Glimmers of Light

I cried. But this week, they were happy tears. I walked into my demolished kitchen and saw a wall of newly built and installed solid wood cabinets. They looked so beautiful. I am amazed by and grateful to the wonderful local cabinet builders. 

When we helped design and build this house, we knew what we wanted, solid oak cabinets. We’d worked with a local builder and cabinet maker to design and build red oak cabinets, desk and island. Yes, we paid more but it was worth it. 

So after all the water damage, we fought to make sure we had the same local cabinet makers and quality wood cabinets again. It was a difficult fight. But it was worth it. 

Natural beauty. 

As an artist, nature and earth elements are a big part of my creative work. But I realize even before I started working in clay, which comes directly from the earth, nature was my inspiration. Coastal landscapes. Rocks. Trees. Clouds and skies. 

My first painting class was from a local landscape painter, Charles Mulvey. His work focused on coastal scenes that I knew and loved. But what I loved best was his ability to work wet into wet creating beautiful soft skies and balance it with trees and rocks. 

When I look at wood, whether it’s trees, floors or cabinet doors, I see shapes and images in the grain. The flow of the color and texture inspires me. 

Light after the fight. 

I don’t like fighting. As a child, I was surrounded by it and I hated it. I tried to find quiet and peace burying myself in books, making mud villages in the yard, riding my bike to the woods. The woods were my safe space. 

That’s why having real wood cabinets and floors in my home is so important to me. I can see now, why I got so mad when the insurance company refused to give us the money to replace our real oak cabinets.

I had to fight. And the fight was worth it. Finally, over 8 months after all the water damage, mold and demolition, I see the light. My home is being rebuilt. 

My woods are back. And I get to see them everyday. 

Creative Resting

 I’ll admit it, I’m not good at taking time off. I know resting and relaxing are important and healthy but sitting around for hours and hours at a time is just impossible for me. But after spending the last three months getting ready for my first virtual Ceramics Showcase, I know I need a few days off. 

The problem for me is how to take time off and not feel I’m falling behind. Because as a self-employed person, there is always something that needs to be done. Some of the things I love to do and some not. Either way, it’s my job to get it done. 

My lists have lists, if you know what I mean. But maybe I could take a few days and make another kind of list. 

So what is resting, relaxing and re-energizing for me right now?

Arranging flowers is one of my favorite things to do and this year, my yard is just bursting with lilacs. I love how they smell, the shades of purple to pink to white. So I spent some lovely hours clipping, selecting vases and arranging them around my house. 

Walking in the woods is a huge retreat for me. Hearing the geese honking. Watching an egret fly. Leaning against my favorite cedar tree. And marveling at a mischievous otter float around the lake on his back. I wish I managed to get a picture of the playful otter, but he was just out of camera range. I think trying to stay out of the way of the angry mama geese on their nests. 

Staring out the window and seeing faces in the trees. Reading a fun novel. It could be a ‘beach’ read, romance, fantasy or historical novel. Right now, I’ll admit to being sucked into the Bridgerton books from the new TV series. 

New colors, brushes and equipment. Oh my!

I couldn’t help myself. New colors of underglazes looked so pretty. A few new goat hair brushes. And kiln stilts that I just needed to glaze my new butterflies. 

I can’t wait to try them all. I see new little heart magnets in every hue. Newly glazed butterflies shining in the sun in pretty flowerpots. 

As I sit here on the window seat, looking over the hills with the sun shining, I realize I can be creative and rest at the same time. At least for a few hours anyway. 

A Season of Change

Hours tick tock into a day. Days flip like cards into weeks. Weeks fall into months. I’m always amazed by the amount of time passing through my life. Time feels like it happens around me instead of through me.

Lost in minutiae, I don’t see the minutes marching by me. I have to admit, I like being lost in the flow most of the time. Throwing clay on the wheel. Rolling a slab for a vase. Mixing and painting a teacup or bird. Creating is my way to be lost and found in time. 

Summer is gone and it’s September?

It’s hard to believe. Covid has turned everything upside down worldwide causing so much pain, sorrow, anger and fear. Fall is coming but not with schools starting or harvest festivals or art shows or open studios.

I remember how excited my children were to go back to school. I think of how many will not even be able to go kindergarten. They won’t be able to run into a freshly decorated classroom with their names on cubbies, new paints on easels and sharpened pencils ready to use.

Bye Bye Birthday parties and hello Birthday drive byes. 

My grandson’s 1st birthday was in late August but with Covid restrictions, a traditional birthday party was out of the question. But my lovely daughter came up with a creative way to give her baby his first birthday anyway. 

With The Hungry Caterpillar theme, we went to work making clay ornaments. 

A caterpillar made of cupcakes. 

And a flying butterfly from clay. 

Luckily, it was a nice day for an outside, drive-by party. And everyone did a great job of staying safe, enjoying cupcakes and celebrating baby Cieran’s first year on our planet (in spite of Covid).

    

Lost time. 

Six months. I can’t believe that Covid has been here that long already. I spent many days, weeks and months between denial and fear. As a self-employed person, I clung to my routine. I threw and rolled and painted and fired and glazed and fired again.

Even as my shows were cancelled and galleries closed, I filled my studio shelves with bowls, birds, vases and teacups. I did social media promotions, online craft fairs and opened an Etsy shop. I worked and waited and hoped it would all end soon. 

 A season of change. 

Yes, Covid is still here. I’m still creating and working. But I’m still worried and wondering how and when will all this end? Will my granddaughter ever get to run happily into her classroom? How can we all change and recover together?

As I leaned on Mother Cedar this morning, I felt a sliver of warm sunshine and heard a message. “Take this small slice of light and let it into your soul. Let it warm you and lift you and heal you. And give it to everyone around you.”

A lesson in listening

Lots of words swirl around us all right now: scary headlines, angry quotes, rude social media comments and insults. It’s hitting all of us from all sides and while some of these words definitely need to be said, my question is are they being heard? Are the right people listening? 

I read a wonderful piece by Martha Beck on listening. And how the overwhelming amount of information right now can drive you to turn off, listen less when what’s needed is to listen more. Her idea of listening is something more than just using your ears. 

4 Levels of Listening. 

Martha Beck breaks down the seemingly simple act of listening into 4 levels that involve your whole

Level One is ear listening. You hear something, perhaps scary, and you leap into survival mode.  Conflicts jump to the surface instead of cooperation and compassion. 

Level Two is body listening. The scary words cause a reaction in your body. Noticing it, breathing into it, you can help your body stay calm. This helps you notice the truth of the situation and understand your feelings and the feelings of others. 

body. 

Level Three is heart listening. Once the body relaxes, discernment happens and you can use your heart to lean in or out of the situation. According to Beck, “check to see whether your heart wants to move forward or to back off. When you’re being lied to, you may feel an inexplicable desire to move away, even to literally run. When someone is telling the truth, even though the words may be hard to hear, you’ll feel a softening and opening in your chest, a desire to hear and understand more.”

Level Four is soul listening. Beck describes this type of listening as, “a  bolt of love flows through me and toward everyone around me. It’s two aspects of one consciousness connecting, hearing our shared experience in separate bodies.” And with this type of listening a connection is made. Even if you don’t agree with the words or person, soul listening allows you to see their confusion or pain. You don’t have to change your mind in the midst of fear or prejudice, you can listen with less fear, more awareness and compassion. 

In Martha’s words, “When I listen with my ears, body, and heart, my soul is available to hear the wise voices of millions who refuse to give in to fear and bitterness. Their aim is to create a world that is safe, just and happy for all of us.”

Now these are words, I need to not just hear but listen to and act on. 

With my whole body, heart and soul. 

No Idea

After looking over my posts from the last few months, I wondered why am I writing all these blogs? How could writing about my thoughts, creative process, garden, kids, grandkid, and dog, mistakes and all, be at all interesting to anyone but me? 

And if it is, interesting that is, what would be new and interesting to write about this week? I had no idea.

Then, I realized. That’s it. That is exactly why I started writing my blog. And why I’ve kept writing it for over a decade.

Notes from the road. 

As a writer, I have a kind of compulsive need to put my thoughts and ideas down somewhere. I used to doodle on the side of my notebooks in school.  Then the scribble in my teenage diary which led to a lifetime of journaling. It was a way to go from lost in the world to found. 

When I started making art, I just transferred some of my writing into pastels, watercolors, oil paintings, clay animals, and window-screening masks. My story boxes really started out with the characters popping to life on my studio shelves where they told me their stories. 

I had no idea what I was going to do with my first blog, Susan’s Art & Words. First, I let my story boxes tell their stories and it evolved from there.

Sharing thoughts from my art, turned into sharing my life. 

Creating isn’t really that mysterious. It’s just life. You get up, look around and try to figure it all out. I had jobs where coming up with ideas was what I got paid for, so the idea of having no idea was terrifying. So I made a lot of stuff up. Turned out I was good at it, at least others thought so, and I kept my job. 

Making art wasn’t what I started out to do. I started out just making and learning and trying and failing. Sometimes something would turn out nice. Or I’d hate it and put it in my studio closet, which by the way, is where there are shelves of abandoned pieces. Poor things. Because, once again, I had no idea what to do with them. 

Then I realized that life is all about living with no idea.

I liked lilies, no idea why. And over the years, I’ve made many lilies. In copper, in window screening and now in clay. 

Faces seem to appear to me. They pop up on the linoleum floor, trees, clouds, and the sides of cliffs at the beach. No, I’m not stoned. (Ok, sorry about the pun) They’ve turned into masks, sculptures, paintings and now ‘Party Animals’. No idea why. 

So why, is having no idea a problem? Because our society wants us to be able to explain, discuss, outline our reasons with logic and have a marketing strategy. 

Well, I want to laugh. Smell. Taste. See all the faces in the clouds. And dance in the cool grass until I get dizzy. Want to join me?

Why? No idea.

Let’s dance anyway.   

  

Wave the Day Away.

Hassled? Feeling overwhelmed? Got a case of creative block? Here’s the cure: sit down on a random rock and watch the waves roll in and out and in and out and in again. 

I don’t mean look up every now and then while you play with your phone. I mean put your phone in your pocket, turn it on silent and listen to the breeze. If you have to do something, count the seagulls or the sand dollars. Take pictures of the driftwood. 

Better yet, let your mind drift. 

If you need to talk it out, go ahead and speak to the wind. Ask the crows your questions. Look up at that immense, empty blue sky and feel how small you are in the grand scheme of things that make up this beach, state, country, world and universe. 

Got too much on your plate? Literally? Then put on those shoes or go barefoot and walk it off. Traipse around the pockets of sand drifts. Examine the tufts of sea grass. Wind your way around the incoming waves. Jump over them or wade through them. It really doesn’t matter. Just keep your feet going and learn to follow them, instead of trying to lead. 

Remember: You are only one person among millions.  

You are as small as that speck of sand and almost as plentiful. That said, you are still important. Your life still has meaning. Just as every speck of sand creates a part of the whole beach, you create an important part of the whole world. 

You are needed. You can make a difference if you choose. Choose wisely if you can. If you can’t right now, that’s ok, too. You’ll make mistakes. You’ll feel broken with pieces missing just like the crab shell you pass by.

You can love and be loved. You can be open, helpful and, most importantly, kind. Especially to yourself.

But. You are not. The. Whole.

And isn’t that a relief? 

So today, just wave the day away. 

Spring Fever.

As I look out my window at the distance fog and hear the rain patter down while sipping a cup of hot tea, I wonder where is Spring? I see a sprinkling of blossoms on the horizon but sunshine and warmth feels very far away. I keep trying to bring it closer.

I bought daffodils by the dozens and sprinkled them around my house.

I clipped the few blooming hyacinths in my yard and brought them inside. 

I got out the bunnies and eggs and springtime colors. 

But a fog remains. Inside and out. I find myself looking once again, longingly, out the window. Searching for that light and warmth that promises new beginnings have begun. 

Until then, I sit and sip my tea, plant my own ceramic lily inside and hope.