Alvin Ailey

Just half a block from my apartment is the Alvin Ailey, American Dance Theater. Walking past each day I see dancers grouped on the sidewalk in chic dance outfits, waiting for class. In the day, sun shades cover the studio windows, so a best one sees only a glimpse of the action inside.

Tonight, Amber and I went out for Afgan food at a little place on 9th Ave. On the way home we found the bench outside the studio full of spectators, some are eating ice cream. We joined.

From outside we hear no sounds of music or words from the instructor. In an instant the studio moves from stillness to light, airy motion. The instructor demonstrates, everyone practices a challenging bit of routine independently, then they group into threes and try it again with arms interlaced. Heads are held high, legs and arms gracefully extended. Burst of fluidity, halt, reset... The dancers wear their own clothes, no costumes. They make mistakes. They laugh. They try new things. It is the perfection of ballet melded with human imperfection.

The viewers are captivated.

Manhattan

Dear Family,

After two months in Brooklyn and the priceless experience of one major trade show under my belt, I re-packed my belongings and moved from an outer-borough to Manhattan. As expected, such a move is accompanied by a reduction of space. This is an island is so densely populated that if all buildings disappeared and the inhabitants tried to stand together on the ground, we would not fit. Space is a commodity.

My good friend from Boulder, Amber, serendipitously moved to New York around the same time I did to accept a job as a software developer. We decided that I would join her and her attentive dog, Shiloh, in their midtown-west, two-bedroom, ground-floor, apartment. On the morning of my arrival, we both eyed my mountain of boxes uncertainly.

One sweaty, hot, tiring day later, after struggling to find time for both work and the move-in, I feel surly and overwhelmed. Mostly unpacked, but fresh out of space for the piles of remaining items, I stop and cook a meal for Amber.

Amber arrives home to tabbouleh and Greek salad. Lemon, parsley, and freshly-cracked black pepper in the Bulgar wheat. Water-packed feta and a local tomato with simple dressing on red leaf lettuce. We give ourselves pep talks, drink beer, and watch the new episode of Mad Men.

After Amber goes to bed, I continue to work on my unpacking puzzle. With so little storage, I begin emptying boxes onto the walls. Tacks, pins and nails hold up familiar etchings, newly collected business cards, spools of wire, framed photos from the trade show booth, pin boards for hanging jewelry, ribbon, maps, articles... I forget my exhaustion and work late into the night. Eventually, pausing to look around the space feels like mine. All 74 square feet of this room, too small for both a bed and work tables, is filled with my favorite things: piled, overlapped, overflowing. The decorating style is not too different from that of my room at age nine.

Reclining against the wall on my floor mat, propped up by pretty, patterned pillows, I listen to people passing by on the street, conversations in foreign languages, car noises, trash collection... This is my small claim in a big city.

Green Market

Saturdays, just about nine blocks from my apartment, there is a green market. It's a rather small market, perhaps only twenty vendors: veggies, fruits, herbs, flowers, bread, jams, pies, eggs, cheeses... all fresh from farms in Jersey and upstate. Amazingly, unlike the Boulder farmer's market that makes produce at Whole Foods seem like a bargain, the prices are reasonable enough to do weekly shopping.

Today I bought four Jersery beefsteak tomatoes, six petit and perfect peaches, a fat bunch of arugula, a short curved cucumber, and delicate yellow and green zucchinis. I got home and immediatly started rinsing dirt from the greens.

Slice, salt, crack pepper, drizzle olive oil, squeeze lemon: done. The arugula is spicy and peppery, the tomato firm and sweet. The cucumber is crisp and so packed with water that droplets accumulate on the surface of each slice. Peach adds juicy sweetness to every few bites. It is a meal that lifts and lightens the body.



In contrast to my usual haunts, New York is nature deprived, but today, I am not.

Dream vs Reality

The dust is beginning to settle and I can see that I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Two weeks have gone by in the space of one deep breathe.

Along with the shock of arriving, that nasty voice of doubt crept in whispering "what if's". "What if you show work to 500 stores and NONE of them accept it?" "What if I go to the trade show and sell nothing?" "What if...." Well, sweetheart, obviously, the answers is: you'll figure it out.

I found my sublet to be extremely cute: tin ceilings, two fireplaces, an exposed brick wall, old sunken wood floors, tall windows... unfortunately it was filthy and the guy renting it left ALL of his personal belongings here. Luckily, after a few days of struggle, he actually moved out. Of course, he did not clean. The layers of sticky dust on every surface and strip of molding were appalling. The packed, crusty dirt in every corner was horrific. Mama came to the rescue and flew out for a visit. Together we scrubbed. Then we payed a visit to Target and came home with cute lamps and rugs and dishes. Before long we turned the sticky mess into a comfortable, adorable home.

Mom and I went into the city to visit a metal supplier and jewelry display store. We ended up wandering the Upper West Side, and going to the New York City ballet. We saw three short performances: a modern, colorful and energetic piece, a traditional Tchaikovsky, and finally a creative 1920's ballroom dance-ballet. Over the course of the week, we ate some of the most incredible pizza either one of us had ever had. We looked at architecture in Brooklyn Heights. We worked on preparing the trade show booth, and discovered some boutiques that would be excellent venues for selling my work. We walked a lot and explored the Subway. Saturday morning, leaving a cute apartment and a fridge full of food, mom headed to he airport and I set out (again with a giant rolling suitcase) to do my first flea market in Williamsburg (a trendy-hipster neighborhood in the North of Brooklyn).

Now it is Monday morning, following a full weekend: two days working a flea market and a very late night out to a bbq at the apartment of a study abroad friend. Taking a moment to reflect over a cup of Earl Gray, I remember last March. Just a few months ago, I visited the city, "fell in love" and imagined what it would be like to move here. Now the dream has been realized, and reality is scarier, more overwhelming, but so much better than the dream.

She's Arrived

She arrived on a muggy Tuesday morning, sticky with perspiration and ungracefully lugging 150 pounds in three suitcases, a camera case, and a purse. She arrived with an acne breakout to rival any high school sophomore, presumably brought on by the stress of moving. She arrived tired eye and grinning, unavoidably gushing to the Egyptian cab driver, "I'm moving to New York, I mean, I'm moving right now. I'm here!" (His response was incoherent, but kind and welcoming, no doubt.) She arrived at a tiny locksmith shop where she was to pick up the keys to her apartment. The interior was not actually spacious enough to accommodate three suitcases, a camera case, a purse, and a sweaty woman, but, determined to be city-savvy, she would not leave her belongings on the sidewalk to be stolen. So, setting off the door-bell no less than 15 times, she got it all in. Immediately, the man handed over the keys in a little brown sack, and the door bell bonged 15 more times as she struggled to turn the 56 lb. rolling suitcase around with one hand. One long city block to the apartment, she cursed her choice to wear jeans as she rolled, back-packed, and carried her 150 pounds to her new home. Two flights of stairs and one more gallon of perspiration later, AND!

She has arrived!

Who is the Anja Woman?

Yesterday I completed my third photo shoot with the lovely Adrienne. The best side effect of doing these shoots is the chance to spend time with friends before leaving town. We start with a meal and mimosas and catch up on girl talk. Pretty soon the room fills up with make up, hair accessories, clothes, and of course... jewelry. The camera comes out and the first few shots are a little awkward and we giggle and move around to loosen up. There are frequent outbursts of, "you look AWESOME," "SO beautiful," or "OOOH, what if we shoot from THIS angle." It's an art project and everyone is involved. We run back on forth from the "set" to the "staging area," changing jewelry, applying redder lipstick, adding a colored cloth around the shoulders. "Let's try the GREY!- no wait, the blue would contrast better..." Time flies by: Adrienne and I spent 4 hours before we even looked at a clock. To finish, we flip through the pictures on the camera and laugh at the clothes eyes or awkward expressions. We coo over the best ones. Each girl leaves with a piece of jewelry, and I can't wait 30 seconds after the last good-bye to transfer the pictures to my computer and start editing.

Sifting through the pictures, I am amazed by how beautiful my friends are. These are all women I've met since finishing college. None of us grew up together, but we easily and eagerly slip into a state of vibrant, youthful, energy that reminds me very much of a high school sleep over or getting ready for prom. Giggles, and bounciness and creativity. The photo shoots turned out to be a form of play, that can become all too rare with jobs, and chores, and bills, and day to day responsibilities.

I started Anja Artisan Jewelry just a little over a year ago. Often I think about the message I want to send to the world with my products and company image. With the trade show on the horizon, it's a good time to clarify and define: what is Anja jewelry? What kind of women wears it? Anja Jewelry is about promoting strong, confident, self-respecting women. The "Anja woman" has the courage to know what she wants in life, to take risks, and to be her unique self. She is both strong and feminine. She honors herself and expresses her creativity (perhaps with jewelry...)

Photo Shoot

In preparation for my big NEW YORK jewelry trade show, I have been working on a series of jewelry photo shoots with friends to be used in marketing materials. Thank you to Natalie Littlefield, Ellie Childs and Sarah Salky!

Here are some favorites...

Why?

Why am I moving to New York?

The idea sprouted when I visited New York in February to attend the "Jewelry Association Trade Show, New York" (JA NY). I took a four-day solo trip with the intention of determining whether or not exhibiting at this particular trade show would be a good investment for my business. During my stay I felt an immediate and intense connection to New York. I have visited many cities that I like and enjoy, but have never felt such a reaction. I was inspired by the energy. I saw great art. I ate authentic Thai, French, Chinese and Italian food. I found the people friendly and welcoming. I aimlessly walked for hours and hours in awe of my surrounds. The architecture of the massive buildings, the intensity, the density, the wide open avenues. So much to explore in an unfamiliar realm. As for career opportunities in jewelry design and art: endless. I got on the plane home feeling that there was no other option than to move, and I could not wait to get back to New York.

This drawing was done the day after I got home, feeling such a strong pull I felt lifted off my feet. Who holds the cane?

Now it is really happening and I can barely sleep at night. (Lying awake I think of the Beastie Boys singing, "No- sleep- 'till BROOKLYN!")

Brooklyn Sublet

This week the move to New York has become concrete. Hooray! I have officially sublet a furnished apartment in Brooklyn! Move date: June 1st. I made only a three month commitment so that I will have a chance to arrive in the city, settle in, get my bearings, and then figure out where I belong before signing a long term lease. If this apartment proves to be as perfect as I imagine, there is an opportunity to stay.


Also this week, the physical move has commenced. I have packed up my art studio and set up a temporary work space at home. One of the best things about a long distance move is the opportunity, the requirement, to purge. When grounded in one place, we, as human animals, tend to collect stuff. Stuff, stuff, stuff. Stuff we like to look at, and stuff we may use... someday. Stuff that we hold valuable, and stuff that we are too lazy to discard. After living in Boulder for seven years- I have a lot of STUFF. The process of moving requires one to assess the value of each belonging. What is important enough to move 2000 miles? What do I really need? What can I accommodate in a 500 sq ft apartment? There is something so liberating about dropping a load of stuff at the Good Will and driving home that much lighter. ahhhhh. I highly recommend it, moving or not.

Dear Family,

As many of you have now heard, I am moving to New York City. In an effort to better stay connected with loved ones, while continuing to indulge my wanderlust, I am starting this blog. It is, of course open, to friends... and all the world, but my intended audience is you, my family.

The specific date of the move is still undetermined, but the transition is underway. Moving to New york City is not an original idea by any stretch of the imagination: for hundreds of years people from all over the world have done it. Why? The most common answer is opportunity. In my case, I'm looking for opportunities to develop my career as a jewelry designer and artist. Beyond professional ambition, what could be more exciting to explore than a dense population of people from all corners of the globe packed into one small place?