As I prepare for my upcoming shoulder replacement, I’ve been reflecting on what the last five years have held.
But to understand the last 5 years, I had to look back further. In my forties, I found my bliss—creating metal art. Welding wasn’t supposed to change my life; I just wanted to learn the skill. But the molten metal, the flow, and the identity of being “an artist” hooked me completely. Over time, I went from “I make metal art” to “I am a metal artist,” and as my confidence and accomplishments grew, eventually, I was able to simply say “I'm an artist.”
5 ½ years ago, a lingering shoulder injury forced me to stop. I always knew I wouldn't be able to continue forever as my body aged, but I thought I'd be able to find something new while I worked my way out of metal art. I wasn't expecting to have to end so abruptly. One day I left a piece in progress on my welding table thinking I'd be back later that afternoon. But at the orthopedic surgeon appointment, I was told to stop now, as there were screws loose in the shoulder joint and continuing could make those foreign objects damage the joint more. So I left the appointment and never returned to working steel. It’s been 5½ years, and the loss still brings tears to my eyes. I’ve tried to fill that void, but nothing has matched the bliss or dopamine rush of welding for me..
During those 5 years, I fell into, and came out of the darkest depression of my life. If you’ve never experienced it, it’s hard to imagine the abyss—where even the memory of hope disappears. For what felt like eternity in my mind, I had no joy, no motivation, no purpose, and few reasons to live, Even though that dark depression cleared from my brain, I struggled to find that spark again for anything. Every attempt at art felt like pressure to instantly succeed in a new medium and to instantly find bliss in the process. Then, a brain injury made solitary hours in my studio unrealistic for me. So I stopped forcing it, and I just stopped —and that’s when new possibilities began to quietly open in my brain.
Depression makes your brain forget everything but the abyss. You forget any joy you once felt or what brings you joy, you forget the accomplishments you achieved, you forget that there are possibilities ahead in life. Even knoiwing this about depression, I have forgotten the accomplishments and confidence I once had. And maybe turning 60 made me really think about this, and made me want to remember those good things and to be able to find those things in life again.
So, as I prepare for this surgery, I’m taking a step toward reclaiming that sense of accomplishment. I’m creating a new section on my website to showcase my past welded works. I’ll be adding pieces overtime and also share them on Facebook and Instgram.. This is less about marketing and more about reconnecting - with my art, my accomplishments, and my confidence, my bliss, and you. And my gentle way of re-engaging with social media . All of this in an effort to rewire new pathways in my brain that were erased by depression.
I fondly remember visiting a client who proudly showed me her “Ridgways” throughout her home—pointing them out room by room, "we have a Ridgway in here" and eagerly awaiting a custom piece I was making "and we'll have a Ridgway in here.". That moment reminds me that my art has touched people’s lives, and that matters.
As I look through my archives, some early works are so simplistic, they almost make me cringe. But they were milestones—pieces that people connected with, pieces that inspired me to keep going. I’ll share them all, imperfect or not, because they’re part of my journey.
I don’t know exactly where this will lead, and I don’t want to overthink it. This is more about me rewiring and reclaiming what my brain has forgotten, and i don't completely know what that looks like. But I’d be honored if join me on this journey. And who knows what possibilities it will lead to.
Stay strong,
Angela
