Wolf's Den

It began as an idea.. I wanted to do something reminescent of Spring, of fun, and warm days.
Of going to the beach, frolicking in the seas...



I decided to base it off of the peyote stitch, freeform peyote to be exact.
I also decided on a bracelet as the medium.
Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men, as they say.
This piece, it didn't want to be a bracelet. Oh no.

This one said, and I quote-
"I don't want to be a bracelet. I DON'T WANT to be a bracelet. And you can't
make me. I don't want to be a bracelet, I want to be a necklace instead. So
THERE. "
And I swear, if it could have, it would have stomped its feet at me as it
crossed its arms and pouted.



Halfway through, I realised, it was right.
The way it was shaping itself, and yes, as any beadweaver will tell you,
freeform peyote tends to have a mind of it's own, it would do better as
a necklace rather than a bracelet.
And I capitulated. I worked on the body of it all day yesterday.


Tweaking it as I went, making note of areas that needed more shaping, more beads,
or simply better formation, stabilization, so I could go back and add or weave
the FireLine back in to strengthen it.
Today I worked on the edges, where it would curve up and around the wearer's neckline.



As I worked on the finishing of this piece today, I was watching The Odessey on SciFi.
The Armand Assante (*drool*) version, mind you. The best 'modern' version I've seen.
And this piece *finally* gave up the secrets to it's name.
At 20" long overall, it's a rather substantial piece and I feel,
it is quite pleased with itself.

Without further ado, I give you....

Calypso's Dream



But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,
The sister tenants of the middle deep;
There for the weary still a haven smiles,
Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep,
And o'er her cliffs a fruitless watch to keep
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride:
Here, too, his boy essay'd the dreadful leap
Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide;
While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sighed.


Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone:
But trust not this; too easy youth, beware!
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne,
And thou may'st find a new Calypso there...

-Lord Byron, 'Childe Harold's Pigrimage'

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