The Glass Bead Game

In his masterpiece, Das Glasperlenspeil, Hermann Hesse describes a game, the "glass bead game," in which all the insights, noble thoughts, and works of art that the human race has ever produced are converted into intellectual values which the Magister Ludi, the "Master of the Game," plays as a musician plays on his instrument. Each of these concepts is a "glass bead" in the game. Unfortunately, Hesse tantalizes us with the majesty and mystery of this ultimate game-of-games without specifically explaining the rules. We're simply left with the intimation that music and art and philosophy and poetry and the very laws of nature are all mystically interrelated, and crystallized into a handful of beads. Scholars, scientists, and most recently computer gamers have been trying to figure out ever since 1943 exactly how this game might be played.

I haven't a clue myself, but when I saw these glass beads created by musician Rebecca Rose, I felt the harmony and stereophany I have always associated with Hesse's masterwork. I'm talking about the balls fashioned from a dozen Swarovski crystals, elegantly spaced on silk/nylon string with individual beads and pearls. I don't know how she does it, and even if she showed me, I wonder if I'd manage to fumble together even one of them, let alone a whole necklaceful.

I saw these necklaces at the Ashfield Fall Festival, along with lots of other tasteful jewelry, all handmade by local artisans. Nothing made my fingers itch with covetous lust like these. Spare, elegant, and of course made with the aurora borealis crystals to which I'm so partial. I have a whole drawerful of vintage AB pieces, mostly purchased at Brimfield. I'd love to add one of Rebecca Rose's new pieces to my collection.

I had a nice talk with the artist, who's a violinist. She gave me her card, and I scurried home and logged onto http://www.rebeccarosejewelry.com/ to daydream about which one I'm going to buy as soon as the barge full of $$$ comes in.

23rd Century Antique

One of the best gifts to give is something you've noticed the recipient secretly coveting. She doesn't buy it because she can't afford it, thinks it a splurge, doesn't really "need" it, or whatever. You run back and buy it when she's not around, knowing it's guaranteed to be a hit.
I got one of those presents the other day, a belated Christmas gift from my friend Lorna. It's a little ornament. She was mainly interested in getting it to me before I took my Christmas tree down. Fat chance of that! I'm giving myself a deadline of Valentine's Day for that thankless chore.

I first saw these cunning little wooden ornaments at the Ashfield Fall Festival. Lorna lives in Ashfield, as does the artist, Kurt Meyer, so they were familiar to her. I'd never seen his work before.

I was impressed by the craftsmanship, and by the elegant simplicity. Kurt Meyer spent part of his childhood in Japan, and it shows. His boxes especially are marvels of intricate precision joinery. Tiny ring boxes fan open to four times their size to reveal a compartment lined in ultrasuede. Small as they are, they are made up of nearly 600 fingers and notches. My little ornament is formed of 32 separate pieces of wood.

Meyer uses only sustainably harvested domestic and exotic hardwoods, and never any paints, dyes, or stains. Many of the materials are waste from other woodworkers' projects. All the colors come from the natural hues of the various woods. My ornament is made of padauk, poplar, yellow heart, and walnut.

Meyer calls his company "23rd Century Antiques," which he feels signifies both the heirloom quality and durability of his product. Although he started out in the Pacific northwest, he's found his niche in Western Massachusetts, surrounded by lots of creative people and lots of trees. Besides nature and the creative energy of Ashfield, he's inspired by William Morris's News From Nowhere, a quote from which he puts on his website:

"Work will be a pleasure and work will be a sharing when the things we make are born out of beauty and of need."

You Know You're Among Friends When You Read This

Seen in the ladies room of the Ashfield Lake House.