...Must come to an end. Or, a shift.

I've been thinking a lot about a column/series I wanted to write, giving advice to jewelry artists from the perspective of a retailer--the person selling their work. Yesterday, I had a couple sections written, and wanted to start getting them up onto the blog, but, I have also been itching to change up my website for a while, soooo....I fell into the website revamp rabbithole for most of the day. It was easier than I expected and today, it's all up!

So, head over to my new website: catherinechandler.com
and my new blog: catherinechandler.com/blog
and have a look! I'm thrilled at having everything in one place, having it all streamlined and beautiful. I will keep this blog up, but will start things fresh over there.

I hope you like what you see!

Our holidays this year were filled with heartbreak. And yet, we were buoyed by family surrounding us. On December 30, 2017, we had to put down our sweet Siamese kitty, Sammy. If you follow em on Instagram or Facebook, you've seen him there. His kidney disease flared up fast and furious, and there was nothing we could do to stop it. As heartbreaking as the whole situation was, by the end, I was glad to take away his pain and give him the gift of peace.

So, we have been in mourning. Only in the last week have I felt true joy enter my life again. Some may say, "It's just a cat--what's the big deal?" Well, I have always felt a strong kinship to animals, often preferring their company to other peoples'. I view animals and pets more as siblings than something I "own." I respect them. I love them. I try my best to understand their needs. This has allowed me to connect with many animals that often will not let people near them. I consider each of those connections a blessing.

Sammy was no ordinary cat. Much like my first cat, Dreamer, he and I had a strong bond from the beginning. He was always more dominant than his sister, Amber, and often stole the show with is cuddles and enthusiasm for playing with toys. Sometimes, his demands for attention were annoying, but I sure do miss being greeted by him reaching up for a hug, or being pawed at to be picked up. Always wanting to be picked up and held. He was mischievous, adventurous, had 10,000 different meows and loved playing hide and seek. Loved pouncing on hands under the sheets and hiding from pretend monsters. He went crazy over wet food, and learned how to beg for scraps from Ziggy. Sammy spent many hours licking us, nudging our faces, purring into our ears, and smothering us with affection. The love that animals can show continues to astound me.

We--David, myself, Amber, and Ziggy--are all readjusting. Ziggy and Sammy were cuddle buddies, and Amber spent a good week afterwards looking for her brother all over the house. We are now seeing parts of her personality come out that had hidden behind Sammy's dominance, and I'm relieved. We are happy to see her step into her new role as Queen Bee. When you invest so much love and energy into an animal, it is so hard to let them go. But I have always said, that is the responsibility you take on when you have pets, or even kids. Someday you will have to make impossible decisions.

Rest in peace, Sammy.

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.