Yes. No.

Those, my friends, are the two most powerful words. Each one is the choice of a path at any given moment in time, and can completely alter your life.

There is much written about the power of Yes--something I have experienced many times.

I said Yes to the University of New South Wales, and moved to Sydney at the young age of 18.
I said Yes to the South Australian School of Art, and moved to Adelaide at 19.
I said Yes to moving back home short of completing my degree. This meant I got to spend time with my father, however tumultuous it was, before he passed away. It also meant...
I said Yes to the Oregon College of Art and Craft.  Twice.
I said Yes to Reality Vs. Illusion, the exhibition that led to my friendship with dear Sonya.
I have said Yes to going on a date with my now-husband; to adopting not one but two cats; to working for families who I cherish; to being published in books; to multiple other jobs that have gotten me where I am today; to going to London and Italy with my stepmom. The list goes on. These are decisions that have visible outcomes.

As important and empowering as saying Yes is, saying No has just as much effect on our lives and their outcomes. However, the effects may not be quite as visible--saying No usually means standing up for ourselves; keeping out the baddies; turning down offers or refusing to be taken advantage of.

I said No to being abused by multiple ex's.
I said No to friendships or relationships with toxic people.
I said No to a job that made me hate myself.
I said No to following other peoples dreams, rather than my own.
I said No to being scared and intimidated by a sexual predator.
I said No to holding on to the past and letting it rule my life.
I have said No multiple times to going out when I needed to just take care of myself. 
I have said No to settling for less.

There is so much emphasis on saying Yes--there have been multiple books written on it, if not movies, television spots, articles, blog posts (hello!), etc. Yes is exciting, inspiring, invigorating! However, it is not the be all and end all. Saying No is extremely powerful, and much more in the sense that it tends to be done around protecting oneself. To be honest, I have an incredibly hard time saying No. It is a daily struggle. But I try to embrace it (without being too much of a humbug.)

What are your Yes's and No's? How have they changed your life? How will they change your life in the future?

I am sitting in a darkened room, the heat surrounding me, marveling at the past few months. Outside, there are clouds (or perhaps it's wildfire smoke), and I am sipping wonderfully dense black tea.

This past year has been so full of stress, anxiety, fear....it has been mind-numbing. My creativity and motivation have waned, only to be awoken time to time because of obligation or necessity. It's not all been bad, though.


Just over a month ago, we traveled to Wallowa Lake with my stepmom. We were in the midst of all-out panic, facing down the hubby's continuing unemployment and what we feared would be the worst--running out of benefits and losing our home (hubby has since started a new job, just in the nick of time). But, we had planned this adventure months ago and knew it was needed for our broken and weary souls.

After packing up the car, we headed east with a suitcase, pup, plenty of food, and bikes in tow.  The winding roads wove us through the gorge and mountains, up and over Cabbage Hill, and then North to the edge of the Eagle Cap Wilderness. Ziggy spent a lot of time laying his head on my shoulder so he could see out the front of the car, and snuggle simultaneously. He is quite the lovebug.

As we drove through farmland, and quaint little towns, marveling at their cute houses and barns, I could feel my muscles relax, my mind open. Then....we saw the lake. My immediate thought was, "Oh my god, this is like the Tahoe of Oregon!" It completely reminded me of the lake I spent summers at as a kid near Tahoe--Fallen Leaf Lake. My heart cracked open, and I fell in love. This is what we have been dreaming of.


There were deer everywhere (which Ziggy absolutely lost his mind over), adorable cabins and villas all in Swiss regalia, and gorgeous park lands surrounding the lake. Fresh, crisp air filled our lungs. Over the next few days, we explored the local town enjoying local chocolate, food and art; hiked the mountains; flew to the top of one mountain in a gondola; and played in the lake (note: Ziggy does NOT like kayaking. He DOES love swimming! After his ball.....). We refocused and renewed our energy, hatching plans for the near future and distant dreams.

Most of my friends in Portland will never understand the part of me that longs for the wide open spaces--they are city folk and could not fathom living with that kind of space. They say, "Why would you want to live there?" "What would you DO?!" "Oh, I could never live that far away." For me, it is home. It is peace and happiness.


One night while we were there, the Northern Lights were supposed to be visible. So, we stayed up into the night, then ventured down to the lake with camera gear in hand. Dave got all his gear set up while I grabbed a blanket and found a picnic table to lie upon. As I gazed up at the sky--those incredibly bright, bold stars, some of them shooting across the sky--my heart burst open, tears flowed from my eyes, and I felt small. Not the crumbling self-confidence kind of small. The kind of small that reminds you that life is so much bigger than we often remember. I want to gaze up in wonder at those stars every night. Not just the stars--the snow-capped peaks that shoot up into the sky, challenging people to climb them. The water that rushes down in tumultuous waves, tumbling across itself to get to its destination. The moon that fills the night sky with light, because there is no competition from the ground. I want to be reminded of my small-ness on a regular basis, for I will embrace it with love and say, "Yes. Yes, I am small. I am grateful. I am filled with wonder."

[Side note: on the day we drove to Wallowa Lake, the world lost a truly beautiful soul--Kelly Clark--to cancer. She was a year older than I am. I learned about this the day after, and it helped put a lot of things that have been floating around in my brain into perspective. More on that soon, but it is relevant to this experience.]

The Northern Lights were vaguely visible, but what I cared more about was the Milky Way, and simply being present. After an hour passed, and I caught a glimpse of greenish haze climbing over the ridge, I crawled off my table and into the car where I promptly passed out (it was also freezing cold out, and I had barely come prepared for that). Dave had made a photography friend and they were comparing shots and techniques. He captured some incredible images (one of which is below) while I snoozed away in the car. 

Driving home some days later, we stopped in at the small towns and chatted with the locals about life there, job opportunities, growth, and challenges. We are hatching plans. He and I both grew up in wide open spaces. We both know the love, the wonder, the grace of those places, and one day we will step out into our yard and gaze up at those stars and be home.

Sometimes you have to make sacrifices in order to have the life you want. With that in mind, I have been spending more time in the studio, making things happen.


Metalsmithing is a time-consuming pursuit, but the beauty that one can create is what makes it worth the time and energy. That is what led me to metalsmithing in the first place--that feeling of alchemy, creation, magic. It leaves you with a sense of wonder--the ability to take a flat sheet of metal and create something three dimensional out of it. And that is what I hear time and time again in peoples' stories of why they became metalsmiths--it is a magical experience.


I am all about the magic right now--not in the "I'm a unicorn/mermaid/fairy" sense that requires one to dye their hair multiple colors, dress in costumes, and drink questionably bright smoothies--I look for it in the small things. The tiny moments that many people have stopped paying attention to. Like seeing a hummingbird speed by as I am running in the wetlands with the pup. Or noticing an incredibly bright orange lichen that is almost a perfect circle. Or bonding with new extended family members and reveling in how one person can bring so many together. Life is fully of magic--we just have to look outside of ourselves, and really pay attention, to find it.



And sometimes, you are lucky enough to have the ability to create magic right in the studio, time and time again. This is all part of me designing the life I want to live. Here's to making it happen.

(And to all you beauties who are unicorns/mermaids/fairies, you do you! You and your creativity are part of what makes this world wonderful!)

 I have been thinking a lot about the future, lately. I suppose growing older does that to you. What it really is, though, is me assessing what my life looks like and contrasting that with what I want it to look like. Change comes slowly, but the blessing of being self-aware is that I tend to analyze things constantly and can make changes continually, rather than being caught off guard.

Yesterday, I turned 35.

Times are tight, so instead of splurging on an expensive spa day, we hopped in the car and drove out to the coast. It felt so good to breathe in some of that salty sea air. I spent the day watching Ziggy romp around the beach, marveling at the gorgeous blue skies and tumble of waves, and laughing with my soul mate. It was peaceful and relaxing--exactly what I needed.

I mentioned a tv show recently that I thought was cute, quirky, and thought-inducing (if you let it). While laughing at the antics of the characters, it really got me thinking about what I would want to do if I had a limited time to live. While I'm not one to throw my job and life to the wind and travel the world, I certainly do want to have the freedom to travel and experience incredible moments. Until I have a bit more security and money, I have to try to create those incredible moments here at home. Hence, the journey up Hamilton Mountain recently and yesterday's trip to the coast.

The beauty of being in your 30's, I think, is having a more focused sense of what you want. Not only that, but knowing how to get it--having a path. Growing up, I was not given the best tools to deal with life. I was given some, but not much. I didn't know how to manage my money (this is still a battle, but at least I have the knowledge and skills now); I had very shaky models for relationships and spent a lot of time making disastrous mistakes in my own; communication was not a priority at home and thus, I had to stumble through learning how to communicate in adult friendships and relationships (you would not believe how long it took me to stop leaving the house in the middle of an argument and driving off to get some space).

But, I am a quick learner, and took each lesson to heart and made changes. I have lost friendships and relationships along the way, and let's not even talk about the money I lost as a young adult. Now, we own a home. I have been with the love of my life for eleven years. I have two degrees and a wonderful, stable job in my industry. In so many ways, I am farther along than I ever imagined I'd be. The best part is that I finally feel like I truly know myself. That is the greatest gift.

So, now I am 35. Here's wishing it will be as amazing as I want it to be.

Spring has sprung. It has been springing for a while, actually. I have simply been too distracted to write about it. But here it is, in all its glory....









Spring means lots of hikes, brunch dates with friends, and working on new jewelry. Since the new studio has been set up (it's still a work in progress, but the essentials are there) I've been much more comfortable in the space and have been able to work on some commissions, which is always fun. I don't usually take on commissions, except for extremely close friends and family.

For my god-daughter's school auction, I created a jewelry and necklace set. I think they were split up for the auction, but they turned out beautifully. I'd been carrying those dalmation jaspers around for years, so I was happy to make something out of them and find them a new home.






I would love to get more time in the studio on a regular basis, but life takes over. Working full-time has its perks (hello, paycheck) but it means that my weekends are usually taken up by "life stuff"....you know--brunch, getting outside, doing chores. I'm slowly but systematically eradicating things in my life that create extra work at the moment. I'm not a 'minimalist' by any means, but I have no qualms about stowing away extra dishes and taking boxes of unecessary belongings to Goodwill. How do we end up with all this 'stuff,' anyway? The goal is to simplify, so that I can spend less time doing grunt work and more time doing what I love.







I was talking to someone recently, and the topic of time in relation to creative depth came up. I've been feeling lately like I just can't get too deep into thought with projects lately because I don't have the time to commit to them. It's a tricky balance--the ability to create something that has deeper meaning with only small amounts of time to really delve into those subjects.

And then, I have also been inspired in other ways, which also distract from jewelry pursuits. As silly as it may sound, I started watching a show on Netflix that grabbed my heart. It is a totally cheesy show with completely unrealistic plotlines, but it's fun and inspiring--No Tomorrow. Without giving away the entire plot/story, it makes you think about what you would do if you had say....8 months to live. And it's made me want to grab at a lot of opportunities that have a lot to do with living an incredible life.  The other show that's inspiring me is Bossgirl. I really want to read the book, but I'm halfway into the series already so I'll finish that first (I rarely watch a movie/show without reading the book first....should be interesting).

More soon....

In life, it feels like there are rare moments of true clarity. You know, those moments when you can suddenly see things, and people, for what, and who, they are.

This happened recently, during this past winter. It was as if the clouds over my mind and heart started lifting and moving away. They moved gradually, and then one day--blue skies.

It has been 12 years, today, since my father passed away. Not only did I lose one of my closest friends and confidants that day, but I lost a huge part of myself. I shut down. I let fear, originating from anxiety, take over a lot of things--my decisions about the future, my friendships, my relationships.

I am a very self-aware and self-reflective person--I always have been. It has taken years to get to this point of realization. Years of wondering what has been holding me back, and when that started. Years of tracing back memories and incidents. I mean, I was the girl who moved across the world, on her own, because she had a dream of visiting Australia. And then I stayed there for 4 years. This last year, I started wondering what in the world happened to that girl. Where did she go? Once I found the origin, all these puzzle pieces fell into place. I don't know why it took so long, but I am glad that this time has finally arrived. I am now able to see my relationships more clearly. I can let go of past faults and the guilt surrounding them. Best of all, I can stand up for myself as I move forward.

Letting go of the fear is difficult--it has been a companion for so many years now. But who wants to live in fear? I would far rather regret the things I've done and screwed up than the things I never tried. So I am moving forward, out of the forest and into the daylight.

So today, I will celebrate the life of my father as I have in years past. I will also be celebrating the courage he has given me, hearing his hearty, "You Go Girl!" resounding in my mind as I do so.

May your life offer you clarity and blue skies.
Onwards and upwards, dear friends.

Home ownership is so many things, all at once. It's blissful contentment, knowing you have something of your own--a piece of the world. A real life piece of land that you can stand on and stomp around on. It's a stressful weight, knowing that you have this huge debt, with big repercussions if something bad happens and you can't make payments (although, the same would go for renting). You can change it, modify things, make it your own, while at the same time, there is pressure to fit into society's molds, and so many broken things that need work.

I love it, though. I have always dreamed of owning my own home--ever since I was a little girl. Now, even when the rest of our lives are rough, I can sit back and say, "Babe. We own our own home," and feel proud.


Recently,  we made the unpopular decision to get rid of our guest room and move my studio in there. I say "unpopular" because there seems to be this weird societal pressure on homeowners to have a guest room. A good friend reminded me that our house is our own space to do with what we please, which helped alleviate some of my anti-guest-room guilt. I had been thinking about why I wasn't feeling motivated to be in the studio. What I realized with the garage studio is that it wasn't my own space. Not only was it cold, but I was sharing that space with gym equipment, lawn mowers, and various tools. The energy was all wrong.

So, we moved the bed and boxes and bikes out of the guest room, painted the purple walls white, and since then my bench and work table have taken up residence. We still have yet to move the hydraulic press and rolling mill in, and the soldering station will remain in the garage (this will mean that I have to get a cute little tray to carry items to and from the garage...not too upset about that).


One of the things I love about this move is that I'm getting the chance to reorganize and go through my drawers and discard things. As an artist, I tend to accumulate things that I "might use." Granted, I usually do end up using things, or feeling guilty if I get rid of them and need them later. But then there are items like collected bugs (yes, I used to collect bugs), or old molds for concrete and resin that I most likely will never use. It is refreshing, and renewing. Now, I can't wait to work in the studio. I got all my tools set up the other day and once I am home again (I've been dog/house sitting for 10 days across town) I can get to work on projects. I can even put up shelves! And artwork! I can display my jewelry--the big, eccentric stuff that is purely conceptual and I love to bits!

This, my friends, is part of the dream.

At some point, I started being swayed not by peoples' judgment of me, but by their possible judgment. It was a fear based in anxiety, which has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. This fear has affected not only my everyday life, but my creative work as well. I have always been inspired by the natural world--finding wonder in flora, fauna, and stones. Of course, others are inspired by the same things, but as long as we are true to ourselves, the execution of those ideas will always be as individual as we are.

Perhaps it is from attending art school--there is a sense that your ideas must go beyond the base layer. There must be so much substance that making production work can often feel futile or lacking somehow. My education in Australia was vastly different. Sure, we needed to have a concept, but the drive was different. Exploring forms and ideas for their visual appeal alone was not frowned upon. I could easily make a series of rings about endangered butterflies (with proper research, of course) and it would be commended--in fact, I created just that for my final project. The pressure from my U.S. institution was far different, although it has made me a better artist both conceptually and technically. There was more demand, more pressure to be conceptually driven. Occasionally a student would come along who wanted to make "pretty things," and you could almost see the professors cringe.

Realistically, those professors are right. There should be thought and concept in what we make, if it is anything other than production work. Even for production work, creating a story is essential--a lesson that has been cemented by working in retail.

Now, I look back to artists such as Julie Blyfield and think, "Why am I holding back? Why have I let this fall by the wayside?" In this day and age, it is so easy to get caught up in what other people think. We are constantly bombarded (mostly, through our own choosing) with images, and as an artist who follows other artists on social media, those images are of other peoples jewelry. It can be overwhelming, confusing, inspiring, and humbling.

So, I am evolving. This evolution has been anything but a straight line--it is more akin to how we evolve as people, with twists, turns, loops, and squiggles. As my new studio space takes shape, my heart feels more focused. I cannot wait to share with you what is next.

In my family--my immediate family in particular--names are inherited. They represent our history, and we each know the origins of our respective names. For example, my first name Catherine is from my paternal great-great-great grandmother, Catherine Cumerford. Her father was an Irish Catholic who fled to England, then Australia (where Catherine was born), and finally to California. My middle name, Elisabeth, is from my maternal grandmother. Some of my siblings have middle names that reflect historical last names in the family, like 'Tomlinson', and so on and so forth.

Over the years, I have learned that there are many women with the name 'Catherine Chandler' in the world, and that many of us seem to be creative--poets, writers, painters, etc. I also know that the main character in the 1980's show Beauty & The Beast was a female lawyer named Catherine Chandler. This was all very cute and trivial until recent years when said TV show was re-made and ran for four seasons. The internet being what it is, this new version of the show has collected a great fan base and now, whenever you search my name, guess what comes up? A vast collection of websites, pinterest pages, etc., devoted to a fictional TV character.

Now, if I was just your average girl, this would pose no issue. But, I'm not. I am an artist who has spent over a decade building a name and an audience. Granted, I have been less 'vocal' over the past couple years in this space due to finishing a degree and life choices.

This whole conundrum has had me wondering if I need to change my artistic/business name. The idea of starting over basically from scratch just rubs me the wrong way. After much thought, I think the best course of action is to simply be more present--in my posts here, as well as in my etsy shop and website, which are in dire need of some updates.

The timing of this is actually good, as I've felt a re-awakening of my creative spirit lately. Perhaps it's finally feeling settled into our new home after a year of living here. There's been a shift, and I can't wait to show you what's next. There will be new work, a new studio (again, I know), and an evolution of motifs and inspiration.

Thank you for reading.

Winter in the Pacific Northwest is a quiet affair. The rain and cold locks us in much of the time, and this winter has been no exception. In fact, it has gone above and beyond with snow days, ice storms, and freezing rain.

Much of November and December were spent getting jewelry ready to sell, and then the rush of the holiday season came and went. My husband was laid off from his job right before Thanksgiving, and between that, the election, and the stress of Sammy's flirtation with death, there was not a huge amount of joy this holiday season. But we made it what we could, and found joy in the little things.



This year, I expect there to be a lot of sticking close to home and improving our lives locally until DW gets a job and we can breathe a little easier. Luckily, we have gone through tough times before. Granted, we didn't have quite so many bills during those times, but we know how to make do. It is not an impossible task.

I have been getting bits and pieces of time in the studio. It is not well-insulated, so is the same temperature of the outside much of the time, which in these temperatures makes it less desirable to work in. I do have a little space heater which helps a bit. We have been talking about simply converting the garage into an actual room and doing away with the garage door all together--walling it in with a window or french doors. It would be better insulated and more inviting that way.

But, that is far into the future. This year, we will be keeping our budget tight and focusing on the garden beds by the side of the house. Ziggy has been keeping us busy with hikes and meet-ups with other GSPs. We are so lucky to live close to the largest off-leash dog park in the area, and there is a huge group of people with dogs just like Zig Zag. I can't wait until we can get back to hiking and going on bigger adventures! I actually just had my shoulder looked at by a chiropractor because there have been some issues with it locking up, and will have to do some serious modifications to my exercise regime. I see many, many more hikes, walks, and runs in the future--basically anything that doesn't aggravate my shoulder.

While this winter has brought about many feelings of doubt, misfortune, anxiety, etc., I am looking forward to spring and counting our many blessings. I have a wonderful boss and work at a great job amongst beautiful jewelry all day. I come home to a loving, supportive husband and three crazy loving animals.  We own our sweet home. These are just a few of the things I am grateful for on a daily basis. It is so easy to lose sight of those things and let the bad feelings get the best of you.

And now, for some hot cocoa and studio time...