The strength of friendship knows no bounds, and the devotion of a loyal pet is the ultimate symbol for that friendship.  bellaballs studio is honored to work with Christopher and Mieke Hoppin to create the Zoe Ball in honor of Kim Sorensen Kyler.

When Kim was diagnosed with Stage 2 breast cancer at the age of 37 she was forced to make some difficult decisions about things that mattered most to her.  Examining her ‘bucket list’ the answer was simple; Kim’s top priority was to help others by giving back.  She focused her efforts on fundraising for local cancer research and treatment.  Surrounded by her close friends, she spearheaded a fundraiser for the South Sound CARE foundation.  Her dog Zoe was always by her side.

Sadly, Kim lost her battle on February 5, 2012.  One of her close friends Mieke Hoppin wondered how she could honor her friend, and continue her devotion to fundraising for cancer research and treatment. “To be quite honest, the idea of having the bellas made was my coping mechanism, it gave me something positive to do.  I wanted to have something created that would be a daily reminder of how lucky we are to have amazing people in our lives.  bellas make me smile; the Zoe ball will make me smile and remember Kim.  I hope they will have that affect on everyone lucky enough to own one. “ said Mieke.  “I chose Zoe’s paw print because Zoe and Kim were best friends.”  In March, a group of Kim’s friends joined us in the hot shop to participate in the process.

Having met during adverse times in their lives, Diane and Lesli saw the glass float, which begins by holding up fishing nets then breaks free when storms hit, as a powerful lesson in courage and strength to them.  Japanese floats can teach us a lot about giving.  The kindness we show today will come back to us when we need it the most.

To celebrate friendship, and keep Kim’s dream alive, the Zoe Ball is available in three colors, Kiwi, Limoncello (one of Kim’s favorite summer drinks), and Mandarin.  “…three vibrant colors for a vibrant woman…” said Hoppin, who chooses to celebrate Kim’s life.  100% of the net proceeds from the sale of the Zoe Ball will benefit South Sound Care Foundation.

For additional information visit the South Sound CARE Foundation.  To purchase a Zoe Ball on behalf of the foundation, visit the Kim Kyler Bellaballs Page.

Anyone who has grappled with the frustrating task of preparing a pineapple may wonder how this disobliging fruit, bristling with spikes and tough, armored skin, came to be a powerful symbol of wealth, welcome, and hospitality. Without this insight, you might imagine Irish poet Richard Brinsley Sheridan was describing a particularly sharp and surly Mr. Darcy type (prone to guarding all his internal sweetness) when he asserted “he is the very pineapple of politeness.”

While describing your host in terms of a pineapple, by today’s standards, might result in the discreet disappearance of your wine glass, Sheridan was writing in the 1700s when pineapples had completely permeated the language of politics and polite society in Europe.

As colonialism was on the rise, the pineapple, collected as bounty from the Americas and Caribbean Islands, reflected the affluence of the colonialist empires. As vessels carrying precious cargo of nutritious and enriching goods made the perilous journey back to Europe, pineapples came to represent the safe harbor of returned ships.

In Napoleonic France, women carried pineapple shaped reticules to welcome their new, style-setting empress, Joséphine de Beauharnais, who was herself the fruit of colonialism, born to a sugar plantation in French Martinique. In still life paintings, typically fraught with symbology, the pineapple became a ubiquitous indication of the patron’s great luxury. Taking the motif to the extreme, the third Earl of Dunmore had the façade of his estate crowned with a massive stone tower carved in the shape of pineapple.

According to New England lore, a sea captain newly returned from his exotic voyages would skewer a pineapple to his fence to invite friends to come enjoy food and drink as he regales the table with his tall tales. Thus the pineapple spread throughout old world and new, from European royalty to American seamen to communicate their hospitality.

As it turns out, even the pineapple’s formidable exterior is the epitome of community spirit. Every one of the mighty little facets of the pineapple is an individual fruit that joined with its neighbors after flowering to create something greater, and stronger than itself.
At bellaballs, we intend our pineapple adornment to convey that living beautifully is a choice. It takes both host and guests to designate a home as a place of welcome, generous in laughter and compassion. The pineapple proclaims that we’re all in this together, our homes and hearts are receptive.

Three days after I arrived in Malta, Febuary 10th, the capital town of Valetta was bedecked in its festival finery for the occasion of Saint Paul’s Shipwreck. Massive, burgundy and yellow banners depicting the island’s patron saint, various popes, and the venomous snake that couldn’t deter Paul’s proselytizing mission. A military band (many of its members taking cell phone breaks) slowly cascaded down the small cobbled streets in a throng of people led by a small group of men dressed in red “San Pawlina” track suits, ostensibly to provide raucous vocals to the band’s musical stylings.

Once evening fell, a massive gilded statue of Saint Paul, held aloft by six burly members of the laity, led a procession of clerics carrying silver processional lanterns and Saint Paul’s wrist bone reliquary encased behind a jewel-encrusted window in a raised golden arm.
Amidst all the beauty– the brightly colored Luzzu boats, the fragrant thyme-covered cliffs, the elaborate cathedrals– the element of the trip that made this a truly beautiful experience was the opportunity to meet wonderful Maltese people who welcomed me into their homes and let me experience their country with the depth of meaning created by friendship.

Having traveled to Malta in order to teach English in the local boy’s school and at the refugee center (many of the occupants having fled during the Revolution in Libya), my host Mary Helen had forged many meaningful friendships among her Maltese colleagues. Having heard Mary Helen would be having a guest, the animated and witty Georgette took it upon herself to take us all on an adventure.

Thanks to Georgette it was a day of many firsts: riding as a passenger in a personal car oriented to the right, exploring the ceramic studios and silver filigree workshops at Ta’Qali, eating traditional fig-filled biscuits and tea around a kitchen table in Dingli, experienced small-town island life by being recognized by a farmer with his produce stand in the middle of nowhere, eating delicious Pasta il-Forn at a village pub where all the local men go to watch the football (soccer) game and stare distrustfully when a group of women claim a table, picked an almond from a blooming almond tree growing by the ruins of a megalithic temple, enjoyed Maltese banter peppered with many exclamations of “Madonna!,” and finally went to a bakery for the seemingly requisite tradition of a post-lunch pastry and hot chocolate.

Later in the week, Georgette invited us over to have a traditional Maltese dinner with her family. The side-splitting menu included a tapenade, traditional ġejniet cheese made by a friend, the most delicious, freshly caught, octopus pasta, wonderful almond-stuffed figs, a sumptuous strawberry, hazelnut, and chocolate meringue cake unlike anything I’ve ever eaten, followed by a chilled Sicilian limoncello digestive. The conversation at dinner was fascinating as we discussed the various Maltese traditions and dining nuances (helpfully, Georgette instructed us that Mediterraneans would scoff at Parmesan on seafood pasta).

In Malta every holiday is assigned a traditional dessert. As my trip neared its end, we ate prinjolata– a dessert as chaotic and colorful as the Carnival pageantry it celebrates. Reflecting over all the beauty I experienced over my trip, I brought out the bellaball that had accompanied me over 6,096 miles from Tacoma to Valetta. I decided to photograph my bellaball in scenes that illustrated beauty in all the forms I had experienced it during my trip: serendipitous, cultural, visual, and communal. Somewhere in Malta this bellaball is waiting to be found, ready to be incorporated into the beauty of Maltese life.

In the spirit of bellaballs, I seized the opportunity to travel to Malta in the intent of living beautifully and experiencing “firsts.” I figured “first time I’ve heard of the place… except, of course, what I know from Bogart and Bergman” was an excellent reason, if not learning opportunity, to travel across the world.

Merħba lill Malta. Having been shunted down the staircases, trundled over the tarmac, and bundled into a decrepit tram, I peered (blearily at this point) around around German tourists to glimpse the hand built rock walls that undulated through the pastures. When finally jettisoned into the airport lobby, I reunited with my long-time travel companion and host where she began my crash-course instruction in Maltese life.

About 60 miles from Sicily and 200 miles from Libya, Malta has been conquered and occupied by innumerable civilizations spanning pre-Antiquity until their independence from the British Empire in 1964. Evidence of their multiculturalism and re-appropriation has pervaded every facet of the Maltese culture. To say hello in Maltese, the French bonjour (pronounced ‘bonju’) is often used, while in leaving you might say “saħħa” (cheers or health) which is derived from Arabic. How appropriate that a bella, made in the tradition of the Japanese fishing floats notorious for crossing thousands of miles of ocean unscathed, would accompany to an island with a culture that has thrived by the willful choice to live beautifully; electing to embrace the elements of wonder washed ashore by the waves of turbulence.

All the buildings are made from a lustrous blond limestone. The skyline is testament to the fact that there are more churches than could possibly be seen in a year; spires, domes and buttresses clamor for an inch of sky like trees in the rainforest. Around every corner there are religious niches or niċċa of varying sizes with a statue of a saint, often elaborately painted and illuminated by glass sconces molded like flames and  fitted over electric bulbs. Each niche is festooned with flowers, wax figurines, and candles. In more remote areas, macabre street side altars are erected for souls in purgatory, depicting an agonized individual rising out of a blossom of flame.

My favorite details in Malta were the proper names that serve as Maltese addresses, names like “Iris,” “Marijo Flats” or “The Burrow” small ceramic relief sculptures of religious figures that are placed at eye-level by every doorway. Over the course of my trip, I took many hours just to wind though the neighborhoods of Birgu, Sliema, Rabat (the Arabic word for neighborhood) to wonder over all the unique little sculptures that gave each home character.