Wanderlust. That’s the word I’m looking for and the feeling that emerges. And that happens every time I connect with The Noisy Plume. If you haven’t discovered her yet, or seen her work, let me introduce you…
Read her self-description. Born under an aurora borealis! What a magical inscription to a life. She writes of snow and dogs and horses and husband and happiness. She blogs and carries us along and we become virtual vagabonds in the great outdoors of North America.
I can’t remember how I first came upon her site, but she opened a world to me. A world of images, tastes, sights and smells, textures and emotions of the interior West of North America.
To appreciate the difficulty in marketing the wilderness to me, please know that I prefer a soft robe and a downy blanket on a cushy sofa to a romp on a snow-capped mountain. But her experiences lure me back to a childhood time: a time when the clock disappears and a girl runs through a woods with dried leaves crunching underfoot. A yellow-orange glow floats against a white and blue sky and the smells of a distant pile of burning leaves envelope a valley. Did you ever pretend you were a galloping horse running free across the plains? Hair blowing back in a girl-mane? Stopping only when your lungs hurt and your heart bashes against your ribs? Or did you lie on your back against the damp grass in the earthworm scent of the night and look up at the astonished moon?
That’s the gift The Noisy Plume brings. Her interpretation of nature in her metalsmithing is stout and stark, not too ornate. Nothing about her life or art seems frilly or fake. She is a feminine earth life-force, capable and free. Her love of wild creatures and wilderness sings through her work. She fishes, she hunts, she cultivates, she creates. And she shares it with us. What a generous creature! I love her soul.