Page 38 of Shit Happens in Ivydell

“Do sparrows mean something special?”

“Oh, there’s so much wonderful symbolism associated with them. You look them up when you get a chance.”

She pours me a glass of wine while I put on the necklace.

“Okay, I gave you a present. Now, you give me one. How big is his dick?”

We both cackle, knowing she’s only joking.

I hope? Because I’m never discussing Jensen’s dick with her. But I really love the silver sparrow she gifted me. I don’t have a lot of possessions I treasure, but this will forever be precious to me.

“I didn’t know you made pieces like this.”

“At one point, I only made pieces like that. I knew I was talented. Skilled. But I didn’t stand out. I was in a bookstore in Paris, feeling down, wondering if I’d ever be recognized as an artist, and my eyes landed on a book with an image like the pendant I’m wearing on the cover.”

“Did you buy it?”

“No. I was scandalized. The shop owner hurried right over to explain the significance of the symbolism in his haughty French accent.”

“He made you see it differently.”

“All he did was make me think he was a pretentious prick. I’d seen things like that in art before. Hell, I’d seen things far more provocative. But in galleries. Art shows. Never on a book cover. Face out on the shelf where anyone could be subjected to it. To this day, I don’t know why it had such an impact, but it stuck with me.”

“What made you want to incorporate that into your jewelry?”

“Over the next year, I kept stumbling across images of humans engaged with animals outside of art on a canvas or illustrations. I saw sculptures. A lamp base one time. Blown glass figures. Surely, those things had always been in front of me. Why had my eyes ignored them before? And why couldn’t I stop seeing them after that damn book cover?”

“So, you kept seeing them, and then what?”

“First, I became desensitized. And then I got curious. It was the seventies. Sex was everywhere. All kinds of sex. And I was spending a lot of time in Europe, but I was still a little wet behind the ears.”

“And Europe wasn’t quite as puritanical as The States.”

“To put it mildly. I learned about sex clubs and kink conventions.”

“Conventions?”

“Oh, yeah. Conventions with vendors.”

“That’s where you got recognized.”

“Some paths to glory require a detour. I had nothing to lose but time and the cost of materials, so I took a chance. I didn’t know if anyone attending that first convention would even be able to afford my stuff. Turned out, a lot of those people had money. And they liked quality items. They saw my pieces asart. And some of them probably just wanted a shocking piece of jewelry. All I knew was they were willing to pay what I was asking. Soon after, I learned the real value of word-of-mouth advertising. That community talked to each other.”

“You went on the kink convention circuit?”

“For a little while. And then a gallery in Amsterdam called. One in Paris, where it all began for me. Then London. New York. Philadelphia.”

“And the rest was history.”

“I rode high for a while. Things shifted considerably in the mid-eighties, but I had a following by then. I refocused on the tamer subjects. Started making things other than jewelry, too. Candlesticks. Vases. Called it jewelry for the home. That had a moment.”

“You still make your shocking stuff, though, right? It’s your logo.”

“Far less of it, but there are collectors. Branching into those pieces taught me the most. Not just about taking risks, but about humanity. Humility. Exposed me to things that broadened my views in ways I’ll always be grateful for. That’s why I won’t be ashamed of it. Not ever.”

“You are a complete fucking badass. You know that, right?”

“First thing I tell myself in the mirror every morning.”

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