Today I am remaking my Silver Lining brooch to remove the flaws that bother me so. While part of me says "just move on," I need to rework the piece to be able to do so. I don't often make near duplicates of my jewelry, but the first brooch is destined to be turned in to a refiner to recover the silver. As I was carving the sun rays on the front and adding the curls around the edges, I finally recognized the root of inspiration that was haunting me.
Perhaps six years ago, on a trip to Europe with my son and a group of other middle schoolers, I snapped this photo of a rose-carved pumpkin sitting invitingly on a table outside a restaurant in a narrow street near the Trevi fountain in Rome. I used the image even then, with a black crow perched on top, for a watercolor that I always loved.
rose-carved pumpkin |
Yesterday, I stumbled upon the photograph in a pile of papers when I was digging for class notes to help me with a construction issue. Perhaps I should clean my studio so that I can dredge up the watercolor, which must be similarly hiding.