The nineteenth Black Pullet ring: excelling in the arts, made by hand

The Black Pullet, and the nineteenth ring

The Black Pullet is a book of single-purpose rings and talismans, each made by hand, each for one practical end. That singleness is the discipline of the book. A practitioner does not work with the Black Pullet in general. He or she works with one ring, for one purpose, and the work is judged by whether that purpose is pursued clearly, and with the ordinary work to back it up, not by how many rings have been collected.

This is the 19th Black Pullet ring, for excelling in the arts. Excelling in the arts is a wide phrase, and it needs narrowing before it becomes a working. Which art? Painting, music, writing, carving, weaving, performance, or another art altogether? At what level are you now, and what does excelling mean for you, in practical terms: greater skill, greater fluency, greater recognition, a finished work, or a breakthrough in a particular technique that has been holding you back?

Those questions are not a delay. They are the working itself, in its first stage, because a ring for excelling in the arts, worn by a person who has not decided which art, or what excelling means, will have nothing specific to attach to. A ring worn by a person who practises daily, who knows the next skill to learn, and who has a specific work in progress, has something real to work with, and the ring becomes a focus for that practice, rather than a substitute for it.

How the rings are made, and why it matters

No engraving machine is used, since it would take away from the work. That hand work is the method of the book, and it is how a Black Pullet ring is supposed to be made, line by line, by a person, not by a machine repeating a pattern.

Hand engraving into wax, before casting, means that each ring is unique. You will receive one ring, the item listed in the title, and any other items listed are for information purposes only. You are not ordering a photograph. You are ordering a ring, made for you, in the design of the nineteenth ring, and it will be yours alone.

That uniqueness suits a ring for the arts. An artist's tools are personal, worn by use, and shaped by the hand that holds them, and a hand made ring, engraved by a hand, belongs to that same world. It is not a mass-produced token. It is a made thing, for a making person, and that correspondence, between the making of the ring and the making of the art, is part of why the ring is worth having, beyond its design alone.

Art, practice, and the ring

Excelling in an art is, first and foremost, a matter of practice, and no ring, however well made, replaces practice. If you want to excel, practise daily, or as regularly as your life allows, study the masters of your art, learn the techniques you lack, and finish works, rather than only beginning them. The ring does not do that work for you. It focuses it, marks it, and reminds you of it, every time you put it on, and every time you see it on your hand while you work.

Wear the ring, therefore, while you practise, if your practice allows it, so that the ring and the practice become associated. A ring worn only on special occasions, and never at the bench, the easel, the instrument, or the desk, will not build that association. A ring worn while you work, day after day, will, and the association will deepen with each session, in the same way that a favourite tool becomes associated with the work it has done.

Set a specific artistic goal for the period in which you work with the ring, and write it down. A piece to finish, a technique to master, a series to complete, a performance to prepare for. Then work towards that goal, in the ordinary world, with ordinary effort, and keep a record of both the magical working and the ordinary practice, side by side. That double record, magical and practical together, is what lets you tell, months later, what actually changed, and what part practice played in it.

Working with a ring, in general terms

A ring is a working tool that travels with you, and that travelling is part of its use. You may wear the ring during a working itself, so that the seal is on your hand while you speak your petition. You may lay the ring under a candle, so that the light stands over it for the working. You may put oil on the ring, lightly, if oil belongs to your practice for this kind of work. You may hold the ring in your hand, or hold the hand that wears it, while you focus on the work in progress.

Between workings, decide whether the ring is worn daily, as a link to the artistic work, or laid aside in a proper place, as your practice directs, and be consistent about it, so that wearing it means something rather than becoming habit. A ring worn every day, for every purpose, without distinction, will soon stop meaning anything in particular. A ring worn for the art, and for the working, will keep its association sharp.

Keep the ring itself in good order. Clean it as its metal requires, inspect it before a working, and store it apart from ordinary jewellery when you are not wearing it. A hand made ring deserves the same care as any other working tool, and a fortiori as an artist's tool, which is to say, care that is regular, practical, and unromantic: cleaning, inspection, and proper storage, not admiration from a distance.

Knowing when to stop, and judging the work

Do not repeat a working for artistic excellence endlessly, in the hope that repetition alone will force a breakthrough. Work clearly, once, practise steadily, observe over weeks and months, and then decide calmly whether a second working, a different approach, or no further working is the right next step. Artistic growth is slow, and it is measured in finished works, not in workings performed.

Judge the work by the art itself. Is the work better? Is it more fluent, more finished, more true to what you intended? Are you practising more regularly, and with more attention? Those are the measures that matter, and they are measures you can actually observe, in a sketchbook, in a manuscript, in a recording, or in a finished piece. A feeling of inspiration, without any finished work to show for it, is not yet excellence, however pleasant it feels.

Finally, keep the ring's purpose in view, and do not let it drift. A ring for excelling in the arts, worn for years, can easily become a general lucky ring, worn for everything, and therefore for nothing in particular. If you want it to stay a ring for the arts, keep returning it to the arts: wear it while you work, record the work you do while wearing it, and, when a goal is reached, decide deliberately whether to set a new artistic goal for the ring, or to lay it aside with thanks, its work done.

Finishing work, and learning from an audience

Excelling in the arts is measured, in the end, by finished work, and finished work is measured, in part, by how it is received. An artist who never finishes anything, however brilliant the beginnings, has not yet excelled, in the practical sense, because there is nothing finished to judge. Finish works, regularly, even when they are imperfect, even when you can already see their faults, because a finished imperfect work teaches you more than a perfect work that exists only in your head, and because finishing is itself a skill, distinct from beginning, and learned only by doing it.

Show finished work, too, to people whose judgement you trust, and listen to what they actually say, rather than to what you hoped they would say. Critique is not flattery, and it is not hostility. It is information, about how the work reads to someone who did not make it, and that information is essential, because an artist who only ever judges his own work, by his own intentions, will never know how it lands. A ring for excelling in the arts, worn while you receive critique with attention, is a ring worn in the service of learning, not in the service of vanity.

Keep a record of finished works, alongside your record of workings with the ring. Note dates, what was finished, what you learned in making it, what critique you received, and what you will do differently next time. Over months and years, that record becomes a visible history of growth, in a way that feelings of progress, however sincere, never do. Excellence, in the arts, is not a single breakthrough. It is a history of finished works, each a little better than the last, and a record is what lets you see that history, and trust it.

A final word on excellence: excellence in the arts is rarely a single moment, and it is almost never a moment you can point to in advance and say, there, that is when I became excellent. It is a slow accumulation, of practice, of finished works, of critique absorbed and acted on, and of techniques learned one at a time, until the work itself begins to show the difference. Wear the ring while you do that slow work, record the work as you do it, and let excellence arrive, as it usually does, quietly, in the form of a finished piece that is better than the one before it.

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