Social Justice: Why yoni jewelry bothers me

I am troubled by the yoni jewelry on Etsy.

This is not to say that I'm troubled by the concept.  The original notion of the yoni is part of tantric sex practice, as I've been writing about for one of my copywriting customers: basically, "yoni" is Sanskrit for "divine passage," and it refers to the vagina/vulva as a sacred temple.  The penis gets a similar reverence as lingam.  All well and good.  Sex is sacred and beautiful.


It's hard to post even the very lovely examples of yoni jewelry in a post like this, so here are some cowrie shell earrings from D Rae Designs.

I think the problem comes in when women (and men) who have little interest in the Tantra adopt the idea of venerating the yoni.  The thing is, once you're worshiping something in a vacuum, you automatically mentally remove it from the realm of everyday practice.  To decide that we are now going to revere the vagina as sacred rather than thinking of it as dirty turns the vagina into a concept that is beyond the woman.

If my vagina is sacred, it doesn't belong to me.  Sacredness implies worshippers, implies a social construction and concept that is larger than myself.  I don't want to think of a part of my body as filthy, as shameful.  But I also don't want to think of it as bigger and more sacred than the rest of me.

I'm all for resisting the idea of shame, but replacing it with the idea of sacredness, without understanding the yoni concept as part of a whole person, doesn't grant a woman control of, ownership of, and pride in her sexuality.  It only estranges the woman from her sexuality in the opposite direction.

So all that polymer clay yoni jewelry on Etsy (some of which, admittedly, is lovely)?  When I look at most of it, all I can see is a woman desperately resisting the idea that sex is dirty ... by putting it away from herself and her life entirely, promoting it as a passage to the sacred experience rather than a part of herself, her sexuality, her pleasure.  How is this different from the Victorian narrative?  How is this helping anyone?

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

We're a little ways back into the year now -- and incidentally, this is the part I dislike, because no one has papers yet so there are almost no students, except for the panicked older students who are expected to use technology, but aren't being taught to use it.  The other day, M and I worked with a very nice gentleman.  She taught him to make capital letters on the computer.  I taught him how a printer works.  She taught him to use the mouse.

There is a lengthy diatribe on educational priorities in here somewhere, but I will limit myself: Did it ever occur to anyone to maybe require a computer-usage placement test?  It's seemed to me since high school, when I volunteered to drive some of my friends home after they missed the bus staying late in the computer lab, that the requirement of technology usage reinforces class distinctions in educational opportunity.  Clemson University requires that every student own a laptop -- and in my current still-a-bit-under-the-weather state I can't decipher whether this fixes or exacerbates the problem.

Anyway.

We've gotten started now, but before we did, M and I went to spend a couple of days in Asheville, North Carolina, where O. Henry lived for a while.  We went on the first day to Biltmore, the Vanderbilt family's estate.  After looking at the website, I came away with the impression that it was where rich people go to buy expensive branded wines and jellies and be rich together, but M's grandmother was kind enough to give us tickets and it was absolutely and completely worth the trip.

I've been to California's Hearst Castle, which is a melange of stuff imported over the Atlantic to build a fantasy Mediterranean village -- the architect called the style of that place something like "Franco-Anglo-Arabesque-Mediterranea-Japano-Rusko-screw-the-look-whatever-my-client-wants architecture."  Biltmore was a useful companion, since it is also a very Victorian-American estate -- appropriated spoils of empire and of education, combining in a large, somewhat asymmetrical cathedral-inspired house on top of a hill -- but Biltmore is much better-designed, and you can see how people would have flowed through it, both the guests and the downstairs class.  It's useful to see how the estate would harmoniously operate.

Also, some very inspiring wallpaper-decor combinations, including some beautiful examples of using rich jewel tones to make the very Victorian damask and tapestry feel masculine -- I'd give a photo, but they apparently never release them, contributing to my previous impression that it was a fancified wealth getaway -- and some wonderful 1890s-1900s clothing was on display, including a probably Worth-inspired gown and several pieces with delightful nostalgic touches that made my inner costumer dance.

Also, this fountain:


This view of the gardens (August is not a good time for gardens in the Carolinas, but these still looked pretty good):


And this carved marble pillar from the outside, which I'd love to "translate" into a jewelry design, somehow:


As for dining in town: The Jerusalem Garden Cafe is out of this world.  We ate there the first night and went back the second.  Try their curried mango shrimp -- it's delicate and warm, not spicy, and is served over perfect couscous.  It's atmospheric and lovely, especially the floor seating, and the servers are wonderfully attentive.  Asheville's more famous Tupelo Honey Cafe, however, was terrible and not worth the wait.  M's meal, the shrimp and grits, was drenched in hot sauce (not listed on the menu) and too spicy to eat; when we remarked on it, the server suggested stirring it around a bit.  Mine was a fried chicken something-or-other and was too salty to have more than a few bites.  However, if you still want to go, the peach rosemary lemonade is delicious.

Asheville can be described like this:  If you took a mellower version of the free-spiritedness and general artsy insanity of San Francisco and fused it with the prissy exclusivity of San Diego, their hipster love child would be Asheville (two silent E's.  And it went to North Carolina.  You've probably never heard of it).  The shopping is delightful -- don't miss the Spice and Tea Exchange, where they sell ras el hanout with black pepper and hibiscus flowers, and also onion-infused sugar and powdered extract of burgundy wine.  Malaprop's Bookstore is also a must-do -- we shopped a while and then sat drinking their amazing ginger lattes for hours.  And Woolworth Walk is not to be missed -- yes, there are all kinds of little art studios down by the river, but they were like an IRL Etsy, so you might as well visit through a screen -- and also overpriced and of questionable quality.  Woolworth Walk is right in town and features some truly amazing art -- pottery, installments, and traditional.  We purchased, or rather my parents purchased us through the magic of plastic and our birthdays coming up, a piece by Brenda Marks.  It's a three-dimensional giclee over wood rendition of her photo collage "Serenity."  Here's a picture of it on our wall, but visit her site because our lighting does it no justice:


Doesn't the dark luminous aqua balance the red so very eye-catchingly?  Stunning.

As a matter of interest ...

While my suppliers are trying to calm everyone, the laws of supply and demand would indicate that turquoise prices are going to hit the roof again like they did in the 1980s.  China is going to be dramatically slowing its production of turquoise rough -- a couple of sources are suggesting that that country's output may fall by as much as 75%.


Available here.

While this is no doubt exaggerated, it has some interesting implications.  A lot of turquoise miners are going to lose their jobs -- but the loss of life in mining should slow too.  The environment around some of the turquoise mines should improve.

And as for what this will do in the jewelry industry ... well, turquoise was recently a Pantone Color of the Year, and it is still exceedingly popular, since it fits both the fruity jelly-bean shades that are in everything this year and the dustier ones predicted for next summer.  As the prices rise, we may see a surge in substitutes, like dyed or undyed howlite, which pleases me -- I much prefer howlite.  Turquoise may be found in fine jewelry more often than casual jewelry by the end of this decade -- as it becomes priced as a luxury, it may be paired with sterling, gold, and precious stones more often than leather, fiber, and bone.  That could conceivably redefine tribal/ethnic-inspired jewelry styles.

This will be interesting to see!

Unrelatedly, I am sick.  I do this every year, but usually I manage to weather it before the school year begins.  However, it's possible my body is still on California scheduling (UCR starts in late September) and thinks it's got plenty of time to be ridiculous.

Tribal Done Right

I highly recommend that readers with an interest in ethnic-style jewelry check out the Flickr photostream of Anita Quansah London, a "designer to the stars" whose work actually completely thrills me.



Her designs are exquisite; unconventional and deconstructed in their unexpected shapes, with interesting different manners of draping to adorn more than the expected parts of the body, with a beautiful use of shells and other natural/traditional materials that is both very true to the "roots" of bodily adornment and beautifully joined with more modern materials.  Her pieces combine couture and warrior looks and are just generally stunning.

Additionally, the description on the second piece, here, is a splendid example of describing this style of jewelry without being over-the-top.  She identifies what people inspired her work -- the Masai in Kenya and Nigeria -- and makes strong but not offensive connections between ethnic traditions and modern needs -- the relationship between the use of body ornament to establish identity in various folkways and the fierce, feminine draping design of the jewelry pieces themselves.  In this way she establishes "story" and makes the jewelry feel more "ethnic" or "tribal" without ever having to resort to overusing the cliche, sometimes-offensive style names.

Anomie and Etsy: A sociological approach

Student quote of the day:  "Dr. Mazhan Khan discussed the felt and pitfall when my grandmother is an emergency room."

Yeah, that has no relationship to anything, I just had to share.  Anyway.

The Slate.com article from Friday's post and my recent rumination on the site's weird pricing competitions make me think of anomie, a concept in the theory of criminality I was recently explaining to a student.   Basically, the idea is that deviant behavior results from a disconnect between a.) that which society teaches as worthy goals and b.) that which society offers as methods to achieve them.  Much of the time, b. doesn't accomplish a.  At this point, the individual can either continue to strain themself psychologically by continuing to accept both a. and b. (conformism), refuse to accept a. or b. or both (ritualism, innovation, or retreatism), or replace both a. and b. with more suitable alternatives (rebellion).  In other words, when you are told what to want and how to get it but the "how" doesn't give you the "what," you have a couple of choices as to how to cope with that.

On Etsy, the teaching of the weird little internet subculture is a.) to live on the profits of an Etsy shop is a worthy goal and one we should all strive for; and b.) the way to achieve this is through creating unique, high-quality products and selling them with diligent work.

The problem is that these aren't as cause-and-effect as the Etsy Success newsletters would like us to believe.

Consequently, we have a number of options:

1. Conformism: We blame ourselves for our inability to reach the goal, and keep at it like the little Skinner-boxed hamsters we are.  (For an interpretation of the Skinner box, see here for the history, here for the interesting applications).
2. Ritualism: We reject a.), saying in effect, "I can't quit my day job.  Whatever," and continue going through the motions of listing and relisting.
3. Retreatism: We reject both a.) and b.).  We close our shops.  We give up.
4. Innovation: This is the insidious one and the one that causes both brilliant and deviant Etsy behavior.  We keep a.) but reject b.), saying, "I'm quitting my day job, damn it -- and I'm doing it my way."  This can range from finding a totally wild product (dog butt covers, anyone?) to assembling products poorly and relying on volume to cover the poor result to selling mass-produced Chinese wedding dresses and pretending they're handmade in your little studio.
5. Rebellion: We say "To hell with all of this."  We reject a.) and b.) and replace them with new ends and means of our own  We go start doing IRL craft shows again or, alternately, move to Artfire.

Hopefully this will help my fellow crafters: Next time you find someone on Etsy who makes you want to solder yourself to the wall and end the misery, think pityingly, "I see you're rejecting society's legitimate methods in pursuit of its prescribed goal -- but in an unintelligent manner.  Poor silly thing," and feel the urge to kill drain from your body, leaving you light and free and sociologically educated.

Feminism and Etsy

I've always liked Slate's practical, tough-minded approach to feminist concerns, so I was immediately interested when I saw this op-ed piece on Etsy's appeal to women:

Etsy.com peddles a false feminist fantasy, by Sara Mosle.

Quote: "I’m not immune to the siren call that brings many women to the site. After decades of being encouraged to forego the unpaid “women’s work” of our mothers and grandmothers, we are tired of being divorced from our hands and from the genuine pleasures such work can afford. This is the female version of Shop Class as Soulcraft, the recent book by Matthew Crawford, the philosopher-turned-mechanic. Women, too, hunger for concrete, manual labor that has an element of individual agency and pleasure beyond the abstract, purely cerebral work found in the cubicle or corner office. It’s become satisfying again to sew, cook, and garden. But unlike our mothers and grandmothers, who were content to knit booties for relatives, younger women want to be recognized and compensated for their talents."

It's an interesting take on the nature of traditionally feminine craft in the 21st century, the problems of "going global," those condescending "Quit Your Day Job" features, and why Etsy's demographics fall out the way they do.  I highly recommend a read.

This led me to apply the sociological concept of anomie to Etsy, about which more (in plain English, I promise) in Monday's post.

In the meantime, I'll be teaching myself how to write game flavor text by lurking in Magic the Gathering forums until I absorb the knowledge by osmosis.  I love being a freelance copywriter.

Until then, have an unrelated globe necklace.

Available here.

Vintage-styled photos and vintage cooking

Hmm. So now that I got all excited about the vintage shots for the bridal jewelry back in March, I've apparently been doing that for a while already:


Available here.

I b'lieve what I did there was jack up the shadows and desaturate a bit. It's a great way to handle white-on-white, and works beautifully on the raw silk backdrop; the texture is interesting but regular enough that it doesn't distract from the organic wire-wrapping, and the curves of the backdrop give the corners an old-photo darkening effect that is much more subtle than the applied version on the bracelet photos.

On an almost totally different note, I felt the urge to link to this. It's an interesting post from yonder at Steampunk Cookery discussing Orientalism, that old "using every part of the buffalo" tripe (haha, I'm so punny) and why it should only ever be used ironically, and the reason that my 1950s cookbooks have an organ-meats section but that fades away in the mid-70s.

Academically awesome

I think I just fell in love with an NYU professor I've never met.

Why? Because a helpful, respectful, gracefully worded putdown of rude behavior should brighten anyone's day.

For anyone who hasn't seen it since it went viral, for educators everywhere who like some satisfying student humor, for anyone who has ever dealt with an entitled snot of a student at any level:

Sent: Tuesday, February 9, 2010 7:15:11 PM GMT -08:00 US/Canada Pacific
Subject: Brand Strategy Feedback

Prof. Galloway,

I would like to discuss a matter with you that bothered me. Yesterday evening I entered your 6pm Brand Strategy class approximately 1 hour late. As I entered the room, you quickly dismissed me, saying that I would need to leave and come back to the next class. After speaking with several students who are taking your class, they explained that you have a policy stating that students who arrive more than 15 minutes late will not be admitted to class.

As of yesterday evening, I was interested in three different Monday night classes that all occurred simultaneously. In order to decide which class to select, my plan for the evening was to sample all three and see which one I like most. Since I had never taken your class, I was unaware of your class policy. I was disappointed that you dismissed me from class considering (1) there is no way I could have been aware of your policy and (2) considering that it was the first day of evening classes and I arrived 1 hour late (not a few minutes), it was more probable that my tardiness was due to my desire to sample different classes rather than sheer complacency.

I have already registered for another class but I just wanted to be open and provide my opinion on the matter.

Regards,
xxxx

—
xxxx
MBA 2010 Candidate
NYU Stern School of Business
xxxx.nyu.edu
xxx-xxx-xxxx

The Reply:

—— Forwarded Message ——-
From: scott@stern.nyu.edu
To: "xxxx"
Sent: Tuesday, February 9, 2010 9:34:02 PM GMT -08:00 US/Canada Pacific
Subject: Re: Brand Strategy Feedback

xxxx:

Thanks for the feedback. I, too, would like to offer some feedback.

Just so I've got this straight...you started in one class, left 15-20 minutes into it (stood up, walked out mid-lecture), went to another class (walked in 20 minutes late), left that class (again, presumably, in the middle of the lecture), and then came to my class. At that point (walking in an hour late) I asked you to come to the next class which "bothered" you.

Correct?

You state that, having not taken my class, it would be impossible to know our policy of not allowing people to walk in an hour late. Most risk analysis offers that in the face of substantial uncertainty, you opt for the more conservative path or hedge your bet (e.g., do not show up an hour late until you know the professor has an explicit policy for tolerating disrespectful behavior, check with the TA before class, etc.). I hope the lottery winner that is your recently crowned Monday evening Professor is teaching Judgement and Decision Making or Critical Thinking.

In addition, your logic effectively means you cannot be held accountable for any code of conduct before taking a class. For the record, we also have no stated policy against bursting into show tunes in the middle of class, urinating on desks or taking that revolutionary hair removal system for a spin. However, xxxx, there is a baseline level of decorum (i.e., manners) that we expect of grown men and women who the admissions department have deemed tomorrow's business leaders.

xxxx, let me be more serious for a moment. I do not know you, will not know you and have no real affinity or animosity for you. You are an anonymous student who is now regretting the send button on his laptop. It's with this context I hope you register pause...REAL pause xxxx and take to heart what I am about to tell you:

xxxx, get your shit together.

Getting a good job, working long hours, keeping your skills relevant, navigating the politics of an organization, finding a live/work balance...these are all really hard, xxxx. In contrast, respecting institutions, having manners, demonstrating a level of humility...these are all (relatively) easy. Get the easy stuff right xxxx. In and of themselves they will not make you successful. However, not possessing them will hold you back and you will not achieve your potential which, by virtue of you being admitted to Stern, you must have in spades. It's not too late xxxx...

Again, thanks for the feedback.

Professor Galloway

There's a bit more context here, but the writer presenting it refers to Professor Galloway as "kind of a dick," and consequently is clearly not an academic who appreciates what a moment of Robin Hood justice this is.

More on the use of "tribal"

... and this time it's from Fire Mountain Gems, and it's cringeworthy!

The text of a specials email I received from the company at the end of February, combined into prose paragraphs, but otherwise left intact and uncut:

"Wild Animal Prints in Drops, Links and Focals Plus a Selection of Hot-Selling Beads.  Tribal Tribulations: 'High-contrast ethnic prints offer graphic appeal.'  --Accessories magazine, November 2010 Issue in reference to Spring 2011.  Dear Jewelry Designer, Take a walk on the wild side with animal print beads, drops, links and focal components!  Exotic NEW prints and customer favorites add bold patterns to jewelry and home decor pieces.  Shop the variety of colors and patterns and embark on your own expedition of safari-influenced designs."

The problems with this copy are twofold.

First of all, it has that regrettable and exceedingly colonial emphasis on "discovery," "embarkation," "expedition," "exploration."  This is a relic of the imperial drive -- our cultural mythos in the West, particularly the English-speaking West, is that those who travel, who discover, who conquer are the world's heroes.  Africans don't generally go on safari.  Rich middle-aged white men who dress like every other country is a camping trip do.

Shockingly enough, Disney's Pocahontas actually constitutes a lovely little meditation on the motivations for the colonial spirit: the musical number which is a duet between John Smith and the commander dude whose name escapes me at the moment is a little more subversive than it seems, because while it initially looks like there's a contrast of "good" and "bad" motivations, there's more going on than that, as the idea of "discovering" and "taming" a wilderness is illustrated to be just as faulty as raping the land for raw materials.  Props, Disney; didn't expect it of you.

The second problem is both more subtle and, in my not-so-humble opinion, more hideous.

Check out that header of "Tribal Tribulations."  Why are animal prints "tribal"?

Given that "tribulations" is, definition-wise, a quite ludicrous choice in this context, I'll happily grant that this is just hasty work, and by no means deliberately attempting to draw the parallels I'm about to highlight.  However. 

The deeper problem with this text is that it conflates tribal people with animals.  No, really, bear with me.

At the Living Desert Zoo in Palm Desert, CA, private event sponsors can rent the residence of the British district commissioner of the Kenyan village replicated in the zoo's African exhibit.  Though constructed in the same manner, the commissioner's residence is referred to in all copy as a "house," the other buildings as "huts."  And in the British-style dining room, a plate-glass wall looks into the leopard enclosure.  Unlike any other animal in the zoo, permanent signage advertises how dangerous the exotic leopard is and explains the usages of the local people for leopard claws and skins, with images where the leopard parts hide the faces and bodies of the wearers.  The leopards in this case take the place of the native people: Kept excluded from the refined area within the British-style house, lovely to look at but not to be gotten close to, the dangers of the African night subdued and brought under the British gaze in a way that is all about the pleasures of power.

This was the topic of my paper "Conservation and the Narrative of Stewardship," and I find the mentality even more painfully obvious in this copy.

Animal prints labeled "exotic" is one thing, though the problem with "exotic" is similar to that of "Oriental" in that it assumes that everyone who matters is in the same place.  But animal prints labeled "tribal"? 

Animals don't form tribes.  People do.  And this copy encourages its readers to consider that "tribal" is a synonym for "wild" and "animal."  Tribal people become wild animals in this construction of the world beyond the audience of the copy.

Whether it's the fault of the magazine quoted or the copy editor who pulled this together, and even though it was certainly done without intent of harm -- there's no excuse for that "tribal tribulations" header.  This is exactly what's wrong with using the word "tribal" insensitively.

This blog gives me joy.

City Farmer News.  Pay a visit.

Putting the means of production in the hands of the disenfranchised through training and education.  Using simple technologies in ingenious ways to create permaculture.  Reusing and repurposing everything to carve out a space for living things to thrive.  Devising a way for humans to coexist with the necessities of life in a manner both pleasant and functional.

It's like the best sort of Utopian steampunk fiction, only it's news, with bylines and ledes and captioned photos.  And it makes me go, "Hey -- maybe the world is gonna be okay after all."

Mixed media, Fiber jewelry, Strawberries, M

Image copyright Fanciful Devices.

These are awesome and cool and make me want to do a lot more fiber.

They initially appealed because M loves strawberry stuff, but I'm not sufficiently ironic and hip to not cringe at the little Indian (the artist is Uruguayan, and doesn't have my guilt issues on the subject).  Then I became enchanted by the use of the appliques.  Maybe they could be ironed onto fabric and cut out?

By the way, I bought some awesome enameled bells for M from this seller; impressively swift shipping!  I got some chihuahua bells and some strawberry ones, which were sold with this lovely lovely style shot:

The transition there was strawberries.  Yeah.  Now hold onto your powdered wigs, ladies and gents, I'm making a sharp U-turn back to fiber.

I have some cabochons which are clear acrylic and magnify what's underneath, and I'm considering going through M's and my (mostly her) quilting fabric stash for small patterns that would look nice under a fisheye magnification.  I think this might be a nice, easy, lower-priced assembly project, maybe with a little beading -- I really am starting to work at a level I need to charge higher prices for, so it would be good to have a lower-end point-of-sale or niece-gift product which doesn't scream, "I'm reselling pot metal shaped by small children in Malaysia or Hong Kong!"  (Actually, Hong Kong is supposed to be tightening up regulations, last I heard.  Snaps for Hong Kong if this is the case.)

Fiber.  Strawberries.

I used hemp and polyester ribbon in this one:

Available here.

TERRIBLE light.  Dear God, I need to retake those.
Yeah, this post is not remotely topical.

Sometimes I think about ...

... how terrible it must have been to be Mary Cassatt.

"Hey, Mary," the other Impressionists might have said to her, "we're off to the Folies-Bergere.  All of us.  Except you.  Enjoy keeping your ankles hidden alone all evening."

I detect much less rage in her work than it feels like there should be ...

I wonder about Christina Rossetti too, as the major female Pre-Raphaelite Brother (a number which, incidentally, also sort of included Emily Dickinson -- and if anyone is interested to read about that I shall make M do a guest post, it's fascinating stuff).  Also incidentally, did you know there were four Rossettis?  Dante Gabriel, Christina, and then William Michael and Maria Francesca -- William Rossetti was a historian and Maria Francesca was an Anglican nun, translator and literary critic.  It kind of sucked to be any member of the Rossetti family except for Dante Gabriel -- their mother was John Polidori's sister but no one knows about that, the two other siblings get almost no attention even on Wikipedia, and then there's Christina.  "Have a nice night, Sis; the rest of the Pre-Raphaelites are going carousing after the meeting.  Without you.  Enjoy minding the wallaby."

At least in her case I can imagine her hand vibrating with fury as she dedicated Goblin Market.

"Asian Inspired" and its moral implications, or, Why Orientalism is Bad, Kids

So I just realized that my setup in this photo makes it look like the charms are sliding over a cliff to their certain doom.



That's okay; it sold last November.  Anyhow.

It occasionally troubles me to create Asian-inspired designs.  However, the following things always and without fail suggest Asia to me:

• peonies/ranunculus/large floral patterns
• cloisonne
• fish
• jade
• strong black/red, blue/red, or black/green color palettes

The problem?  Anthropological training has made me a little overly sensitive to cultural appropriation.  Mind you, this doesn't trouble me nearly as much as "tribal."  And yet ... who decides that something looks Asian?  Is it okay for me to use the term "Asian-inspired" when I in fact mean, "This, to me, resembles Western culture's idea of the motifs of Asia"?




The thing is -- I took Art History with a global emphasis and Artists in Traditional China in school -- the latter in seminar under Cheng-chi Hsü, one of the world's foremost experts on Chinese painters and their relationships with art connoisseurs.  I spent that class reading the UCR library's entire extensive section about Yangzhou courtesans so I could roleplay a courtesan novelist for the final project.  And this was after I abandoned, as beyond me without the ability to read Chinese script, a paper about the transgressive gender presentation of the painter-poet.  I am as educated on the matter of Asian art as most amateurs can claim to be.  Why do I always have this guilty feeling when I'm as qualified as most Westerners to identify Asian motifs?

 But that requires me to think of myself as a Westerner, which is a problem in and of itself, and it goes back to that old linguistic problem of the Orient and the Occident.


Available here.

Basically, the word "Oriental" means "from somewhere else."  It means, basically, "Them."  "Those people."  "The others."  To refer to someone as an Oriental is literally to say "the person who is deeply unlike me."  (This is why, in the Age of Steam, North Africans and Gypsies were called "orientals," though the term is usually specific to the continent of Asia today).

To call oneself a Westerner or Occidental assumes a geographical position; it says, "Of course this is the West and that the East.  Anyone who matters is standing right here, where it's true."


So true, Mr. Munroe.  So true.

So for the moment, I continue to soothe my conscience by using the terms "Asian" and "tribal," but being specific in descriptions ("motifs taken from Chinese scrolls," "suggested by the shapes of West African hunting trophies") and tagging with "asian inspired" and "tribal inspired."  The butterfly necklace up above is called "Papillon Orientaliste" -- the Orientalist butterfly, not the Oriental -- because I am trying to suggest an item created with elements that construct a reflection of a worldview of "the exotic" (there's an unwieldy construction), not that there actually is an Other to refer to by this term.

Possibly this is still morally corrupt, but it keeps me feeling honest, and I still think that's important.

Outdated links from the blogosphere

I hate the word "blogosphere."  (Ooh, end-of-sentence scare quotes.  And in my head, my own voice saying something I say every day: In American English, periods and commas always go inside quotation marks unless there's a parenthetical in the way.  You will occasionally see this done differently; that generally means the source is British, because the international rule is different.  It's weird spending your day teaching rules you regard as a little dumb.  At some point I must post the list of grammar rules I would be happy to help kill).  I'm hereby inventing the word "bloggerverse."

Anyway.  The links, covering recentish opinions in technology, academics, :

Ian Bogost's post "The Turtlenecked Hairshirt", being a discussion of the ivory-tower nature of academia which amused me highly and lit a fire under my rounded tail as to seriously thinking about a paper on gender and sexuality in Echo Bazaar.  I'm not sure I'd go so far as to unreservedly agree with his stated premise, though I believe him to be deliberately exaggerating, but his apocalyptic language reminds me of one of my deeply-held beliefs: The humanities spend a lot of time reinventing the wheel because each sub-discipline invents its separate, insular jargon.  For someone with training in Comparative Literature to attempt to approach anthropological ethnography, for someone with a sociologist's education to attempt to analyze the obscure greats of Renaissance drama, results in a lot of headache, heartache and "bridge theory" that is roundly denigrated by an endless legion of theoretical purists.

Lindy West's pleasingly well-reasoned anger after a rather thoughtless but not ill-intentioned moment from estimable sex columnist Dan Savage.  The whole debate is well worth The Stranger's nauseatingly ridiculous load times, because they both make great cases.  I am personally of the opinion that the U.S. uses food as a way to displace and/or extend our oddly Puritanical relationship with sex.  Think about the phrase "guilty pleasure."  Porn?  Or cheesecake?  Slut shaming and shock at teen sexting and obsession with celebrity affairs seems to me to go hand in hand with condescending diet ads and horror of minors who fail to be delicate-waiflike-and-breastless and our fascination with eating disorders.  Consider the fact that walking into a primarily-female workplace (like, sadly, my writing center) will eventually involve listening to one of our peculiarly American social rituals: The expression of efforts to avoid the fat-and-lazy taboo, commisseration over how hard it is to feel that we are indeed avoiding the taboo, the offering of advice to use various forms of asceticism in order to avoid a taboo which each feels is threatening her every day.  Think about this.

For the record, I wear a 20, 22 or 24 depending on brand.  M is less of an extreme hourglass and is generally a 20.  She's the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.  I thought so when I met her in person the very first time: "She's much bigger than I expected," I thought, and also, "She's stunning."  I've found two brands of jeans that fit me very well.  I occasionally wish that my size were distributed differently (which varies from "God, I wish my belly would just go away" to "What the hell is with my long torso and short limbs?" to "God, I wish I didn't have such a disproportionately small waist; no one makes trousers with this much waist tailoring" -- yes, seriously).  I enjoy growing my own food, I enjoy preparing it, I enjoy serving it, I enjoy eating it, and I consider this a far greater pleasure than being able to buy pants in multiple brands.  I will worry about my size when I can no longer bend double to mulch my snow pea vines, or walk around the apartment complex or the nearby woods on a nice afternoon as M and I often do.  Furthermore, if I dropped ten pounds I wouldn't cry.  If I dropped ten sizes?  I'd cry.  Because I would no longer find myself attractive.  I like big women.  I like big men.  I dislike people who dress inappropriately or with poor fit.  And if others have the right to say they think my ass is unsightly, then I also get to say this:  I find drawn faces masklike and unattractive.  I find visible ribs repulsive.  And would I say this to people who exhibit these features?  No, because I have a level of gentility and sensitivity and their unsightly thinness has no effect on me.

Also, go read the introduction to The Omnivore's Dilemma for a lot of interesting information, including this jewel: The French food culture is heavily, heavily based on cheeses.  Cheeses.  Now talk to me about the French obesity epidemic and how much worse than the U.S. it is.  I'm waiting.

And now that you're either suitably depressed, suitably enraged, or suitably disgusted (hey, it's up to you!), one more, cheerier link:

An interview selection from my latest Mother Earth News email newsletter featuring the proprietors of Green Heron Tools, which makes ergonomic agricultural tools for women.  It's an interesting discussion of the necessity of acknowledging physical difference as a necessary step to full gender equality -- though I'd love to see some throwaway lines (one day, somewhere) about the role that society plays in "biological" difference between genders, I'm very impressed with the interviewees and their social consciousness.

I am starting a new blog tradition.

Blogadition? Blogition? Webdition?

From now on, barring acts of God, general outcry, or boredom, I think I shall establish a little thing called Treasury Wednesday.  I've found a great tool for treasury posting, and I love sharing these things, and I spend way way too much time making them, so why not?


This one is all about spring ephemerals.

'Spring Ephemerals' by tangopig

Spring ephemerals -- like dwarf vernal irises, liverleaf hepatica, trillium, some anemones and others, depending on your area -- are the first food source for bees in the spring, but are often threatened by invasive non-native plant species. Planting them in gardens may be a key to saving our honeybee population. Flowers and early insects in shades of delicate pink, purple and blue!

SilkOrigamiButterfl... SewSmashing $18.00	Spring Flower Trio ... serena29 $9.00	Orchid Mist-Nuno Fe... amysfunkyfiber... $79.00	Springtime Cafetier... IronStitchWard... $8.00
Purple Blackberries... ShebboDesign $40.00	Flowers, Stripes an... rabbitwhiskers $185.00	SPRING SALE Lady Si... SamanthaSultan... $55.00	30% OFF SALE - Larg... AmeliaKayPhoto... $37.80
Butterfly embellish... firefly1505 $2.75	Hebrew Scrabble til... poemweave $8.95	Hollywood romantic ... NoMoreTwistHan... $60.00	Eco friendly spring... KajaDesign $250.00
full bloom v05 wate... fromyou2me $10.00	PURPLE Organza Flow... MissGlory $14.00	Beginning of Time, ... artcanbefun $45.00	girly bumble, a sug... ORphotography $19.00

Treasury tool is sponsored by Lazzia.com.

It seemed like a good one to start the tradition with this treasury, since this is about when the ephemerals should be starting to bloom (though I made it in January ... and mine still aren't showing much, which according to the packaging may be the case until year 2 ... but more on the garden later).

The color scheme is all bi pride colors with a dash of green. Because, y'know, why not? Bisexuality is, sadly, often attacked by both the gay and straight communities; like transpeople, bisexuals are thought by one side to be promiscuous and confused and by the other to be promiscuous, confused and mucking up the "True Gay Cause." Next time you're on a cruise ship or at a conference which has a "friends of Dorothy" meetup listed someplace -- "friends of Dorothy" is code for "queers gather here" -- look to see if there's a "friends of friends of Dorothy" listing somewhere nearby. If so, that's where all the transgendered, genderqueer, bisexual, asexual and pansexual people will be hanging out -- and sometimes, talking about how sad and frustrating it is that outside-the-box gender-sexualities are so "boxed."

This concludes your PSA social justice lesson for the month. Enjoy the pretty flowers!

Oh, and on a happier note, there's more about spring ephemerals here.

Can I just say ...

... it really bothers me to hear newscasters refer to the president as Mr. Obama.  I never, never hear Mr. Bush.  Maybe I'm excessively race-conscious, but one explanation for the weird trend occurs to me immediately.

My irritation has, however, been funneled into something useful: Lots of fresh items in the shop!  Click the link in the description at top right to see them all.

Reflecting on evangelism

Today, someone tried to either pick me up or save my soul, and I'm not entirely sure which.  M votes "both."

After I finish work, if I'm not in the mood to truck into Clemson, I walk behind the writing center of the technical college where I tutor and read.  Friday, I had forgotten after I showered and didn't have my ring on.  This will become significant.

I was sitting alone on a brick wall over a little amphitheatre, rereading The Return of the King (the first authorized American edition, which I sadly can't find a photo of, but it has this incredibly surreal stoneresque cover art that Papa Tolkien haaated) and looking out into the forest behind the school, when a cute curly-haired boy about my age (21) walked over and struck up a conversation which started out as an idle chitchat ("How are you doing?  I'm hearing we're supposed to get another snowstorm.  Do they have music down there ever?"), and then turned into clear disappointment when I mentioned that I worked there (because it was easier than "please stop hitting on me, I'm sort of engaged -- to a girl"), then we talked about the writing center and he made as if to leave and then remember something --

-- and dug out a flier for the Campus Crusade for Christ.

I have an ethical objection to evangelism.  I think it speaks of overweening pride, which last I checked was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, so logically if you believe in sin you really shouldn't be loud about it.  However, I realize that everyday missionary efforts (we called it "witnessing" when I was a churchy type) are hard and thankless work; they take a lot of courage and a lot of social navigation; and regardless of how I regard the idea of pressing your beliefs on others because you are so utterly convinced you're right, they are often (not always) undertaken with a view to the betterment of mankind.

Consequently, throughout my undergraduate, I had a personal rule that if I didn't have anywhere to be in a hurry, I'd stop and talk to the political and religious folk who hailed me.  I made some friends this way -- our Hare Krishna monk, Avidar, was a really nice guy -- and I learned a little -- I now refuse to eat pate -- and on two occasions I told people very coldly what I thought of them and their cruel, pessimistic form of Christianity and kept going, but much of the time, people were kind and smiling and, most importantly, seemed cheered by having had someone talk to them in a polite, friendly and open manner, or smile and thank them for whatever they were passing out.  This made me feel better about myself and often put a better spin on a long day.

Due to this policy, when I moved, I had a shelf containing two Books of Mormon, a Bhagavad-Gita, two PETA pamphlets, a handbook of Buddhist principles, several copies of The Watchtower, and four different colors of the little Psalms-Proverbs-New-Testaments that the Gideon Society hands out.  I confess that I paired them up oddly in the hopes they'd get into fights.

So what to make of this encounter?  I'm not sure why it troubles me so much, except of course for the little voice in the back of my head that always says You are vain and self-deluded for thinking that he could really have actually been interested, a voice which I struggle against daily and which I am mostly overcoming ... mostly.  But then, this is a topic that often bothers me a little too much; I remember being one of those shallow evangelical types who was taught to be supercilious about rejecting everything that did not perfectly align with the worldview of my (less-than-highly-educated and, in some cases, questionably-interested-in-working-with-teens) adult mentors, and, like the former cult member I sort of am, that type of person frightens and disturbs me greatly.

This boy wasn't like that, though, or not that I could see, and it's possible that he genuinely did just come over to talk and then remember he was supposed to pass around fliers.  And I wish I could get over this mistrust and just be flattered that this shyish-seeming person considered me worth making a clear effort to come and talk to.

And also, I possibly need to not forget my engagement ring anymore so I'm not sent into an unhealthy level of self-reflection.  So it is resolved!

A moment of outrage

Remember that article I wrote about being very self-conscious in the use of terms like "tribal", "ethnic" and "primitive"?

Here's why.

I'm not sure there's any way to transition from people being treated worse than wild animals by governments who can't begin to understand that a way of life different from their own could possibly be fulfilling.  So I guess that constitutes the post for today.

Oh, except to say that the whole kerfuffle started over a boycott of tourism in the swimming-pool-equipped safari lodges that are blocking Bushmen from access to their drinking water and -- here's the jewelry bit -- Botswana diamonds.

You will probably hear me emphasize this again:  Please, please, if you do mean to buy a diamond, know where it comes from.  Don't give your money to people who are brutalizing indigenous cultures.

Contemplating ethnic identity ... plus a pic

Actually, in the opposite order.  Here's the pic: first version of a necklace based on the Castellan Necklace for a custom order.  Vintage hinge plate, new and vintage brass chain, vintage buttons and an embellished clay bead.

 
Purty!  But rather weird.  I normally don't go that asymmetrical, largely because M doesn't like it.  I'm actually going to switch out the bead for a button that pulls the nice brassy yellow over to that side of the necklace.  Great customer, by the way; when I asked if she wanted any specific colors she said brownish metallics with possibly some rust, mustard or maybe green.  That is an awesome way to commission a piece.  Tells me exactly what sort of corroded metal tone is being asked for, there are just SO many shades of it, but here I knew what she had in mind ...  Hooray!  I can't get a photo that shows how cool that jeweled button above the hinge is: it's got this lovely smoky silver depth ...

Now for the contemplation.  Last week I got confirmation of something I've suspected for a long time: I have Native American ancestry.  Specifically, I'm part Dakota Sioux.

See, I learned in one of my archaeology classes that one of the ways to identify what cline (which is a little like race but more biologically based and less socially monolithic) human remains represent is to check the shape of the incisor teeth.  Shovel-shaped incisors indicate either Native American or Asian ancestry.  By the simple expedient of shoving my fingers in my family's mouths, I discovered that my brother Andrew and I, like our father, have the shovel incisors, while Mom doesn't.

I knew my great-great-grandfather, Clifford, was the captain of a Chinese tea clipper and a Civil War blockade runner, so either option was a possibiliy.  Last week I finally got a chance to check my grandparents' teeth and, as it turns out, my paternal grandfather's grandmother was related to one of the followers of Sitting Bull.

Now this is cool.

Conveniently enough, it's also Native American month over at Multiculturalism for Steampunk, which is probably part of what got me thinking more deeply about it.

You see, it's also a little startling because I've never thought of myself as having any Native American blood -- and also because I've read Boas and Sapir and Whorf and to ascribe excessive significance to an ethnicity goes against everything I've been taught for four years at university.

Further ponderings after the jump.

The Conversation About Coral

This Craftivism article was on the Etsy blog last month: Declaring Coral Too Precious to Wear.

The thing about it is ... well, yes, coral is a living thing, but that also means coral dies.  And the exoskeletons aren't food for anything that I know of.  Basically, once a coral dies, it becomes proto-sand.

The coral I use in my jewelry designs was sold to me as "responsibly collected."  And I do believe firmly in the responsibility to source one's materials, especially in jewelry design -- we need to know our diamonds are conflict-free (link is disturbing), we need to know if we're selling Swarovski crystal jewelry or a Chinese imitation that will fade to grey-brown before the bridesmaids wear their bracelets -- but there's also a limit to what is possible.  And honestly, I'm willing to accept that the grab bags of broken coral pieces from which I get my branches are pre-deceased coral, that it's found on a beach and not cut from a reef.  I can't follow the shop owner around stalking her to see if she does any snorkeling.  I can only note whether she's offering whole ocean corals next to my grab bags of broken pieces, and make an educated guess about her suppliers' collection practices from there.

So when I say that my coral is "responsibly collected," that's what I mean: "To the best of my reasonable knowledge, this is coral that was not poached or killed to be sold."


Available here.

That makes it sound a little creepy, doesn't it?  But honestly, all the ocean-sourced materials -- shells, coral, starfish, everything but pearls -- are the exoskeletons of marine creatures.  It doesn't necessarily have to be alarming, unless we're also finding bone, horn and leather alarming.  Let it be stated: The coral and shell jewelry isn't vegan.

So why did I make this post when it makes my jewelry sound mildly creepy?  Well, I wanted to join the conversation about coral -- and I like it when customers ask me about my sources.  It makes me respect them a little more if they're concerned and it allows me to talk more about my favorite thing: beads and found objects.

Also, I alluded to it in the first part of my article series about writing descriptions to sell handmade products, so I thought if the question was going to arise in such a timely manner I'd better clarify here.

Now, having read the Etsy Storque article, there's another thing -- all those pink and red coral beads that are so readily available.  I guess I've always assumed that coral was farmed somewhere, like pearls, but according to that article, it can't be.  So while I'm not going to toss my small current supply, once I've used it up, I'll be trying some alternatives like ceramic or mountain jade to get that effect.

tl;dr: My coral is responsibly collected to the best of my knowledge and I'm going to stop purchasing any I'm unsure of.