s a wonderful tribal belly dance festival in York this weekend called the Tribal Gathering. I’ll be selling my wares in the souk.

I make most of my costuming.  Though my designs I sell are not necessarily performance ware– they are intended everyday or special occasion pieces, but the designs are all influenced by dance, and tribal belly dance in particular.

Currently the tumble polisher is tumbling, I’ve been hammering away and working away with the callouses and cuts to show for it! I reek of sulphur. Making pretty things is not unlike dance.  I think of all the sweat and tears to bring something beautiful out of nothing– it is the same struggle, and a joyful one. I hope to see some of you at the tribal gathering.

If you’re not sure what tribal belly dance is, this short documentary is a nice introduction:

Tribal Hoops available in My Etsy shop.

The Saint John’s Well, Mount Grace Priory, North Yorkshire

Last weekend Mike and I went looking for one of the “lost” water shrines in North Yorkshire. There are many of these places, though they are fast disappearing– blocked up, trashed and forgotten.  Yorkshire Holy Wells and Sacred Springs by Edna Whelan and Ian Taylor, now out of print, is a wonderful resource.  Though the information in this gem of a book is now over twenty years old, it is still and invauluable aid to finding these magical places.

Mike in the bluebell glade

To reach Saint John’s Well, also called “The Wishing Well” one must traverse a forested hill misted with bluebells–a marker of ancient woodland. The equally ancient path, no doubt trod by countless well-wishers, is now blocked by many felled trees. The hike is not easy but also not impossible.

The photo above shows the well house secreted away in its gully now densely upholstered with decades of leaf mould. The water inside was clean and clear, though leaves blocked the entrance. It resembles a little house with a fairy door. It is not hard to imagine that this was built to house a genius loci.  One is tempted to return and clean this place– it wouldn’t be hard to return it to its former order.

The water here formerly supplied Mount Grace Priory–itself a sacred site. The restored Lady Chapel behind the Priory is said to be a site of miraculous healings. (See Yorkshire Holy Wells site).  The well predates the priory as a water shrine.  Though there is no written record of this, the landscape and folk customs make their own argument.

William Grainge in his 19th century writings on the Vale of Mobray explains that this well was the depository of wishes: “Even yet to this font come young men and maidens to breathe or whisper or wordless sigh the secret but ardent wishes of their heart…” This ritual included an ivy leaf with a bent pin stuck through it, tossed into the water.

Me at the well house, St. John’s Well, Mount Grace Priory

Many wells are called “pin wells” because of this practice. Why bent pins? Altering an ordinary object, destroying its original use, marks it as a talisman. In the Middle Age coins intended as offerings were bent in order to mark them as such– this practice continued for hundreds of years. It appears in the nursery rhyme–

There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile.

He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile.

He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

Throughout my journeys to various sacred sites I have often found little poems, flowers or coins left on stiles or near the sites themselves. Could the crooked sixpence be an offering left? And the crooked man and his odd cat and house be a cunning one (Ok, some say this rhyme is about Scotland and England in the 17th century, but could it be about something else as well.)

Some say the bent pins were offered to the fairies as elfshot. We found no such offerings in the dark water that day but the generations of longings and hopes left here for safekeeping were unmistakably present.

Bluebell earrings, inspired by fairy landscapes, available in my Etsy Shop

Mole, from Wind in the Willows

But Mole stood still a moment, held in thought. As one wakened suddenly from a beautiful dream, who struggles to recall it, but can recapture nothing but a dim sense of the beauty in it, the beauty! Till that, too, fades away in its turn, and the dreamer bitterly accepts the hard, cold waking and all its penalties.
― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

York is a city only in name, it gets this honor from its grand Minster. Beyond it there is the countryside. Farms, moorland, with all their mysteries and cruelties, fresh to this city girl. How like Mole I am in my reveries of this landscape, which is a hard-working one as well as a place of beauty. And this work, it’s harsh and full of penalty.

I was leaving Bolton Castle when I saw a peculiar thing just outside, tied to the fence– they had the look of cloth scraps. On closer inspection these things were tiny corpses, in various degrees of decomposition.  Full of pathos, these bodies were no longer recognisable creatures– penal indeed was the display, like some ancient ritual meant to warn off trespass, ye olde heads on the stakes at the city gates.  It wasn’t until I had a good look at the last one, bloated, distended, but the pink-nosed blindness and cunning little hands were a giveaway. These were moles– a whole labour of them.

Some Googling later, I found that this is how the mole catcher gets paid, per mole. The display is an economic transaction. Writing in the 19th century, John Clare “Northamptonshire’s Peasant Poet” describes it as an ad for the molecatcher’s services or, more strangely, as a warning to other moles.

And as a triumph to his matchless skill,
On some grey willow where a road runs by,
That passers may behold his power to kill,
On the bough’s twigs he’ll many a felon tie;
On every common dozens may be met,
Dangling on bent twigs bleaching to the sun,
Whose melancholy faces meet no regret,
Though dreamless of the snare they could not shun.

A couple hundred years ago, a mole was a mouldywarp or “dirt tosser”. These chthonic beings are suspect, or so says Leviticus. They are counted among the  unclean “creeping things that creep on the earth.” Apollodorus of Athens tells us that the ancients believed eating the heart of a mole would give one the gift of divination– the ability to metaphorically see into darkness, and Pliny the Elder claims moles can hear you talking about them.  Moles are of the dark company, the sort that make pacts with witches. Isaiah tells us enlightened men will toss their idols of gold and silver to the moles and bats.

In Germany they are a protected species but in the UK they are considered a pest, molehills supposedly ruining the lawns of golfcourses and gardens and disrupting fields. They are one of the demonised of the countryside, along with the badger and fox, our sins projected onto such creatures with “science” in tow, justifying culls and exterminations.

The Molecatcher is an old profession in Britain. There is a “British Traditional Molecatcher Register”. There’s also the Association of Professional Molecatchers and The Guild of British Molecatchers.  It’s like something from a Pratchett novel.

Ancient superstitions are knitted into folk ways, come to us in bawdy songs like The Molecatcher.  I’m quite taken by this ghostly, melancholy version of the tune by Harp and a Monkey, its lament a fitting soundtrack to my recent discovery.

Moles tied to a fence outside of Bolton Castle.

Hours of Jean de Boucicaut from wiki commons

The intricacies of illuminated manuscript borders have long been an influence on the work I make– before I made jewellery I was a painter, and my eye was trained looking at the wonderful examples of these magical texts at the Getty museum in California. There was something incongruous about these very old texts in this modern, less-than-intimate museum. Maybe that added to their power. Now I live in a medieval city, a place that often looks like something from these texts. I recognise the pastoral space, the tiny rooms, the changing seasons.

Below are ear chains designed for a special client– they hang from 5 piercings in the ears, like garlands. They were inspired by the floral borders of books of hours like the one pictured above.

Ear Chains, a custom order inspired by illuminated manuscripts.

Another view of the illuminated manuscript ear chains

The Feral Strumpet Stall at EightSquared Con, Bradford, with my faithful helper Mike

This weekend I peddled my wares at EightSquared Con, this year’s British Science Fiction Association Convention, held in Bradford.  I had been a member of the BFSA since writing my cyberpunk novel, The Desperate Ones. I hadn’t thought of selling there until a friend an fellow writer, David Gullen, suggested I give it a try. Last year the con was in London, and was much larger than the recent Bradford one.  My booth was a success last year, but despite the con being smaller this year, it was an even bigger success for me, not just in terms of sales but in many other aspects.

This was the first year I was able to appreciate Eastercon as a real community event.  Last year almost everyone who stopped by the booth was friendly and receptive, but this year people came back to chat and were very welcoming.  I never had to explain that I was the artist behind the handmade objects– everyone seemed to get that, and there was a real respect for the labor involved. Many said, “Oh I hoped you’d be here again!” and they brought their friends to the table.  Others came by to show me the jewellery they were wearing that I’d made– some said they wore their pieces almost every day. It is rewarding to see thing things one makes having a life of their own.  Maybe that is when they are really finished?   When a pair of earrings or a necklace finds its true owner and suits them beyond what I could have imagined when the item was just a pretty object, before it was theirs.

Another highlight of the con– I actually got to go to a panel. (Sometimes it was slow enough that I could have gone to more, but as soon as I decided to go it would pick up at the booth.) Perhaps I will blog a bit about it on The Desperate Ones.

So much of the process of selling online is done alone. I imagine things, make them real and then document them in hopes someone will like them enough to buy them. Translating the process to go “live” has been a challenge.  Little by little I have tried to furnish the stall, make it more like a wonder cabinet, somewhere people can linger and explore. Perhaps the most satisfying thing from this weekend was just being a part of the whole thing, this community of gentle readers with a common sense of humor and wonder.

A closer view of the stall.

The Feral Strumpet Stall at the On the Edge Festival, Leeds

Just a quick post to let everyone know I will be peddling my wares in the dealer’s room at Eastercon (aka Eightsquared Con) in Bradford this weekend!  If you will be there, come and say hi!

Hare and Moon Knitting Stitch Marker Necklace.

During March many UK Etsy sellers, myself included, will be celebrating Spring by offering FREE SHIPPING on orders over £15 to UK addresses. Use coupon code FREEMARCH13 at checkout to receive free shipping.  Offer good only on UK addresses. (Can not be used on reserve or custom listings and can’t be used retroactively.) Check out other shops offering this discount. 

This weekend my shop turns two.  It’s been a fascinating journey from just making pretty things to actually making business decisions, big and small, every day.  Thinking like a businesswoman has been the most alien and difficult part of running the business, and if it weren’t for the steady stream of gleeful squeeing and heartfelt conversations from repeat customers, I don’t know if I could have done it.

In two years I’ve gone from selling off my refurbished vintage collection to actually making a living– this is the best job I’ve ever had. Not just income wise, but in its joyful freedom and deep meaning. Thanks to all who have come with me on this journey, to every order and encouraging message!  Here’s to another happy year!

February from the Hours of duc de Berry. Time to warm your naughty bits by the fire.

Today is Lupercalia, the Roman wolf fest which may be the root of contemporary Valentine’s Day.  It’s worth bringing back to this old town I live in, a place the Romans called Eboracum. I try to picture those ancestors running through the streets naked, striking each other with thongs made from the hides of fresh sacrifices, hopping round the “Chocolate Story” museum and Betty’s Tea Room. It’s hard.

The Saxons called the month just gone the Wolf Month– as the grain stores emptied and the winter stocks thinned out, the hungry wolves came round to see just how well we’d been living, or so the myriad fairy tales begin. So here’s February, what the Anglo-Saxons called the Mud-Month. Slog through it to spring while those Roman wolves are still snuffing about in the crack in the door of our collective subconscious, or so one hopes. Whither Lupercalia?  ”We keep the wolves out by living well…” writes Angela Carter in The Bloody Chamber.

Are we living well?  There’s a blizzard blowing outside as I type this, coating everything white. No one is naked.  No one is even outside.  Snow prompts an apocalyptic freak-out  here in this country that is totally in denial about winter, but that’s a subject for another post.  And you know,  February  from the Duke of Berry’s hours is looking mighty familiar, what with the white on white. It’s kind of romantic.  Look closely.  (Clicking on the image expands it to full size). The braes (medieval underwear) hang on the wall, and the couple warm their best bits by the fire.

Whether you are donning your flayed goat hide or going commando by the fire, I wish you a blessed Mud-Month. And if you share my love of hearts, I have those aplenty in my Etsy shop.

Black Hearted Love Rosary Necklace, available in my Etsy Shop. 

Hand-wrapped choker of Czech glass beads, inspired by vintage Mardi Gras “throws”.

It’s Fat Tuesday today and you know, I went and made a necklace inspired by my by-gone collection of vintage Mardi Gras beads.  You see, the first things I sold on Etsy were collections of my vintage pieces– I couldn’t find decent work to save my life and I needed money, so I sold my things.  When I had sold most of the vintage beads and Bohemian necklaces, the old pawn silver and vintage rosaries, I started to make jewellery designs based on these beloved things, like the necklace pictured above.  The mardi gras beads were some of the last things I sold. I held onto them and wore them during the Katrina nightmare– if these beads could survive and make it to England with me, that City could survive and rebuild.

Sometimes I think of my old collection with a tinge of sadness and longing.  Maybe it’s homesickness, maybe I’m jonesing for colour in the long, grey Yorkshire winter.  When I visited New Orleans, I always combed the second hand stores, junk and antique shops hoping to find a stash of them, some still with the paper tags on them.  The ones that survived so that they could be collected in the present day must be lucky indeed.

“Thows” or beads thrown from floats to the parade audience, weren’t always made of plastic like they are now.  From the 1920s until WWII, Pressed Czech glass was used.  These beads came in a dazzling array of shapes and colours, like bon-bons. My inner  child really loved these joyfully random toy necklaces destined for the gutter. They could survive a street party of such magnitude an still be worn decades later– they were survivor beads. I loved restringing them (as they were often in dire need of it!) but I kept the randomness and would wear them in layers. Maybe someday I will return to New Orleans and rebuild my collection.  Until then, I’m using new, pressed Czech glass beads, which I would like to think are being made with the old moulds, and making these luxe versions of the old fashioned glass “throw”.

An old photo of me waring some of my vintage Mardi Gras beads.

]]> http://feralstrumpet.com/2013/02/12/throws-a-survivors-love-token/feed/ 0 purlygrrrl mardi-2 mardi_gras_beads http://feralstrumpet.com/2013/01/31/the-witch-of-positano-to-guide-me/ http://feralstrumpet.com/2013/01/31/the-witch-of-positano-to-guide-me/#comments Thu, 31 Jan 2013 14:54:40 +0000 Feral Strumpet http://feralstrumpet.com/?p=974 ]]>

Portrait of the artist Vali Myers by Eva Collins

My recent designs have been inspired by organic lines and shapes, and the power behind certain materials that have come my way. Ritual enters into it, and the afterglow of superstition. And there’s the wild kitsune-fuel of Vali Myers who I fancy is overseeing the process.

I have written previously about the quartz stones which came to me in a large lot, earth still on them. I have cleaned them– both literally and ritually— and they have soaked up the full-moonlight of the Longest Night.

The other objects are ancient beads from, I believe, Mali. These stone beads defy dating, and are a contentious subject. It is certain they are not modern. Dirt from burial still clings to them, and they vary in material and size. My research has put some as neolithic, others 600-300 years old. One thing they have in common, they all look like hag stones.

Hag stones are naturally occurring stones with a hole– they are also called adder stones, druid’s eggs, Odin stones or sometimes holey stones. A traditional holey stone was originally thought to be made by water coursing through a stone to make the hole. Pliny claimed they were made from the saliva of a congress of snakes which I kind of wish were true.  No doubt this is where the “adder stone” moniker comes from. It reveals the way language works in correspondence with the will– even if the drool of knotted snakes didn’t make them, surely the chthonic energies of earth and water did.

So when I say these old beads look like hag stones, I know they are not. A hag stone is naturally made, and these are stone beads are most definitely handmade. I am interested in these contradictions, and in simulating excavated talismans, perhaps from a fairy people of my own imagining. Vali whispers in my ear.

The Vali. Quartz crystal point and antique granite bead by Feral Strumpet