2024 Word of the Year: Move

 

Every year, I chose a new word to help guide and inspire me. Last year’s word was Enjoy and while I’d like to say I had an ‘enjoyable’ year, I did not. It was a very hard year. Layoffs. Bureaucratic nightmares for 6 months trying to get healthcare and then, finding myself in the hospital. I’m good now, but I’m glad to see it over. 

It’s time to stop looking back in fear and anxiety and start looking ahead. Yes, I have to be careful as I recover, I tend to do too much, too fast. But I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s time to do more than reading novels and drinking tea. 

Move with care. 

I used to walk around my neighborhood lake almost everyday. I love the walk not just for exercise but for inspiration. Egrets, herons, beavers, otters, ducks, geese, deer and even coyotes live around the lake. The leaves changing, water reflections and sunsets give me food for my mind and soul. 

Obviously, after my hospital stay, I couldn’t walk everyday. I started out carefully walking around the neighborhood. But slowly, I’ve worked my way back to my ‘woods’. Today, I made it 1/2 way around the lake before the rain and snow started and it felt so good. 

Move with joy. 

I am a ‘maker’. To sit and read is fine for awhile, but I crave making things with my hands. It’s not just therapy, it’s joy. So it’s been hard to have to rest and see my studio work sit on the shelves. There’s so much I need to do: underglaze painting, bisque firing, glazing and final firing. 

To keep my spirits up, I’ve been crocheting. I know many might see it as an old fashioned ‘grandma’ thing but I’ve been doing some kind of work in fabric, thread, beads, and yarn all my life. I’ve embroidered, cross stitched, quilted, beaded and crocheted. I suck at sewing garments but I’ve made many pillows and throws in fabric and yarn. It’s my form of therapy and it works for me. 

Move with love. 

I was brought up to work and work hard. Move, move, move. Keep busy. Be productive. But I’ve begun to realize that pressure causes a lot of stress. My childhood coping skills of being a moving target served me then, but now, I need to make my own moves. I need to learn to move with love: for my mind, my body and my heart. 

What does that mean exactly? I’m not quite sure. But I do know it’s time to listen closer to my heart than my mind. Instead of jumping up every five minutes or rushing to and from the store or pushing myself to do more and make more, I need to breathe in. See the sun stream in. Feel the softness of the clay or yarn. Savor the walk while trying not to count my steps. 

Move. 

Move with care for myself, my body and my soul. 

Move with joy for making, baking and crocheting. 

Move with love for my family and myself. 

What moves you this year?

“Loosen your grip.”

That’s the message I got this week while leaning on my favorite cedar tree in the woods. As I stood there breathing deeply in and out, I realized I was curling my toes in my shoes. And there was absolutely no reason or need to be gripping the inside of my shoes. As always, Mother Cedar’s words were right on.

I uncurled my toes. Took a few more big deep breaths letting my jaw loosen, my eyes relax and my shoulders lower as I felt the warm energy of the earth flow through me. 

It’s been a tense and busy several months. I didn’t realize I was still carrying it all around. 

New Sculptures: Goddess of the Heart(top left), Goddess of the Trees(bottom left), Bluebird’s House

A show opening. 

My first featured show in years opened last Friday. It was a lovely evening surrounded by family, friends, gallery guests and supportive fellow artists. My talk to the group about my art went well and there were lots of interesting questions about the process of bringing these pieces to life. 

Labor of Art Show 2009, Mixed Media Story boxes

I’ve had a quite a few show openings in my 20 years as a working artist. And I want to point out my term - working artist - because this has been my focus, my job, my life. It is not a ‘hobby’. It is work. It is work I love, yes. Yet it was not easy and it took several decades of study, classes, assignments, practice, hours in the studio to get where I am today. 

And I’m not done. I’m still learning with every piece I throw or sculpt or build. There’s success with shows and sales as well as failures. No matter what, I keep seeing and making and putting it out there with love. Even this week, as I painted and loaded up the kiln I tried to remember to flow rather than push. 

“Prologue” 2019 

A mortality reminder. 

I am a melanoma survivor. When I was pregnant with my son, a mole on my leg that I’d had all my life was diagnosed as melanoma. I was terrified but luckily it was caught very early. It was removed with good margins with local anesthesia so as not to hurt the baby. I was 6 months pregnant at the time. 

I went in yearly for an overall skin check for a decade but as time went on and nothing went wrong, I let it go. I made appointments every 3 years instead. It was always fine. 

But three days before my gallery show, I had my first biopsy in 30 years. A suspicious area had appeared. I left with a few stitches and a lot of fear. Luckily for me, a few days later the call came to tell me it was not cancer this time. I was safe.

Into the woods. 

It was time. For me, one of the best ways to feed my soul and refresh my spirit is to head into the woods. I’m blessed there is a beautiful park near my home with a lake, big cedar grove and stands of birch. There are herons, geese, fish, ducks, otters and beavers.

That’s where I’ve been this week too. Wandering, leaning and hearing the wisdom that life is precious every day. That whether you succeed or fail or live or die, isn’t a matter of holding on but loosening up and letting it flow. 

My Saturday: Gallery Sitting and Art Making(and fun)

Photo by Michelle Barnett

I am not a ‘sitter’. By that I mean, I don’t like to sit for long periods of time. Physically, mentally and creatively, I just like to be moving. I walk everyday, do yoga, stand while I hand build and most of my best ideas come to me while I’m moving around or leaning against my favorite tree. 

As an Art On Broadway artist, I staff the gallery once a month. This is called ‘gallery sitting’ and today was my day. Gallery sitting turned into gallery standing, gallery creating, gallery selling and gallery meeting and greeting.

Gallery standing. 

When I arrive in the morning, the first thing I always do is housekeeping. I sweep the floor inside, entry way and sidewalk in front of the gallery. Then I dust the shelves, cubbies, pedestals, glass art, ceramic art, wood pieces. I wipe the finger prints off the door, clean the glass desk and water the plants. 

Photo by Michelle Barnett

Then I look around and see what needs ‘fluffing’. This is a term another artist uses to describe moving things around in a space. We have wonderful art and artists who work to set up displays but as she explained to me, moving even great displays around creates energy. That energy attracts people to look and see and buy the art. So I fluff. 

Gallery creating. 

This week I worked in my studio hand building new vases and jars. I love making. What I don’t love is waiting. Clay is a unique medium that requires you to work quickly and slowly and patiently. Clay has to sit but not too long. 

I made the body of these jars on Thursday, then they sat. Next lids need to be cut, tops and sculptural elements need to be added. Depending on the weather, the sitting time is anywhere from a day to a week. Summertime means the jars needed attention by Saturday at the latest. 

So I packed them up and took them to the gallery with me. 

Gallery selling, meeting and greeting.

I had very few visitors in the morning, but after I set up my workspace and starting working people walked in instead of walking by. They came in and looked all around the gallery. Some were interested in what I was doing. Some were not. But they all had more interested looks on their faces, asked more questions about the art and artists in the gallery. 

Happily, I did sell art. It wasn’t mine, instead it was a piece by one of our newest artists. I made the sale, wrapped it up and found a new piece to hang in the empty space which required a little more fluffing to make it all look good again. 

Standing and working on my jars, fluffing the art and cleaning all sent out good energy. That energy brought people in to look, talk and take home something beautiful. Gallery sitting, standing and art making made for a fun day. 

As the Wheel Turns: Trying

It’s been over a month since I’ve sat at my wheel, rolled out a slab or painted my clay. This week back at the wheel, painting and loading a small kiln load feels wonderful but there are many parts to what I do that always give me things to wonder about. 

Last month as this time, I was glazing and glazing and firing work for a big show, wishing and hoping it would all come out perfect and many pieces would sell. 

Many pieces did come out very well. And pieces did sell. It wasn’t my best sales year or my worst but I did hope for more. Don’t we all? And is that good or bad? My answer to those questions came from a quote I saved for inspiration.

“There’s only the trying. The rest is not our business.” T.S. Eliot

I did try. I do try. I always try to do my very best to produce quality work. I use quality materials from the clay to the glazes. I work the clay in all the correct ways, wedging, centering, rolling, pinching, sealing and trimming to the best of my ability. And I’m always learning, searching out ways to make my work better. 

And I try even more. I bring my heart and soul into what I make with my hands because I want to bring more heart, soul, love, light and creativity into not just my life but hopefully, all the lives around me. 

“You can’t guarantee the result.” 

Robert Redford said about T.S. Eliot’s quote, “It's one of my favorite phrases. Because you can't guarantee where the trying is going to get you. So, you can't guarantee the result. The only thing there is in its place is the trying. That's where the action is."

My Party Animals, I realize came to life to lighten mine. I had lost my sweet dog Jilly, I was lonely and sad. Then these crazy creatures started appearing on my studio shelves. Not only are they silly sculptures, they are rattles, too. 

I never planned to make rattles or crazy creatures. But I tried anyway. They make me smile. And they make others smile too. Everyday, I watched as many people picked them up, shook them and laughed. I’ve sold a few of them and I’m grateful. 

So I remember those words: “There’s only the trying.” I agree, “That’s where the action is.”

Creating with my Inner Gremlin.

There's so much chatter out there. Leaders trumpeting. Opinions clashing. Groups shouting. Social media adds more layers to the noise tracks I hear and even though I'm glad I live in a part of the world where all the voices are heard, it's still overwhelming. At times, I just have to shut it all off. 

But when I do, a strange thing happens, another voice comes on. That voice, that inner tape track has many names which are actually listed on Wikipedia. Some of the names are: inner critic, the perfectionist, the taskmaster, the guilt tripper, the judge, the destroyer and my personal favorite, the gremlin.

The voice of self doubt. 

This voice creates not just bumps but real road blocks to my creativity. It chastises me for not working hard enough and when I'm in deadline mode, to be careful not to make mistakes. If I don't have a show for my work, I'm lazy. And if I'm in a show and I don't sell enough, I'm a failure. It's a no-win situation, obviously.

And yes, I know this voice is not unique to me. We all have some version of Sister Mary of the Many Mistakes in our heads. Granted, for me, Catholic school sure didn't help but I can't keep blaming it all on the nuns. There are many schools of thought on where these voices come from: Freudian superego, Jungian animus or the primitive, reptilian brain. 

The sound of silence. Please. 

Even though I understand what, why and how my inner gremlin operates. It still gets in my way. I've struggled to shut it up in many ways. I've argued and meditated,  journaled and jazzercised, binged on caffeine and Netflix. But all that I found out was that fighting with the gremlin is really fighting with myself and that gets exhausting, not to mention silly and ineffective. 

So I asked myself and my inner gremlin, what can I do? I can give it a seat in my studio where it's comfy. When it decides to talk, I can decide to nod but not really listen. I can put on some music that we both like. Music seems to quiet the gremlin. And sometimes, it's a great distraction for both of us, because I've found my inner gremlin really likes to sing off key. 

I'm not crazy(OK, maybe a little, after all I am an artist) or the only one on the planet with a non-stop inner critic. Having doubts is part of life, so as long as I'm living, I'll try to accept it. When I hear the voice of my inner gremlin chatting at me and around me, I'll give up the fight and give it a new place to sit in my life. 

Surprise Moments.

I walk to the park everyday and I love it. Moving at a brisk pace, breathing in the fresh air around me, I feel energized and powerful. I want to say that I mindfully pace myself taking in the life teaming in and around me but I'd be lying to you and myself. 

The truth is: I really want to be calm and centered. I want peace and quiet in my mind and soul. I do yoga. I try to meditate. But most of the time, my mind just won't shut the F.... Up.  

Here I go but where am I?

While my feet and legs propel me around the beautiful lake, my mind races backwards, forwards and, sometimes, sideways. I shrug against the rain and while I see the leaves at my feet, my attention is in my head. I'm listing my to do's, planning dinner(while it's only hours after breakfast), worrying about my kids, grandkid, husband, dog and home. Will my art sell at the show I just signed up for and will I like what I'm now creating when it gets done? And then, there is the ever creeping holidays just around the corner.  

I almost missed it. 

This week, Mother Nature decided to shock me into the moment whether my mind liked it or not. 

As I walked up to one of the bridges over our neighborhood, man-made lake, something white caught my eye. On the shore of the creek was a bright, white egret. I was taken aback, for sure, but Mother Nature wasn't done with me. 

Right there, 4 feet away in a tree, was a huge, blue heron. I've seen many herons at the lake over the years, but this one was so close and so big and so still.

Hello.  

I got busy clicking pics on my phone, of course. Trying different angles. Moving slightly to get a better shot. Zooming in and out and in and out. Just as I pocketed my phone, turned to cross the bridge and get up to walking speed, something else caught the corner of my eye. Mother Nature had another surprise, knowing that an egret and a heron might not be enough to really make her point. 

An eagle swooped above my head and flew across the bridge.

I stopped. My eyes moved and my mind, finally, was surprised into silence. 

I'm grateful to the egret and the heron for showing me stillness. But the eagle soaring above helped me see that surprising moments fly by swiftly all the time and if I don't stop and look, I'll miss the wonder of truly living my life. 

A Good Firing.

Firing is not my favorite part of my art-making process. I know it's because I have to give up and give in to the kiln. It's scary because even if I've done everything right: wedging, throwing, rolling, underglazing, bisque and final glazing, everything can go wrong. 

Maybe there's another reason I don't like firing. I'm officially done. It's over. The piece is out the studio, out of my hands and on its own. My studio shelves look a little empty.

When the kiln lid closes and firing starts, I'm finished whether I like it or not.

I like to finish projects. I love the feeling of accomplishment. But I struggle with that part of myself that doesn't like to let go. I always see possibilities: more color or texture or lines to add. But even though my pieces go through 2 or more kiln firings before the final glaze firing, I still put it off just in case. Oh, I know I'm procrastinating and finally, I can't stand it anymore. 

I turn on the kiln, set my timer and wait. I have an old manual kiln that was gifted to me by a very generous man. I thank him every time I load, fire and unload it. But it is getting older and will soon need new coils and some bricks fixed, which is very costly, and that adds another layer to my kiln-sitting stress. Will this be the time the kiln decides to quit on me?

I don't peek for four days. Honest. 

Why? Because I use porcelain and I've learned that opening the kiln up before my pieces have totally cooled to the surrounding temperature both in my garage and in my studio causes cracks. There is nothing sadder than putting all my heart and soul into my work only to hear the awful sounds of popping and cracking because I lacked patience. And I do lack patience most of the time, but not when it comes to kiln cooling. I keep my cool. 

This time, lifting the lid was joyful. 

I tried some new ideas in this group of bowls. I wanted a landscape feel that reminded me of the watercolors and oils I used to paint. I added more texture inside and out. The spirals and trees in the middle of the bowl feel like the drawing I used to do. I used the under glazes like watercolors creating a sky surrounding the tree landscape. 

As I opened the lid, I saw the colors were even better than I'd hoped. As I took each piece out, I examined it inside and out for cracks, glaze slips or bubbles. It looked good. Whew. 

Now, there's always a piece or two that I know have some kind of issue going in. It might be a weird bump or a slight crack, so I don't expect those pieces to be perfect. I hope for the best and sometimes, I'm happily surprised. Sometimes, not. This time, one bowl made it out better than I thought it would but it's not up to my standards, so it will go on my 'seconds' shelf.  

I'm still happy, though. Because 22 out of 23 pieces came out whole. 

It was a good firing and that's a very good thing. 

Rain, rain, don't go away. Again.

I live in Oregon. It rains a lot here or so people think.  But actually, rain totals here used to be about as much as the Midwest city I grew up in. The big difference is that there it really only rained in the spring and here it drizzles and sprinkles and rains almost all year round.  

Except for this year.  We've just had 90 plus days of dry, hot summer. It's not my Oregon. 

So when the rain began to fall, I could feel my body drinking it all in, washing away dust from the sidewalks and my soul. I watch the drops hit the window and slide down catching the light. The crisp, clear smell mixes with the soft patter to create a peaceful resting place. Sleeping as the rain falls is so blissfully cozy and I realize how much I need the relaxing rain. 

Now, I can get out my new clay and play. 

I had to slow down and come to a complete creative stop in August.  The hot, dry weather is not a good climate for porcelain clay. It drys too fast. It cracks. It's frustrating. I did manage to get bisque firing done on the one cooler day but again, those pieces are still sitting on the shelves, waiting. My kiln is outside, but with temperatures in the 90's, it's still too hot to do a glaze fire.

Inside my studio, I'm unpacking from a show, setting up my shelves and moving onward, hopefully. I've bought some new clay and I actually have a few new pieces drying. Another reason, I'm so grateful for the weather change. Slow, slow drying time means happy, healthy new pieces.  

Now I know the season is changing. 

I always have mixed feelings about fall. Change itself is never easy but this year as the water rains down, thunder booms and even, lightening sizzles, I am embracing this lovely shift into a new season. 

Suddenly, I can't wait to put up the leaf wreath. Trim back my lavender for drying. And cook up the last of the tomatoes. I'm sitting here sipping a chai tea and watching the last of the rain drops burst through the screen as the sky slowly shifts and lightens. 

Rain. Rain. Please, oh please, don't go away!  Not today. 

Creative Experiments.

Lately, something's been shifting in my world of making. I didn't see it or realize it at first because I was coming from a maker's mindset. I thought I was just making slab vases alongside my thrown vases. Then, slowly slab-built jars, oval dishes and platters appeared on my studio shelves. I was still throwing, making my usual mugs and bowls, so I didn't see that in the background of comfortable making, I was experimenting. 

Enter creative fear and frustration. 

I spied my shifting process and decided to throw myself into it on the wheel as well. If these new shapes and textures worked with slab-building, why not take it to the rest of my work? Sounds easy and obvious, doesn't it? 

Well, obvious doesn't follow as easily as I'd like.

I threw some vases and bowls.Then I got out all the things I used to create the slab-built textures to add to the thrown pieces. I was excited and energized and gleeful as I started wrapping things around and stamping things outside and in my thrown vases and bowls. Later, I painted and stained with the same colors as my slab pieces. 

The bisque went well but when I did the clear glaze firing, I didn't get what I'd hoped. I'm disappointed. I'm not sure why I don't like the thrown pieces as well as the slab ones. With the thrown pieces, it's harder to get the texture as deeply into the clay. Maybe that's it? So the staining part of the painting process didn't work the same either because after adding the clear glaze, I got blobs and runs because it didn't sink into the delicate texture. Maybe that's it?

Disappointment led me down another road. 

I found myself making faces. I used to do masks and sculpture exclusively but I haven't really done much in the last few year as my focus has been on functional ceramics. 

One Saturday, I wandered into my studio and next thing I knew, I'd made not just another face, but a small sculptural tree house. 

Yesterday, this new little creature appeared. 

Amazing. I was not happy with my kiln unloading but even as that frustration hovers, I realize I am moving anyway. Almost behind my own back, my creativity snuck out and started experimenting. Like a child put to bed, my creative self crept under the covers with a flashlight and kept experimenting. Will these pieces ever see the light of day? Will I figure out a way to give my thrown pieces the same texture and look as my slab-built pieces? I don't know. 

But maybe, that's not the point. The real discovery is failed creative experiments don't stop creativity.

The Mystery: Nothing Becomes Something.

I love starting a new piece. Whether it's thrown or sculpted or slab, it's just clay. I pick it up and move it around listening, feeling, wondering. I have no expectations. I'm just exploring and improvising with textures and forms until the piece surfaces into reality. 

Somewhere in there, something happens. 

It becomes a vase or a bowl or a jar. Then I work with it adding colors on top of colors and textures on top of textures. I put it in the kiln to set one set of colors. Out it comes, cools off and gets another set of colors. 

I love all of this but there comes a time when the end is near. 

Glazing is not my kind of fun. It takes mixing and measuring and careful attention to get the glaze just right. There are all the usual chemistry requirements to make a proper solution with the right viscosity to achieve an even glossy glaze that people expect in a functional piece of ceramics. 

Then there is the mess, drips, equipment to set up, use and clean up after. With my studio set up this means two separate rooms across my house. That means lugging of buckets back and forth from my utility room to my studio and back again. Towels are everywhere and even then, drips abound. So there are counters and floors to wash and mop. 

Loading the kiln and crossing my fingers. 

Kiln loading is a logistical puzzle that is both nerve racking and intriguing.  It's a challenge to get a wide variety of pieces in one load and I'm always glad when it all fits, finally. 

Closing the lid and turn on the kiln is hard, because it's time to let go. I have to put them in the fire and hope for the best. Will they crack?  Will the glaze cover evenly and smoothly? Will the colors meld together? Will the jar lids come apart? 

These pieces that started as nothing but clay have become something.

I'm attached to them, to their shapes and colors and their future. Now all I can do is wait. And hope. 

Creating Sanity.

There is a whirlpool trying, and sometimes succeeding, in pulling me down, down down. I resist. I persist. But sometimes, the force feels too strong. I look for a savior, grasp for a life raft and I finally find it in mud.

It seems odd, really, that clay is my sanity.

While I prepare to throw by filling the tub of hot water and carrying it out to the garage, my mind chatters away about the dirt of the day. The political presidential poop, the scandals, the greed, the incredible wrongs done to all of us. The personal fears that arise. The family stress that I can't solve and the problems I think I can. It leaks from all those little corners of the mind and threatens to overwhelm. 

Slam. Turn. Slam again. 

Wedging clay is a completely physical task. If you've never done it, let me tell you it can be violent and wonderful and totally therapeutic. I cut off my clay from a big 25 pound sack of porcelain. After it's cut into 2.5 and 5 pound chunks, I wedge it. Well at least, that's the technical term. What I really do? I slam it onto a canvas covered board from a height of at least 2 feet. It hits the board and I pick it up, turn it and slam it again. I slam it over and over and over and over until it's compressed into a block about 1/4 the size of the original slab I cut off. 

Turn up the music. Now it's time to throw.

Once my clay is wedged, slammed and ready to roll. I get on my wheel to throw. I always have music playing when I'm working. It's essential to my process and I choose different types of music for different studio days. Under glazing days flow to the tunes from mellow rock to Broadway. Throwing days need instrumental either classical or new age but it's the rhythms that create the oasis I need to be centered enough to center the clay on the wheel. 

Centering is key to everything. 

If the clay is off center, the mug, bowl, vase wobbles and tilts and eventually falls apart. Throwing a bowl, vase, mug all requires balance, a stable center, an axis with no tilt. So, for me, music provides a beat to follow, a breathe of balance, uplifting notes to help me rise above the push and pull around me and find that stable core within. 

I need to connect with my core but also the core in the earth. The grounding that keeps us all from spinning out of our orbits. Even when the earth tilts on its axis, the core remains grounded, stable to keep it all together. I need that too. 

Mud saves me. Every time. 

When I'm at the wheel and I'm throwing, nothing else exists. My hands go around the gooey gob and press inward and upward and down. Again and again. I repeat the process until at last, I feel it. The clay is centered. I exhale a sigh. And begin to form whatever shape the clay will take. I'd like to say I control that process or, any of the process, but I don't. The clay leads me and if I'm willing to be saved that day, I make a really good bowl, vase or mug. If I fight for control or dominance or some need for profit, I create a cold, wet blob of dirt.

What saves you?

In this turbulent sea of political and personal and physical change in my world; my clay, my wheel, my hands covered up to the elbow in soft, gooey porcelain saves me. But it could be something quite different for you and you don't even have to know for sure. 

You just have to do something. Crochet or knit. Bake or barbecue. Plant a tree, flower or zucchini. Splash some paint around a canvas, paper or your bedroom walls. Go for a swim. Do yoga. Listen or play music. Run. Walk. Dance.

Save yourself. Save the world. Create sanity.  

A Message in a Clay Cup.

What do I do?  Quite simply, I make clay mugs, vases, jars and masks. I may call myself an artist while others call themselves potters but it's really just a matter of semantics. Much the same as an article and a book are made with words and some writers call themselves journalists and others authors. 

Some would say the difference is the intention in the creation. Does the work have meaning? Did the writer or artist create to express a message? Is this the true intent of art?

I read this quote from writer, Ursula K. Le Guinn, in a wonderful article in the online magazine, Brain Pickings.

Le Guinn writes, "A well-made clay pot — whether it’s a terra-cotta throwaway or a Grecian urn — is nothing more and nothing less than a clay pot. In the same way, to my mind, a well-made piece of writing is simply what it is, lines of words. As I write my lines of words, I may try to express things I think are true and important. That’s what I’m doing right now in writing this essay. But expression is not revelation… Art reveals something beyond the message. A story or poem may reveal truths to me as I write it. I don’t put them there. I find them in the story as I work."

Lion and Sheep (Front)

I've worked with both words and clay in my life and I have to confess, I never set out to create meaning. I write a piece that feels it needs to be written just as I form the clay into the jar or mug. It is a series of words or a lump of clay in my hands. It's not until after the mask or mug or story is done that a message emerges. And even then, it might not be clear to me at all. 

Lion and Sheep (Inside, page 1)

One of my mixed media pieces, Lion and Sheep, was based on a classic Zen story. But in reality, I made all the individual parts of the piece, not knowing there was a story or message there at all. I was merely sculpting a clay face, a screening animal, pushing a landscape into a piece of copper. It wasn't until I got finished that the story emerged and was written. 

It seems obvious now. But like Le Guinn says, expression was not revelation at the time.  I did indeed find it in the work, too, later. 

Here's another surprise from the same piece years later: A mother and daughter were looking at the Lion and Sheep piece quite intently. I walked up and saw it was the paper I used as a background that had caught their attention. I told them it was a shopping bag I'd gotten from an oriental grocery store and I confessed I didn't think the Chinese characters on the bag made any sense. I'd used it because it was an Asian design and it fit the piece.

Lion and Sheep(Inside, page2)

But yes, they said, it did make sense. The characters on the paper meant 'teacher' or 'lesson' and my piece and the story were all about a Lion being taught a lesson about himself. I was shocked, I did not have any idea. But they did. 

Here's another quote from Le Guinn, "What my reader gets out of my pot is what she needs, and she knows her needs better than I do. My only wisdom is knowing how to make pots. Who am I to preach?"

I make clay cups, platters and masks. I write blogs. Do I fill them with messages? I don't know. Now, thanks to Le Guinn's quote, it's not for me to know. It's for you. And in time, with your help,  I may find it, too.