Clay Paintings

Over the last year, I’ve been doing a lot of drawing and doodling with no agenda in mind. I’m just letting my brush or pen take me where it wants to go. If I see a line I like, I follow it. If a color jumps out, I swoosh it on my brush and onto the paper. 

I’ll admit, my first art class was a landscape watercolor class at a small local gallery when I was in high school. I was surrounded by very serious people with way more talent and expertise than me. But, I hung in there. I watched. I mixed colors. And my favorite thing was using the wet into wet watercolor technique. 

I’ve taken many art classes since then, which might make its own blog, but here’s the thing: I don’t call myself a painter. Ever. 

Relaxing and recovering. 

When I had my surgery, I needed something to do. A way to create. A way to get back into my playful spirit. Watercolors and gel pens were just what I needed. 

I filled a sketch book with landscapes, flowers, trees, blue skies and sunsets. That’s all. Simple. Easy. Not art with a capitol A. They started to pile up, so I had to find a shelf in my studio to keep them out of the way. 

But I think they had other plans. 

The mystery of art. 

When I threw clay on my wheel, I knew what I was going to make: cups, bowls, and  vases. But that’s not always the case when I roll out a clay slab. Over the last year or so, things began to slowly change. My slabs sprouted petals and leaves and stems. Some were landscapes.

What I didn’t see then is that I’d already made them, I just didn’t know it. 

Down on a bottom shelf in my studio was a pile of papers from my drawing pad. In the pile were flowers and landscapes and sunsets that I’d drawn or painted when I couldn’t do clay. I did them and stacked them on a shelf and moved on. Or so I thought.  

The painted flower 

The tulips

The orchid

All went from doodles on paper to reliefs on clay. 

So I’ve decided to call them Clay Paintings.  

What do you think?

Spiraling Spirals

I signed up for an art gathering on Zoom. There wasn’t a theme or agenda. Just a few people and an artist/leader using whatever materials they had on hand. Watercolors. Inks. Colored pencils. Crayons. 

We were muted so background noise wasn’t distracting. And we could leave our cameras on or off. I turned mine off. 

I had my desk area covered with a variety of materials: watercolor paints, brushes, watercolor crayons and ink. And blank white paper, not the good watercolor paper, just a sheet off a drawing pad. 

Then, I picked up a crayon and started to move it around and around the paper. Lines appeared. Circles moved around and became spirals. Somewhere during the time, I loaded a brush with color and tapped it over the paper. 

Splat. Splat. Splat. 

To me, there’s something so satisfying hearing the sound of the paint hitting the paper. And I love how the already wet colors merged with the splats. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t plan it. And I didn’t consider it ‘art’. 

It felt like kindergarten all over again. Where the easel is all set up with blank white paper, clean brushes, water and a row of paint colors ready to use. 

If the colors mixed by themselves that was even better. I tilted the paper, too. Even more fun!

Spirals spiraling. 

I didn’t even notice the shape or direction of my mark making. I didn’t control the splats. I just let go and let it flow. And I didn’t even notice how many spirals had appeared until the group gathered and we started sharing our papers. 

The artist/leader noticed all the spirals on my paper. She asked if I’d chosen to make them and if it had some special meaning for me. I honestly didn’t realize I’d made so many spirals and wasn’t sure what meaning they had for me.

But I did joke: maybe I’m spiraling? 

Something from nothing: a realization. 

After the meet up was over, I showed my husband the paper and mentioned the artist’s question about spirals and my work. I told him what I told her that it just randomly appeared and I had no idea why. He said I’ve used spirals in and out of my work for years. 

He pointed to a screening mask hanging in the hallway. As you can see above. 

A stamp I made and used on a bowl, a plate and a bird. 

I had no idea it was an ongoing theme for me. I’m not sure what it means. Or why I use it, except I like its shape and swooping curve. So I googled it, of course, and here’s the meaning and info from my online search. 

“Cycles of Life: Across many cultures, including Celtic and Indigenous traditions, the continuous loop of a spiral represents the natural progression of birth, life, death, and rebirth. It signifies that time and existence are not linear, but cyclical. 

Nature and Creation: The spiral mirrors patterns found everywhere in the natural world, from hurricanes and seashells to galaxies and the double-helix of our DNA. It acts as a visual metaphor for the generative forces of the universe. 

Wisdom and Progression: Moving along the curves of a spiral represents advancing through life's lessons, returning to familiar situations with higher levels of understanding and clarity.”

I do have a Celtic heritage, so maybe it’s coming from there? I know many people refer to ‘spiraling’ when they’re anxious and we are living through difficult times. Or maybe, just the opposite, it’s something my spirit finds calming especially right now? 

Maybe I don’t have to know the ‘why’ but instead just embrace it as part of my life and, obviously, part of my art.  

Relief

 

While the world swirls with ugly threats and bad news for their side, I am looking for beauty and calm and growth. I think we all need to look outside all of this crazy and try to find something that brings relief and helps us center. 

For me, that’s working with my hands, mind and imagination. I’ve worked in a lot of art media over the years: art quilting, beading, embroidery; oil, acrylic and pastel painting; throwing clay and sculpture in copper and clay. I’ve enjoyed the process of learning and creating in each media. But there’s something I’ve never tried: relief work. 

A new clay experiment. 

I’ve done repousse in copper but working on a clay relief is totally different. With copper sheets, you push out from the back of the copper to create the raised design.

With clay relief, you add clay to the surface of a slab of clay to make a design or image. During my surgery recovery, I got into painting again. I painted some landscapes and flowers. I like painting, but something in me wanted more. 

So I started rolling and cutting and shaping and soon one of my paintings turned into a clay relief landscape and another a flower. 

It was so much fun, I did a few more.

Now what?

I wish I could tell you I have a plan. I don’t. Like all of the art I’ve created and shown over the last 20 years, it was just something I had to do. Something came about because I needed to work with color and texture and shape. 

Some of the pieces tell a story, like this one, about a woman from Japan. (

(First picture-box closed, Second picture-box open, short story about Meiko on inside of door)

        

Some were masks make of window screening or clay.

. 

Some were just paintings.

 

Some were just cups, bowls and vases.

 

Art, like life, changes. 

What I do know is after the major abdominal surgery, I won’t be throwing cups or bowls anymore. But I still love clay and how it feels and how it forms and how it looks. And I can use underglazes to paint again which feels like a return to my creative watercolor ‘home’ but in a new way. 

Instead of putting myself down for not sticking to one art media, I want to let myself experiment. Embrace the fact that as my life changes and so does my art. 

And you know, to accept that, well it’s kind of a relief. 

FOMO and BTDT

I realize I’ve been living too much in the online world lately. Watching posts about art events, art sales, art awards, gallery shows, I get sucked into the comparison vortex. And, let’s face it, that’s exactly what social media sites do to us all. And what does it cause? Anxiety. Stress. 

Ok, sometimes it’s great news for everyone. But we all know that’s few and far between. And while I post along with everyone, I try to keep an eye out for things that might be hard for others to see. But since I don’t know what’s going on in everyone’s life, something I might post could cause bad feelings, too, even if my intentions and yours are good. 

FOMO

Fear Of Missing Out is a common social media side effect for everyone. We see others on European vacations, getting awards, selling their art, even adding to their families. What do we do? Compare. Usually not favorably. 

Due to the recent roller coaster of life changes, I’ve chosen to stick close to home base. I took the summer off from the studio. I needed to cocoon and absorb and recharge. I did a lot of reading, walking, cleaning, clay and crocheting. And it was good. 

But I’ve been feeling FOMO lately. I see all the posts about Open Studios and Art Events coming up this fall that I’ll be missing. I’ve done many of those things in my art life: Open Studios, Gallery shows and group sales. Even though I had good reasons for not getting involved this year, some things, I miss. And some, not. 

BTDT

When I was in my 30’s, I did a monthly Gallery Gawk with three other women. Two were the age I am now and one of the things they seemed to constantly say is: Been There, Done That. I remember thinking, ok. Good for you, but I haven’t been there or done that yet. I hoped I would someday. 

And I did. I got to do those things I hoped for and more. And now what do I find myself saying? You got it. Been There. Done That. 

Some things I enjoyed. Some things I didn’t. I loved showing in galleries. Open studios was fun. Big group sales with all the hauling, set up and tear down, not so much. So the real question is: what do I want to do now? 

And with all the life changes, I’m not sure. 

What I do know: I love to create. 

I love clay and color and texture. 

I love making things. 

And seeing those things enjoyed by art lovers. 

So whether I’ve BTDT or am feeling FOMO, I’m going to keep making things. 

From small figures to pumpkin bread to crochet blankets to watercolor on clay.

Because I’m a maker. 

And Makers make.