Written By Joscelin
March 14, 2018, 2:50 p.m.(5/11/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Cicero
It was with humorous banter that we started our professional encouragements. I still bear the pin he gave me when he started the Silver Consortium, one I wear with pride though many incorrectly assumed we should have been rivals.
Competition, even in a benign form as this, breeds success for both sides, and while we continued to be professional allies/rivals in the years that followed, I look back on those beginnings with amusement and pride.
I still will, though I am sorry we will be unable to to meet as friends would, in this life.
Competition, even in a benign form as this, breeds success for both sides, and while we continued to be professional allies/rivals in the years that followed, I look back on those beginnings with amusement and pride.
I still will, though I am sorry we will be unable to to meet as friends would, in this life.
Written By Joscelin
March 13, 2018, 10:18 p.m.(5/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Elara
Yes.
Written By Joscelin
March 13, 2018, 9:11 p.m.(5/10/1008 AR)
I'm exhausted. I have a mountain of work to get done, I want to restock my shop before I head to Setarco so my assistants don't burst into tears every time I walk through the doors.
Note to self: hire more apprentices.
Oh, that reminds me. Should anyone reading these know of those youngsters that are aimless, in need of work or discipline and have a keen eye for design and the untapped abilities of a dexterous pair of hands, I'd be happy to take a few on. My last batch of apprentices have become journeymen and are shadowing other master jewelers. I find working with beginners to be the most rewarding, they don't complain as much as their slightly more experienced counterparts, and all of them seem to think I'm kind/motherly/pretty/talented/nice. Journeymen are disillusioned at that point and tend to not think of me as anything other than a loud, swearing -harridan- until they've made master-class. Alas. I suspect motherhood would have been the same, if I'd been lucky enough to have children.
Note to self: hire more apprentices.
Oh, that reminds me. Should anyone reading these know of those youngsters that are aimless, in need of work or discipline and have a keen eye for design and the untapped abilities of a dexterous pair of hands, I'd be happy to take a few on. My last batch of apprentices have become journeymen and are shadowing other master jewelers. I find working with beginners to be the most rewarding, they don't complain as much as their slightly more experienced counterparts, and all of them seem to think I'm kind/motherly/pretty/talented/nice. Journeymen are disillusioned at that point and tend to not think of me as anything other than a loud, swearing -harridan- until they've made master-class. Alas. I suspect motherhood would have been the same, if I'd been lucky enough to have children.
Written By Joscelin
March 12, 2018, 3:41 p.m.(5/7/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
Unless it's a bear, and then the bear will go 'HAH' and 'I'M A BEAR, MAIDENS!'
Right?
Right?
Written By Joscelin
March 11, 2018, 3:59 p.m.(5/5/1008 AR)
I walked into my shop this morning to find literature. -Smutty-. Literature. Everywhere. The counters, the sofa, the chairs ...
Is someone trying to tell me something?
[muttering overheard: "'Triple Threat'? What does that even -mean-? Is that position -possible- outside of an orgy that includes scaffolding and four people to spot you? What? NO scholar, don't-"]
Is someone trying to tell me something?
[muttering overheard: "'Triple Threat'? What does that even -mean-? Is that position -possible- outside of an orgy that includes scaffolding and four people to spot you? What? NO scholar, don't-"]
Written By Joscelin
March 9, 2018, 5:06 p.m.(5/1/1008 AR)
The ingot of gold melts in the crucible, cherry red and radiating heat so fierce, the air that hugs it trembles.
The trick is keeping the metal open to the flame, to keep it close, to hug the heat in with rocks that are perfect for reflecting it back into that puddle of molten metal. The flame must embrace the metal, the metal must stay open, so you bathe the stream as you pour it into the mold, the fire blazes and the metal pours through it. The gold stays liquid, flows free and into every finely carved detail, every edge and corner that was painstakingly worked on.
If you pull the heat back too soon, if you run out of fuel when you need it most, if you use too much gold and the flame isn't big enough, if you close the metal off from the affections of the torch, it will not flow. It will leave you with a half-filled mold, the plaster ruined, the original model destroyed and lost to the forge, all that work, all that time, all of it for nothing.
An apprentice must make these mistakes, they must learn and practice until such things never happen again. Maybe this requires more control, more attention, a singular devotion to this one detail for as long as it takes. Bathe the metal in flame. Pour it through, cradle the heat close, keep the molten gold open to it. Be bold. Don't give up.
But enough failure convinces you that the tools and the method are not the problem.
Perhaps it's just you.
The trick is keeping the metal open to the flame, to keep it close, to hug the heat in with rocks that are perfect for reflecting it back into that puddle of molten metal. The flame must embrace the metal, the metal must stay open, so you bathe the stream as you pour it into the mold, the fire blazes and the metal pours through it. The gold stays liquid, flows free and into every finely carved detail, every edge and corner that was painstakingly worked on.
If you pull the heat back too soon, if you run out of fuel when you need it most, if you use too much gold and the flame isn't big enough, if you close the metal off from the affections of the torch, it will not flow. It will leave you with a half-filled mold, the plaster ruined, the original model destroyed and lost to the forge, all that work, all that time, all of it for nothing.
An apprentice must make these mistakes, they must learn and practice until such things never happen again. Maybe this requires more control, more attention, a singular devotion to this one detail for as long as it takes. Bathe the metal in flame. Pour it through, cradle the heat close, keep the molten gold open to it. Be bold. Don't give up.
But enough failure convinces you that the tools and the method are not the problem.
Perhaps it's just you.
Written By Joscelin
March 9, 2018, 4:28 p.m.(5/1/1008 AR)
An artisan wakes from a dream.
The dream brings with it inspiration for a thousand different creations. It's rushed, it pours through her like rain, through her mind, soul, heart, through to hands that rush to put them all down on paper by drawing or writing or both. It's a mad scramble to get it all out before it might be forgotten, the fickle morning state of the mind predictable only in it's inability to be predictable.
A tiny portion of those ideas make it to fruition. A half dozen to a hundred beautiful, usable concepts.
In the aftermath of their creation, the works are made, sitting on the table or a bench of a desk or a floor, and for a small moment, a heartbeat in the life of a butterfly, the artisan feels awe, pride, joy that they have created something that isn't just worthy in their eyes, but -makes them feel worthy- of the inspiration that gave it life.
A moment later, the joy is gone, the artisan's self-worth drawn closed, the piece a disappointment.
It would never match the untouched, pristine idea born of Jayus, it will never meet those impossible standards that -we- impose on ourselves and our work; Jayus asks us to Make, the purest form of our abilities, to follow the inspiration and let it birth through us.
But the vision we saw never matches the thing we've made; what we've made never meets what we wanted, what we think Jayus wants of us, what -we- wanted to make it to be. Many of us think us then unworthy; perhaps that's why it failed. Perhaps that's why it will always, always be a disappointment to us.
The item is placed for sale, often because the more practical people in our lives, our friends and assistants and companions, tell us we're being ridiculous and save it from the trash heap. A ridiculous price is put on said item; we scoff. "No one is going to fall for that."
The item is bought. Taken. Praised; the new owner is in love, the artisan now has a customer for life.
A few days past. Indulgences are given, the artisan sleeps for a few days, drinks every night, maybe disappears from their studio. Not always the case, but it is for many, myself included. I will work for days on end, forget to eat, forget to sleep, and when I make The Thing I wanted to, after those first blissful heartbeats, I deem it a failure, catch up on sleep and sustenance, and a week later, I'm ready to go back to work.
Often, these are commissions. Some artists work on pure inspiration, and to them, I consider them to be the purest form of Crafter; no commissions, the only instructions they receive in guidance are from the Gods. As the Crafters Guild stems from a branch of the Faith, or so it is rumored, then Crafters were originally Disciples of Jayus, to create such honors Him. We create, we Honor Him, work from Him.
Customers purchase what we create, they honor Him.
Time passes. The cycle begins anew. A thousand ideas from one dream, six make it to the pages of our sketchbooks and design tables and journals, half of those are birthed into reality. We see the joy in its beauty, the joy it can bring to others. Seconds later, we hate it, hate ourselves, our mortal hands that are so limited, so restricted by human flesh and aging bones. Those that love us rescue what we've created, show it to the world. Money comes in. We repair our bodies. We rest. We start again.
Not every artisan is like this, not every Crafter, not everyone who creates, but it is the case for many. It is the case for me. Everything I make is a labor of love, to someone, to an idea, to a dream, to Jayus, and when it's done, when it's put out in my shop to be purchased as the individual creation that it is, I didn't put it there. It was rescued before it hit the rubbish pile. I am humbled, always, as they never seem to linger in my store for more than a day. I suspect I'm simply tricking the lot of you. Half the time, expressions of joy in my work are met with my disbelief. I simply hide it well.
That being said? Every one of my Crafters, every Artisan I have ever met, puts everything they are into everything they make. While I struggle with my own self-worth in the things I make, in how what envisioned is not what is made, my Crafters do me proud, the non-Guild artisans also make me proud. It's a bond between us, the struggle of creation, to bring forth with our mortal hands what our eternal selves can so easily receive. It isn't fair. It's a struggle, it's never fair, but it's always worth it.
Often, when I am out and about, be it market perusing, meeting with suppliers, attending a fete, and I see someone wearing one of those special items I made, the ones I aimed for the trash bin only to have snatched from me before it made it that far, I am in awe. I am in awe that I was chosen to make such a beautiful thing, that it gives joy not only to the person that wears it but them that witness it upon them. It makes all the rage and work and tears and blood worth it, and in its fleeting bliss it makes it that much more precious, a feeling we strive for, a satisfaction nothing can come close to.
The dream brings with it inspiration for a thousand different creations. It's rushed, it pours through her like rain, through her mind, soul, heart, through to hands that rush to put them all down on paper by drawing or writing or both. It's a mad scramble to get it all out before it might be forgotten, the fickle morning state of the mind predictable only in it's inability to be predictable.
A tiny portion of those ideas make it to fruition. A half dozen to a hundred beautiful, usable concepts.
In the aftermath of their creation, the works are made, sitting on the table or a bench of a desk or a floor, and for a small moment, a heartbeat in the life of a butterfly, the artisan feels awe, pride, joy that they have created something that isn't just worthy in their eyes, but -makes them feel worthy- of the inspiration that gave it life.
A moment later, the joy is gone, the artisan's self-worth drawn closed, the piece a disappointment.
It would never match the untouched, pristine idea born of Jayus, it will never meet those impossible standards that -we- impose on ourselves and our work; Jayus asks us to Make, the purest form of our abilities, to follow the inspiration and let it birth through us.
But the vision we saw never matches the thing we've made; what we've made never meets what we wanted, what we think Jayus wants of us, what -we- wanted to make it to be. Many of us think us then unworthy; perhaps that's why it failed. Perhaps that's why it will always, always be a disappointment to us.
The item is placed for sale, often because the more practical people in our lives, our friends and assistants and companions, tell us we're being ridiculous and save it from the trash heap. A ridiculous price is put on said item; we scoff. "No one is going to fall for that."
The item is bought. Taken. Praised; the new owner is in love, the artisan now has a customer for life.
A few days past. Indulgences are given, the artisan sleeps for a few days, drinks every night, maybe disappears from their studio. Not always the case, but it is for many, myself included. I will work for days on end, forget to eat, forget to sleep, and when I make The Thing I wanted to, after those first blissful heartbeats, I deem it a failure, catch up on sleep and sustenance, and a week later, I'm ready to go back to work.
Often, these are commissions. Some artists work on pure inspiration, and to them, I consider them to be the purest form of Crafter; no commissions, the only instructions they receive in guidance are from the Gods. As the Crafters Guild stems from a branch of the Faith, or so it is rumored, then Crafters were originally Disciples of Jayus, to create such honors Him. We create, we Honor Him, work from Him.
Customers purchase what we create, they honor Him.
Time passes. The cycle begins anew. A thousand ideas from one dream, six make it to the pages of our sketchbooks and design tables and journals, half of those are birthed into reality. We see the joy in its beauty, the joy it can bring to others. Seconds later, we hate it, hate ourselves, our mortal hands that are so limited, so restricted by human flesh and aging bones. Those that love us rescue what we've created, show it to the world. Money comes in. We repair our bodies. We rest. We start again.
Not every artisan is like this, not every Crafter, not everyone who creates, but it is the case for many. It is the case for me. Everything I make is a labor of love, to someone, to an idea, to a dream, to Jayus, and when it's done, when it's put out in my shop to be purchased as the individual creation that it is, I didn't put it there. It was rescued before it hit the rubbish pile. I am humbled, always, as they never seem to linger in my store for more than a day. I suspect I'm simply tricking the lot of you. Half the time, expressions of joy in my work are met with my disbelief. I simply hide it well.
That being said? Every one of my Crafters, every Artisan I have ever met, puts everything they are into everything they make. While I struggle with my own self-worth in the things I make, in how what envisioned is not what is made, my Crafters do me proud, the non-Guild artisans also make me proud. It's a bond between us, the struggle of creation, to bring forth with our mortal hands what our eternal selves can so easily receive. It isn't fair. It's a struggle, it's never fair, but it's always worth it.
Often, when I am out and about, be it market perusing, meeting with suppliers, attending a fete, and I see someone wearing one of those special items I made, the ones I aimed for the trash bin only to have snatched from me before it made it that far, I am in awe. I am in awe that I was chosen to make such a beautiful thing, that it gives joy not only to the person that wears it but them that witness it upon them. It makes all the rage and work and tears and blood worth it, and in its fleeting bliss it makes it that much more precious, a feeling we strive for, a satisfaction nothing can come close to.
Written By Joscelin
March 8, 2018, 12:24 p.m.(4/27/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Khanne
Congratulations, my dear. Joy and happiness to you and your future.
Written By Joscelin
March 8, 2018, 12:23 p.m.(4/27/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Percephon
It warms my heart more than I can ever explain, that you continued to seek love, find redemption both for yourself and others, and that I can call you 'friend'.
Congratulations, Percy. You really do deserve it.
Congratulations, Percy. You really do deserve it.
Written By Joscelin
March 7, 2018, 10:50 p.m.(4/26/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Bethany
I had no idea you had a thing for taxidermy. I would like one!
Written By Joscelin
March 7, 2018, 1:02 a.m.(4/24/1008 AR)
I've been more in touch with the Lycene part of my heritage in the past few months than I have in the past decade. It's breathtaking, wonderful, exhausting, delightful, a source of great joy, and, most of all, a lot like coming home.
I can't remember the last time I was so inspired and yet completely content to just -be-.
I can't remember the last time I was so inspired and yet completely content to just -be-.
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 3:57 p.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Khanne
Not you too!
Yes. Scones. It must happen.
And ah-ha! I knew it was for someone special.
Yes. Scones. It must happen.
And ah-ha! I knew it was for someone special.
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 3:48 p.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Morrighan
I only take your money when you make me, even then I donate it right back into the Guild. So. Nyehh.
Also I know, I don't take compliments well at all.
Also I know, I don't take compliments well at all.
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 1:03 p.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Aureth
I have no idea how that turned around to me but I'll take it for the compliment it appears to be. I am humbled that you think of my work that way, Aureth.
That being said, if you come out of this war missing your hair or your life I'll still throw things at your head.
That being said, if you come out of this war missing your hair or your life I'll still throw things at your head.
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 11:53 a.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
People that are skilled, and experienced, and confident, are best appreciated with a little bit of humbling, self-deprecating humor. A person that can laugh at themselves while being the best at what they do is very appealing. I can't say why, only because I'm not certain myself.
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 11:52 a.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Theron
If you have the skill and experience to back up the smugness and bravado, I say it just adds to your charm.
Wait, was he not referring to himself?
Wait, was he not referring to himself?
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 11:51 a.m.(4/23/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Sameera
I'm fairly certain I need to adopt 'Difficult Guildmaster Joscelin' as my new official position.
Written By Joscelin
March 6, 2018, 12:28 a.m.(4/22/1008 AR)
All of my ingots, gems, and jewelry is buried somewhere in the city, right next to the cure for disrespect and stubbornness. I fully expect it to be there when I return.
I'll give you a clue: it's beneath the largest pile of literal shit you can imagine, so get to digging.
I'll give you a clue: it's beneath the largest pile of literal shit you can imagine, so get to digging.
Written By Joscelin
March 5, 2018, 3:28 p.m.(4/21/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Thena
.... your -entire family- will give me white hair before I'm 40. I can feel it.
Be safe, love.
Be safe, love.
Written By Joscelin
March 5, 2018, 1:05 p.m.(4/21/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Agatha
He has a way with words!
And it's impossible for you to present as a mess. Inside the sparring or out, you're the embodiment of strength and grace.
And it's impossible for you to present as a mess. Inside the sparring or out, you're the embodiment of strength and grace.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.