More digging. More discovery.

 

In the last month, I’ve been digging deep. I could blame it on covid or the flood in my kitchen. I see it’s a combination of both that’s sent me into the dark, dusty corners of every closet and drawer in my home. 

First, I excavated a 4 drawer file cabinet, a smaller file cabinet and some shelves in my studio. I wrote about it hopefully, thinking I had cleared enough of the old to start anew. Alas, I was just beginning the dig. 

Everything and the kitchen sink. 

One day as I was doing the dishes in the laundry room(our current kitchen), I looked up and wondered. What was in all those cupboards? Yup, time for another dig. From there the dig site expanded to the pantry, kitchen cupboards, desk drawers and shelves and the closet under the stairs. 

From used up candles, batteries and Christmas light bulbs to flip phones, cds and a telephone book, yes many pieces of past lives were uncovered. I found tooth fairy treasures, prom pictures and a note my dear Gram sent to me when I was in college with a box of chocolate chip cookies. Please note: no crumbs were found. 

Piles grew. Somethings went to Goodwill. Some were given away. Some were recycled. And some like report cards, test scores and prom pictures went back into the hands of my children, now grown. Colorfully crayoned, handmade Mother’s Day cards and notes were sweetly tucked away again. 

Deep discovery. 

In the cupboard under the stairs, I found rows of paintings. Oil on canvas. Watercolor landscapes. Framed acrylics. And pastel portraits of my children. All packed away and forgotten. 

Once upon a time, I spent time painting on canvas or paper, drawing in pastel, using pen and ink over watercolors. None were signed or dated. I didn’t think about it at the time, I just did it. Then I put them in the closet. And forgot them. Completely.  

Creative digging. 

Ever since the flood in my kitchen, I’ve been unable to throw, roll, underglaze or glaze. Part of my damaged kitchen cabinets were pushed up against my kiln, so I can’t use it. And I see now, all that creative energy went amuck mucking out drawers, shelves and closets. 

Now, I don’t regret it. Clearing out is always refreshing. And the dig revealed sweet family treasures from the past. But the biggest discovery for me, was not just the old art I’d done, but the fact that I’ve always found a way to make art. Whether I had minutes, hours or days, with only scraps of paper, cloth, canvas, or clay, I found a way. 

So even if I can’t do clay right now, that’s all right. All I have to do is follow the dotted lines or colorful drips wherever they lead me. Who knows what I might dig up and discover?

Creatively Stir Crazy

It started with just one small bag of old clay. Over the next few days, everything in my studio got moved, cleaned, recycled or tossed. Yes, even a few finished bowls and vases were thrown into the trash can outside. They landed with such a satisfying crash.

I know it sounds a little crazy. And maybe it is, or I am. But there’s just something about January that brings out the need to clear the decks. And especially after this last year, ok the last four years, it felt like a mission that had to be carried out. With gusto. 

Making room. 

I didn’t think it would ever happen. I have over two dozen shelves in my studio which gives me plenty of room to make, dry, underglaze, fire and finish new work as well as display pieces for sale. But all of my shelves were full. 

Bags of clay, bats, tubes, trays, foam, forms and more take up several shelves. Finished, saved and displayed work for sale take up more and more shelves. Some work in progress did sit, waiting for me to catch up to it after the holiday. And ok, I’ll admit, some of it got tossed as well. 

But it was definitely time to make room to make new work. And how could I be motivated to make new work, more work, when all I could see were crowded shelves. 

The forgotten.  

On the bottom of my studio display shelves, behind the rolling cart filled with underglazes, glazes and brushes, are stacks of finished pieces. There are vases, platters, mugs, raku pieces, and bowls sitting and waiting dusty and forgotten. 

There’s nothing wrong with these pieces. They’ve been to shows and galleries. Ok, they haven’t sold. But I admit, I still like them, so I can’t seem to let them go. They sit. And wait. 

This week, I made a decision: move them, throw them or let them go. I went through each and every piece. Some I dusted. Some I tossed. Some I  prepared to be boxed away in the garage where I’m afraid they’ll be forgotten for good. Then, I had an idea. 

Garage Sale. 

I know there’s still a pandemic and a need for care, social distance and masks. I know it isn’t the season for garage sales. And I know that selling art at a garage sale may seem crass or bad or just ‘not done’. Maybe I’m just a little creatively stir crazy. 

But these forgotten pieces seem to need some new homes. And I need to make some space in my studio by giving them a chance to make someone smile instead of gathering dust.

And maybe it’s not crazy, but a way of clearing and cleaning not just my studio but my mind, heart and soul. Making way for healing, happy days and hugs.

Hidden History

It all started out with small spot on the ceiling in the bathroom. It was a leak. The leak was fixed  but the ceiling needed re-painting. I ignored it. I had work to do, right?

And work I did: throwing bowls, vases, cups, mugs; building jars, vases, dishes; sculpting faces and bodies and masks. It all came together just in time for a spring show and my first featured gallery show in many years. 

I was happy, energized and relieved. And yet, I knew there was more to do. 

Staring at the ceiling. 

I woke up one morning and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I knew it was time to paint the bathroom ceiling. As we all know, one small step leads to big change. That small spot lead to painting the walls and replacing the light fixtures. 

And then, there was the walk-in closet. The black hole that has never been repainted since we built the house back in the 90’s. I’ve dusted in there and re-arranged and organized over the years, but I’ve never taken everything out. Yeah. 

Oh, but it didn’t stop there. 

Nope. In between painting the bathroom and closet, cleaning all the shelves and cupboards inside and out, trashing and donating unwanted items, I tackled the kitchen pantry. But still did I say, enough? No.

I looked over from the pantry into my utility room and was shocked to realize that room has not been repainted since my daughter was in high school. Hint: she’s married, pregnant and has a master’s degree.

I confess, I’m a candle hoarder. Inside those cupboards, I found stacks and stashes of used votives, tapers, pillars and jars. I found stacks of empty jars without candles waiting in case I needed them. A reformed basket hoarder, I was shocked to find in the back yet another stack of unused baskets. 

Time to recycle. And remember.

My utility room got a new coat of paint. I picked almost the same shade of yellow that’s been on the walls for years. Yellow is not my favorite color. I justified it then because I hate laundry and yellow is a happy, bright color for a small, dark room. 

But after I finished painting yesterday and began putting the room back together I saw what this yellow room really means to me. 

The primary color palette was used originally in both my children’s baby rooms. On the wall hangs their tiny primary colored handprints. Across are framed cards with encouraging words I received from my husband when I was trying to find my way from full time mom to artist. Above is a line up of my favorite tins gathered over the years, some gifts from my favorite Gram. And on each side of the sink sit hand-built vases with paw prints of my dear departed dog and cat. 

Rooms, cupboards, and closets hide and hold our history. Our memories of good times and bad. Happiness and fear. Like a time capsule or treasure chest, these covered dark places keep our lives preserved for a time when, if we are brave, we can open up, clear out, let in new light and smile at the memories.