Chain of Joy

I’m sitting here on the window seat looking out at a light blue sky with thin white clouds. I can hear the buzz of the weed eater in the backyard and hum of the washing machine. 

Just another day in my neck of the ‘woods’. 

How do I feel right now? 

I’m Ok. And maybe a little worried. 

Are my kids and grandkids ok?

Is my husband out with the weed eater ok?

Why is the dog scratching his eye?

What is that greedy guy in the big White House going to do next?

Taking a breath in and out. I sigh.

I’m doing what I can: protesting, boycotting and supporting my friends and neighbors. 

But it’s hard to let go of the baseline worry that hums away underneath everything right now. Hard to focus on joy when there are people suffering because of the greedy criminals in our capitol.

But we have to find joy. 

We have to look for beauty. 

We have to bring what we love into the world, right now. 

Maybe, especially right now.  

Because joy and beauty and love is how we stay strong. 

Sharing it with each other is the chain that keeps us together. 

Ok, I’m still worried. 

But, maybe, we can be worried together and let it ignite change.

And maybe, together we can find and share some beauty.

And some joy.   

What are you doing that brings joy and love and beauty into your life right now?

Let’s start our own chain of joy. 

 

 

Showing Up.

  

As an artist and writer, I thrive on quiet. Looking out the window. Staring at the sky. Watching the dogwood bloom and the birds fly by. Today, I saw a pair of geese herding a large brood of fuzzy goslings from the grass into the lake at the park. 

These are small, everyday things in and around us all. Things I know we see but maybe, don’t see. Like flowers and leaves and birds, they’re all part of our daily life. But somehow, they stick with me and show up in my studio. 

Flowering. 

When I pick up a lump of clay, I don’t always know what I’m going to make. I’ve made many vases, bowls and plates but in the last year or so something has changed. 

One day, I rolled out clay and out came a face. I wasn’t sure why or what it was going to be, so I set it aside. Another day, I walked into my kitchen and saw a vase of sunflowers. Next thing I knew, this is what appeared in my studio. 

Then, on a walk I collected oak leaves. And this appeared. 

Another day, I bought some poppies. And this showed up.  

On a fall walk, I picked up some of my favorite ginkgo leaves. And this happened. 

And they all seemed to have a ladybug nosing around. I do love ladybugs. 

Now what?

Shelves in my studio began to fill up with flowers and leaves and ladybugs. Some had faces and some were just birds or orchids or tulips. I thought the bigger ones could look nice on a wall. But the squares seemed to need something more. 

But what? 

I finally figured out that a frame was needed. This is definitely not my are of expertise, so I asked for help. My daughter in law had the idea of shadow boxes. My clever husband figured out how to mount and hang them. 

And it all worked! 

Now a few of them are on their way to a local show. 

Who knew that a sunflower, some leaves and a ladybug would show up on a wall?

Taking a deep breath.

 

I realize I’ve been holding my breath for months now. Waiting and waiting and waiting for all of ‘this’ to be over. I know I’m not alone, although it feels like it. I can feel the collective intake every time that ‘someone’ makes a statement which none of us want to hear. It’s like some bad movie which is so bad, it fails at the box office. 

Oh, wait a minute, didn’t ‘hers’ already do that?

Anyway.  Let’s all take a slow breath in and then slowly out.

Breathe.  

No Kings day showed how many of us are on the same page. Over eight million of us. I don’t know about you, but that helps me breathe a little better. 

But what really saves me every day is art. Even though it’s not all fun and games, the process keeps me focused. This week was the stage of working with mud that scares me the most. Why? Because at this stage, there’s no going back. It either works or it doesn’t.

To dip or not to dip. 

When I do functional pieces like cups, bowls, vases, I dip them in a large bucket of mixed glaze. Wipe off the bottoms and let them dry. Then load them in the kiln. 

But this technique doesn’t work well with sculptural or relief pieces. There are lots of edges and crevices and details to glaze around. I thought about painting on layers of glaze, but then again, too much here or there and the piece is ruined. I decided the only way was pouring the glaze over the pieces while spinning them on a small wheel. Then doing touch up. 

Firing with fingers crossed. 

After 2 days of drying time, I loaded each piece carefully into the kiln. Set the cone in the bracket. Propped the lid. Plugged the holes and pushed the switch. And set the timer. While other clay people have kilns with digital timers, I set the timer on my phone.

Once the kiln is on, I’m watching the clock and ready to turn it up every 2 hours. I turn the switch. Lo. Medium. High. And then I wait for it to click off. Even then, I’m still waiting for the kiln to cool off completely before I can open it. All the while I’m sitting there thinking: will the pieces crack? Will the glaze work evenly? Will all my work result in beauty or failure?

It’s completely cool now, outside and inside temperatures match. 

It’s time. 

Holding my breath, I open it up. A big sigh. Luckily all went well. 

My new idea to do relief pieces worked! 

Now, I take a big breath in and a sigh of relief!

The Power of Mud

 

There’s one thing that’s helping me stay sane right now. 

Mud. 

Yup, mud.

Some people call it clay. I buy mine from a local clay company. But the components of clay are found in nature.  According to Wikipedia, “It’s a natural product of the erosion of igneous rocks like granite and feldspar. It breaks down over millions of years into fine particles which collect in riverbeds, lake basins and coastal areas, where they are found as sedimentary deposits.”

So, yeah. It’s mud that’s been washed by rain and eroded by rocks. And it’s now in my studio in a nice, neat plastic bag. And I love opening the bag and slicing off a thick slab of it. Slapping it down, folding it over and kneading it into a ball or rolling it into a slab on my canvas covered board. 

Then the fun begins.

My hands get muddy. My mind climbs into the backseat. And my soul sighs. I can make so many things from one chunk of mud. 

A vase. 

A face. 

A bowl. 

A bird. 

A leaf platter.

These are finished pieces. Piece by piece, they’re rolled and stamped and shaped and painted and dried very slowly. But they all started out as a chunk of mud. So fun. 

Then the work of finishing. 

Today, I did a part of the process that’s my least favorite: glazing.  Why is it my least favorite? I think it’s because it’s all about chemicals and precision: waxing, mixing, testing for the right consistency, dipping, catching drips and wiping. Then there’s the clean up. Ugh. 

There’s also a lot of set up and clean up involved because my studio is inside my house. I have to cover the tables and floor, bring in buckets of water and towels and sponges. It’s work. 

Mud, madness, and sanity. 

Yes, it’s work. But it’s also play. Bringing out my childhood love of playing in the woods in the dirt. And right now, with all the dirt and scandal, the most powerful thing I can do for myself is play in the mud. 

Try it. It might help. And you might find playing in the dirt is more fun than reading about it.