Blooming.

I look out my window and the whole world seems to be blooming. Bright red flowers cover my Camilla. Small pink blossoms scatter around the plum tree. Here and there daffodils I planted long ago add a pop of bright yellow. 

Inside, I’m working in my studio and recovering from health issues. I work a little slower but even so, new things are popping up. Like this silly, google-eyed bird. Where did he come from? I don’t know. Where will he go? Again, I don’t know. 

Experimenting. 

I used to have a schedule: throwing on Tuesday, handbuilding on Wednesday but that’s not happening now. I notice that I’m less interested in throwing functional pieces and more interested in handbuilding and sculptural pieces. 

Not sure why this is happening and that’s ok. I started out doing sculpture and learned to throw when I was gifted with a wheel. In the last 10 years, throwing has been the focus. But now, the focus has slowly shifted again. I have to say, I’m having fun with these quirky little figures that are popping up. 

Recovering. 

I’ve had health issues this year that I’ve never had before. I’ll admit, it’s been scary. Seeing different doctors every time is weird, too. But this week, I had my first virtual doctor visit and I have to say it was wonderful. The doctor truly listened to my concerns and offered support and solutions. I’m grateful. 

I see flowers blooming all around me

And it gives me hope

My body recovered and strong

New work crazy and colorful 

Everything moving and growing.  

Grateful

 

Looking out the window as the sun sets on this very cold day, I’m very grateful. I’m warm. I’m safe. I’m healthy. I have work to do that I love. My life and path has evolved with the help and guidance and generosity of many people. Some I know and some I don’t. 

I never forget those helpers. And this time of year, I want to let them all know just how grateful I am. 

Teachers

I’ve had great teachers and some not so great. But in each case, I learned lessons that have served me. When I was lost teenager at a new school in a new city, art found me. My art teacher encouraged me to draw and learn calligraphy. An experienced watercolor artist taught me how do soft Payne’s gray skies and gave me one of his paintings to encourage me. It hangs in my new living room. Every time I look at it, I remember his kindness to a scared 16 year old in a class full of 35 year old moms. 

My first clay classes were disasters. Forty years later, I finally found a teacher who turned that around. Literally. She took one look at how I was placing my hands on the wheel and saw the problem. I needed to throw left handed and that meant turning the wheel the opposite way. Instantly, it all felt right. Nothing flew off the wheel or fell on the ground! The clay centered and stayed and grew into a small bowl. I was amazed. 

I was told to say as a child that I was ambidextrous. But this teacher told me that was often said to children who were really left-handed at a time when being left-handed was discouraged. I’m glad I found that out and glad that I can use both hands, too. 

Helpers

I started showing my work in galleries over 20 years ago. But it was the kindness of Graystone Gallery owner, Bill Murray who got it all started and I’ll never forget it. I’d been to his gallery and loved his shows. I had taken art and sculpture classes for years and finally made some pieces out of window screening and paint. I wanted to show them in his annual mask show but I was terrified. I made an appointment, drove to his gallery with my pieces and asked. He said, “Yes”. 

Years later, I met a wonderful couple who bought one of my copper masks at Graystone. They offered me their old kiln and wheel. They weren’t using them and wanted to pass them on. Their generosity helped me learn to throw and glaze and fire all the bowls, cups, vases and figures I now make and show and sell. 

To all my teachers

All my helpers 

All the gallery owners, studio visitors, neighbors, friends and family

Your teaching, help, support, generosity, kindness and love have turned my life into a creative journey I could never have dreamed possible. 

I am grateful. Forever. 

Life is good. Again.

A whole year. I can’t believe it but it’s true. It’s taken a whole year to get my home back. Water damaged the kitchen, utility, dining and living areas of my home. Insurance negotiations and construction took over 10 months and included moving out into a hotel for 2 months. Then we waited for all the little details, like thresholds, painting repairs, plumbing and electrical plugs to be finally finished. It might all be done today!

I’m so glad to be back in my home. But most importantly, I’m glad to be back in my studio. 

New old studio. 

My studio space in my home has evolved over the decades. It started as den/computer room where my art area was a drafting table in the corner. Then little by little, my art took over the whole room. This weekend, it evolved again. 

From the rubble of the kitchen area, a new desk and cupboard was salvaged and installed in my studio. Two used formica slabs found in a dumpster 20 years ago were replaced with old kitchen cupboards, countertop and drawers. We found a great cabinet installer online and it all happened in one day!

I have so much storage space and display space. I have a new/old countertop. Yes, it needs paint where the old shelf brackets were, but I don’t care right now. It’s amazing. 

Creating new pieces.

With all the demo and construction, I had to stop throwing, hand building, glazing and firing. It was hard on my body, mind and soul. But I made it through. 

  

After cleaning and clearing the space, I got a full load going for a re-bisque. After I do an initial bisque, I add another layer of color wash. Then it’s put in the kiln again to set that layer of color. Then it’s onto final glazing. And I can’t wait to see it all with bright colors and glossy glaze. 

It’s so good to be in my new, old studio adding color to clay. Again. 

So good to be getting pieces in my kiln and clay my hands. Again. 

After a year, life is good. Again. 

“Still, I rise.”

 

Again and again and again. 2020. This week my inbox and social media is crowded with messages like yours, I’m sure. We are all feeling and seeing and reeling from fires, viruses, deaths and disasters. 

One email focused on letting it all go. Jen Louden made a great point, “There’s a profound difference between surrendering to what is vs. falling into the grubby kind of “why bother? I’m learning to navigate between the two. I’m learning to feel my disappointment and heartache while dropping my stories like, I suck because __________ didn’t work or never happened.”

Inspiration and work. 

I admit, I’ve been in the ‘let it all go’ giving up phase. I also admit, I was heading for ‘why bother’ land. Louden’s email helped me feel the difference and steer myself back on the road.

I found a quote from Maya Angelou’s poem, “Still, I rise” and I read her strong, beautiful, determined words over and over. My heart ached for her pain, saw her courage and felt my own small world rise.

Her words were the inspiration for a new piece. And I delivered it to a new gallery this week. Somehow the birds I’ve been making, Maya Angelou’s wonderful poem and the gallery’s 12x12 square all came together like magic. 

Being useful to the world. 

In the wake of Ruth Beader Ginsberg’s death, an email from Maria Shriver, Sunday Paper arrived with a question of how to turn despair into action. Asking everyone, “how you can be used right now. This is not a time for despair. This is not a time to bow out or go quiet. This is a seminal moment for each of us to dig in and dig deep.”

As an artist, how can I be used right now? I throw and hand build bowls, teacups, vases and birds in clay. This is not a revolutionary thing to do. My pieces don’t shout or march or protest. 

But, I realized the other day, they do make a statement. A friend came by my studio to buy one of my red ‘cup of love’ teacups. 

In the process, she loved and bought a bowl with the words, “Believe Love”.

And smiled happily at my Caterpillar/Butterfly with the words: love, joy, true, act, brave, kind. 

So maybe in letting it all go, I steered myself into new work that helped me rise. And maybe it will help my friend and others to rise, too. 

Despite the fear, death and smoke, I can hear Maya Angelou’s wonderful, brave words: 

“Still, like dust, I’ll rise”, “Still I’ll rise”, “Still, like air, I rise”, and “I rise. I rise. I rise.”

Done. Almost.

Firing up the kiln is always exciting and scary and this week was no exception. It’s a bisque load which is only the first firing. This is the firing I use to set the first layers of color and dry out the clay. Hopefully all the pieces will make it through this phase in one piece with no cracks. But this is only the first of two to three more firings. 

Next, depending on the piece, I add more color or a color wash. In most cases, I put the pieces in another bisque firing to set the color before I do the final glaze fire. But other pieces get added color lightly applied, then a special clear coat for the final stage. 

Finishing while Firing. 

While my kiln was doing the first part of the process on these new pieces, I was finishing up on several pieces. Finally.

I admit I hate finishing. I don’t like endings in my work because I love the process of creating. But the other reason is good old fashioned fear of failure. 

Questions and self doubt and past mistakes creep in like fog on a dark night.

What was I thinking? Do I even like this piece? What if it turns out ugly and not even close to what I had in mind? What if I hate it and everyone else does too? Hey, I was asked to leave a gallery because I changed my color palette and they didn’t like it.

Because these two pieces are both sculptural, I get especially nervous. Have you ever had people come into your studio, stop in front of your work, start pointing and talking? Then when you come up to see if you can answer questions they tell you they know all about it. Thank You. Then they leave. Or they say, well it’s not very pretty is it? Or wherever did you get an idea like that? Yeah, maybe I have a reason to be nervous. 

Is it art? It is what it is. 

I love clay and color and texture. I love creating bowls and mugs and vases and plates that are colorful and textural that people can use everyday. I also love letting my hands tell a story or describe a character that I imagine. My only problem is that my hands don’t always manifest my imagined image exactly. 

Things happen on the way from my heart to my hands. Sometimes there is a breath of beauty I could not have thought of before. Sometimes, there is tension and misinterpretation of a language I am always learning to speak. 

When it comes down to the end, what’s done is done. It is what it is. 

And it’s my job at this point to let it go. 

Art Making Happens.

I've been busy but not necessarily in the active, creative zone.  Or so I thought.

If you've been reading my blog recently, it's all been about cleaning things out and discovering old work, not making new work.  It's definitely been a trip in many ways, down my writing career memory lane, through the cul-de-sac of my children's childhood, and files from the last 20 years of art classes both taking and teaching as well as gallery shows, open studios and publications.  I'm still not exactly sure why all this closet cleaning was necessary and I'm sure it will all come out in one of these days in another blog.  

But today, I'm through with throwing out stuff and I want to throw. Clay.

I haven't been on my wheel in a while, so I sat down nervously expecting to be disappointed in what I threw.  Why, after all this time, would I expect to be able to just sit down and produce?  I'm not a production potter.  I haven't been throwing for decades.  And I don't do it everyday, lately, not for weeks.  Throwing didn't come easily to me and I let that stop me for a very long time.  Decades.  But I refuse to let it stop me anymore.

Music, clay and water washed my self doubt away.  Thank goodness!

I threw a few mugs, a couple of vases and all was well. Later in the week, I found myself hand building.  Hand building, now that's completely different for me than throwing.  When I roll out a slab, it just seems so easy to make a wine caddie or platter or jar or mask.  This week, I got out my underglaze colors and painted a jar.  

I don't feel I've spent any time at the wheel or in my studio at all for the past month or so.  But amazingly, there's new art in there.  Mugs.  Vases. Wine Caddies.  Plates.  Even a new mask.

I felt like all I'd done was clean closets, organize and recycle.

But I guess I haven't just been getting rid of the old.  I've been creating something new.

As The Wheel Turns: New Work without Working?

It's been almost a month since I've spent any real time at my wheel or in my studio, for that matter.  So, you'd think I'd have little to show for my creative avoidance but that's not the case.

Surprise...my studio shelves are filling up again.  It's time to bisque!

How did that happen?  Believe me, when I went back in there this week, I couldn't believe my eyes.  I have five full shelves of new work.  Plus 10 other pieces to the left that are waiting to be under glazed.  Some of it are hand built pieces I did a month or so ago.  Some are thrown pieces that were made two or so at a time over the last month.  Some I made yesterday.

I thought I was in a creative slump but maybe I've worked through it.  Literally.

Maybe pushing myself less and putting less pressure on production has actually produced more work.  I have big bowls with newly painted designs.  A bowl and a cup where I decided to use my old watercolor skills and try a wet into wet approach with the underglazes.  I have new sculptures and new jars waiting for the kiln.

Could working less actually produce more work?

This is so contrary to the way I've lived my life so far.  I've always prided myself on being a hard worker no matter what work was put before me.  From copywriting and broadcast producing to parenting and art making, I've worked hard, made lists, pushed and met deadlines.  

But maybe I'm tired of pushing myself and there was a creative rebellion happening. Underneath my creative slump, there was a new force gathering strength and sneaking into my studio to play instead of produce, create instead of construct and relax at the wheel.

Yesterday, I sat down and just felt the clay in my hands with no specific objects in mind.  

When I stopped, I had thrown 4 mugs and a bowl.  And discovered a new way to trim the mugs giving them a new curvier shape.

Voila! Maybe work doesn't have to be worked at so hard ever again.

 

As The Wheel Turns: Goofing around pays off.

I take my work seriously.  Very seriously.  Ok, maybe too seriously.  So sometimes, it's important to put in some serious goofing around time.  

This week, I unloaded a glaze load from the kiln.  Loaded another load with greenware, bisque fired it and unloaded it.  I have shelves filled with finished pieces, pieces to be glazed and others waiting to be bisque fired.  With my shelves filled up, there's no room for a normal week of thrown work. 

Instead of focusing on throwing my usual mugs, vases and bowls, I experimented.  I rolled out a slab and created a handbuilt jar.  I rolled out coils into branches and gingko leaves, attaching them all around the jar.  I cut out a lid, put on a handle and more leaves. 

Hand-building with clay is a lot like going back to kindergarten for me.  Remember the brightly, colored play-dough?

But wheel throwing is so peaceful, if I go too long without it, I get cranky.  So this week, I decided to combine my kindergartner with my adult artist by throwing two halves of a vase on the wheel and using hand-building to put it together.  Of course, I couldn't resist adding a layer of heart-shaped leaves and whimsical dots.

I know this sounds like a lot of serious work.  But it wasn't, really.

Without the expectation or need to fill the shelves, I could goof off. Get out the clay and just play.  I goofed around, had fun and discovered some new ideas for more pieces.