Strawberry Fields

Upon my return to New York City, from Blackberry Farm, I did what anyone who grew up in the city might do on a hot summer evening. I met a friend for dinner in Central Park. In order to continue the theme of going places named after berries and to the reverse the tenor of solitude, we chose the Imagine mosaic in Strawberry Fields. I arrived early, and had the great pleasure of sitting and watching all of humanity walk by and pose with the circular design that is embedded in the pavement. Some of the worlds biggest freaks came by to examine the scene; coming down from their high, smile with their girlfriends, or fall in love. I can't think of anything that would seem out of bounds at this little intersection just off 72nd Street and Central Park West. Strawberry Fields has long been a pilgrimage for Beatles fans eager to visit the place Lennon used to go in the mornings to write his music. He was later shot in front of his apartment building, The Dakota, across the street. That evening, however, one particular person caught my attention. It was a boy of about eleven-years-old. He looked like any eleven-year-old might, yet he and his family made quite a show of photographing him with the mosaic; the boy making dance gestures, holding his rocket pop and grinning ear to ear. It was very impressive to see this little showman run off all the freaks and tourists.Yet, there is a history and relevance to this place that belongs to a generation that this kid was not part of, and to some extent neither am I. (I do remember driving by The Dakota on the way to school and seeing all the photographers on the morning Lennon was shot, but was really unsure of who the man was) The boy has not yet had the life opportunity to hear the music and make his tribute something that comes from him. Hopefully, he will come to understand the relevance of his family trip, and how it relates to the role Central Park plays with artists and how it is an oasis of creativity in the middle of a city consumed with business. John Lennon phrased that message so well.

The whole scene got me thinking about imitation, personal aesthetic and taste. So often, personal expression is an evolution that starts with imitation. My clients insist that I don't reproduce things I make for them for other clients, and I get it. It's about the individuality of the person rather than the amount of money that can be made on on particular design. Ladies first! And I'm a big believer in that. The one thing that does confuse me a bit is that in order to create a piece of jewelry that is considered iconic, the designer has to make a number of them. Seems like a catch-22. I guess on some level I start to like the Lennon songs after I've heard them a few times. I digress. What struck me during my evening stroll was how active my brain is in the park, there is so much stimulus to work through ones head. So many of the incongruities that help make art can be found there. I can look at the rollerskaters at the half shell and see the artists from the imitators. It's not about skill or practice, it's about personal expression. I try very hard to make jewelry for people uninterested in what their friends have and more interested in what they like. I admit it helps when their friends do support the look. Yet, it remains one piece for one woman. That's not changing. 

The challenge I have posed for myself in the coming months is how to bridge that chasm between the insecurity of  imitation and strong personal pieces. I am really working hard on that. How do I create something that is comfortable enough for someone new to jewelry to buy, and that also leads them to appreciate the best workmanship though singular statement pieces? I don't expect it to be easy.