2022 Word of the Year: Shine

 

This year’s word popped into my head in December. Maybe it was all the bright, colorful holiday lights. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe, just maybe, it was both a hope and a prayer for this new year to be lighter, brighter, healthier and happier. 

Then came omicron. Yet another mutation of the virus taking us into a third year of fear, masks and rising cases. I questioned my word of the year choice, of course. Did it seem too optimistic now? Too cute? Too cheesy? Totally wrong in the face of another year of covid?

As I questioned and searched, nothing else felt right. Maybe, just maybe the word that seemed totally wrong was exactly the right word after all. 

Darkness to light. 

Our holiday celebrations come during the shortest day of the year. The solstice brings our longest, darkest night and our shortest day. But it also signals the turn from the dark, day by day, to the shortest night and longest day of the year in June. 

The sunshine brings not just light but life. Perhaps because of these difficult years, we need more than ever to focus on light. Trying to find a way to shine more light into lives and the lives of those we love. 

Shine.

Looking up shine in the thesaurus, I found many words to inspire and enlighten my heart, mind and soul. Even during this difficult time, I can work to make things brighter around me.

Lead with my heart. Smile even when I’m wearing a mask, hope they see it in my eyes. 

Light new candles. And guide my monkey mind from worries and fear to calmness and hope. 

See and feel how working with brilliant colors in my clay lightens my soul. 

Instant Karma. 

My husband found a song that inspired him, “Instant Karma” written by John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Yes, the song has a dark side like our last few years. But it asks us to see we’re all in this together. And we’re not here to live in pain and fear and isolation.

We are here to shine.  

Like the moon and the stars and the sun. 

This year, more than ever, let’s all help each other find ways to shine on and on and on

Instant Karma's gonna get you

Gonna knock you off your feet

Better recognize your brothers

Ev'ryone you meet

Why in the world are we here

Surely not to live in pain and fear

Why on earth are you there

When you're ev'rywhere

Come and get your share

Well we all shine on

Like the moon and the stars and the sun

Yeah we all shine on

Come on and on and on on on

Time to Look Out the Window

 

A few things reappeared this last week, small things, really. So small, I guess that I didn’t even realize they had disappeared into this years covid mist. Let’s face it, life as we knew it vanished into days, weeks and months of the unknown. Life had to be arranged and rearranged around all these changes and, of course, it changed you and me and all of us. 

Is there an old me to reclaim? A new me to find? Or new mixed bag of me?

Time to find out. 

With all the pushing to produce, social media post, shop updates, virtual shows and shipping, I’ve gained a lot of new skills. I’m thankful for all the support of my art. I’m surprised I can, indeed, promote my own work. I’m glad I learned a new skill set. 

But I lost my old studio rhythm. Over the years, I’ve learned the hard way that clay cannot be rushed. Especially porcelain. I’ve learned to honor and work with it. While I threw and shaped it into bowls and cups, it shaped me, my days, my creative life and my studio schedule. 

Shifting into a new shape. Again. 

Covid definitely re-shaped my studio schedule and I spent many months longing for the old rhythm of my studio days. While I worked hard and got new shelves of new work done, it felt very different. Sometimes it was like driving during rush hour on the freeway, peddle to the metal and then, slamming on the brakes. 

Now post covid as things start to open, my studio feels more open, too. I find myself breathing in and sighing. I seem to be moving more slowly and softly as I feel my way back to my clay.

Sitting here now looking out the window, I realize I’m seeing things again. Things I forgot all about. Things I didn’t even realize I missed until now. 

I see a sweet face in the tree leaves. A bird shape in the clouds. The blue sky shaped around the white cloud edges forms a sleeping animal. Even closing my eyes to rest, I see the violet circle I used to meditate. It’s back.

Maybe that means I’m back too. And all I need to do is open up. Breathe. Let the questions float like the clouds outside the window. 

What wants to be seen? Created? Given shape?

Merry Making Again

What do I love most, other than my husband and family, of course? I love making. There is just nothing like putting my mind and heart and hands to work creating something new. And I know, I’m very lucky to find and do work that allows me to use a wide range of skills. 

For the last few months, I’ve worked finishing work, glazing, firing, sanding and cleaning. I’ve worked hard rebuilding my online platforms, editing copy, taking pictures, adding hashtags. Then there was marketing on social media, which can be overwhelming to me. Even as I love seeing, reading and even creating posts for others, doing it for myself is hard work. 

Taking a studio retreat. 

This week, I went back to work in the studio. I opened a new bag of clay and rolled out huge slabs. I wedged and slapped and rolled some more. I cut out new shapes. Stamped new words and hearts and spirals and suns. 

I even made a tile for my grandson, Cieran. When he comes over this week, I’ll help him put his little handprints into the soft clay to make a belated Mother’s Day present for his mom. Like the one I did with his cousin, Meyer, for my son.

Grateful. I’m so grateful. 

All of my loved ones are vaccinated. All of us are well. All of us are stepping our way back out into this covid world. I’d say “post-covid” but we all know, covid is always going to be part of our world now.

I’ve worked very hard to be strong and fight it but it’s time for acceptance. To feel the tears and maybe even, the fears we’ve held back to be strong for others. I’ve felt it all flowing through me this week. I’ve noticed my shoulders lowering and my jaw loosening. 

And I’m so grateful for the love and support of my family, friends and my art customers, in person and virtual on Etsy or Ceramics Showcase. 

Making always makes me better. 

I’ll admit, I felt a little off my studio game at first. And I was surprised when I realized it’s been a few months since I’ve put my hands in new clay. So much of this year is a blur, isn’t it?

So I’ll ask a question: what can you make to make you feel better? 

Because it’s time for us all, to begin again. 

Cookies & Crayons

 

Remember when all you wanted was a cookie fresh from the oven? Opening a new box of crayons? Smooshing play dough in your hands? When the joy of smells, colors and textures made your day, or maybe just the moment because you quickly moved on to another toy or taste or texture?

Your world was full of mystery and magic and motion that you probably don’t even remember now. Although that’s all part of the process of growing up and becoming, I know there’s a part of me that misses those simple joys. 

Playtime. 

One of the best things about being a parent and grandparent is reliving childhood fun. Getting to kick a ball across the room. Scribbling on a big roll of brown paper. Smelling fresh play dough and tempera paints. 

Yes, as an artist, I do get to create in my studio. But too often, the joy of play gets smothered by sales expectations, product perfectionism and business management. Questions like: Do I need a new website? How can I take better photos of my work? What more can I do to increase sales and visibility on my Etsy shop? What new items can I make and add?

Time for a cookie. Or crayon. Or both. 

Days with Cieran and Meyer not only bring back good childhood memories, they make me stop. Take time to not just taste the cookies, but lick the spoon, my fingers and the chocolate on the edge of my mouth.

Let myself smell the waxy scent of a new box of crayons and marvel at all the colors tucked in rows like a choir singing. I get to watch and remember dipping a paintbrush into the thick tempera paint and smearing it down the paper. Being just as happy with the paint on the paper as the water turning different colors washing the brush. The more muddy the water, the better. 

We say, it’s just child’s play but it isn’t. Watch a child play. Really watch. What do you see? It’s not just paint on paper. It’s the smell, the feel, the brush, the smoothness, thickness, color, in that paper world. Look and see that little person being in the moment. 

Spending time playing with little ones is pure joy.

But it’s also a reminder of the power of pure creativity. 

The power of pure Being. Here and Now. 

Breaking Through

 

Ice and snow covered my world for the last week. There’s nothing I love more than snow. But walking around the snowy park and frozen lake near my home, I didn’t really see it in the same way this time. 

Instead, I was afraid of yet another disaster to add to mounting COVID list. And many, many people were without light and heat. Working from home doesn’t work without internet. Do virtual schools give kids a snow day?

Creative ice. 

I’ve pushed myself through this whole year to create as much as possible not just to keep my work out there, but to keep myself going. If you read my last blog, you’ll know I finally hit the wall. Making turned into a slog instead of a joy. Creative ideas seemed to stop flowing and pushing myself just made it worse. 

I spent a few days watching the ice coat my trees and the snow fall. It was too cold in my garage to throw or trim on my wheel, so I found myself in my studio puttering around. I wrote in my journal, moved a few pieces around and rummaged through my closet. 

Next thing I knew I’d rearranged my studio. Again.

I took everything off my two big black work carts and flipped them from left to right. I pushed one cart shelf up five inches to create a taller space. I rearranged the lower shelves with bisque molds all on one side and clay on the other. I got rid of dirty old plastic that I’ve been using for the last 10 years which I’m sure isn’t healthy. I cleaned, dusted and mopped. 

Drip by drip. 

Next thing I knew, it was thawing outside my window. The sheets of ice were breaking up. The snow had melted on the sidewalk. 

Inside, I’d created a new area dedicated to photography. In the past, anytime I needed photos of my work, I’d go to a professional. When he retired, I had to go it alone. At first that involved carting a stand, tabletop, lights, tripod and cameras out to my garage. I moved inside, but still every time I needed photos, I had to rearrange my entire studio. 

Now, I’ve got a photo area all set up and ready to go. All I have to do is put my piece on the shelf, my phone/camera in the tripod and shoot! Here are some of my first experiments with my new set up. 

Melting happens. 

After all the cleaning, I spent the next day throwing. When I went to put the bowls in the studio to dry, I saw a total of seven new bowls drying on the shelves. 

What happened to my COVID wall? Last time I looked my shelves were empty and inside I felt frozen. But somehow, in spite of all the snow and ice, moving and mopping, something inside of me melted. 

The cold inside me started to thaw and slowly, drip by drip, my creative spirit broke through.  

And some of the beauty that fell outside, had somehow fallen softly on my soul. 

Hitting the COVID wall

Closings. Openings with strict limits. Online and virtual shows. Through it all, I’ve worked and made work. While I’ve always been good at promoting other people, companies and arts organizations, I’ve never been comfortable promoting myself. 

But I knew that had to change. So I posted. Blogged. Jumped back on Etsy and Pinterest.  Reorganized my website and blog. And even in the New Year, I keep looking to redo, redesign or refigure all my online efforts to find a way, a better way, or maybe any way to survive in this crazy covid world.

I kept my fingers crossed. I told myself it would all be over soon. 

Yeah. Right?

It started so softly, I didn’t notice at first. A restless night. Crankiness. Then came the WTF attitude that is so not the me I know. After the holidays, it’s normal to hit a slump but this was more like a slide down a muddy hill into gooey, sticky mud. 

And I didn’t even try to fight my way out of the mud. I just sat down in it. And stared at nothing. 

Covid 19 depression is real. Since the quarantines and social distancing, depression rates have gone up. Post holidays, it’s only gotten worse. New research shows Americans in 2020 are sadder than they’ve been in most years over the past decade, with more than a quarter, 27%, reporting they experienced a lot of sadness the previous day, the Gallup 2020 Global Emotions Report found.

So if you’re feeling it, like I am, know you’re not crazy and you’re not alone. 

Now What?

That’s what I asked myself as I leaned against my Mother Cedar tree. She quickly answered, “Stop fighting it and lean in.” 

How do I do that? What could I do? Well, the obvious answer is: nothing. 

What I discovered this week is that doing nothing can mean a lot of things, actually. It can mean sitting quietly and sighing. Looking out at the trees. Sipping a cool glass of water or hot tea. Letting music fill my mind instead of negative thoughts, allowing tears to flow and sitting still. 

Throwing therapy also helps. Especially when I decide it’s just that and not a production goal. So this week, I took out the last clay out of an old bag. I wedged it by slamming it against the board. I slapped it onto my wheel and leaned in. What did I expect: nothing. What did I get: two small bowls. 

Will they survive firing? I don’t know and, frankly, I don’t care.  

Because it was the act of throwing that helped me survive this, one more covid, week. 

What would help you?

Goodbye Act. Hello ?

 

Every year, I pick a word of the year. I look at it as a light, a guide, a mantra, maybe even a marching order. The word for 2020 was ‘act’. Yeah. 

A year ago, there was no pandemic. No stay-at-home orders. No masks. No social distancing. No one knew what COVID was. No one was afraid, out of work, hospitalized or dying. Children were playing in playgrounds, going to school and running around with their friends. Shops and restaurants and galleries were open. People were working and shopping and looking forward. 

Acting on my word. 

Even with everything closed down, I worked. I threw and trimmed and painted and glazed. I was determined to keep creating. And I knew that creating, for me, was the best way to stay healthy. When I work with my hands, my mind relaxes. Throwing works my muscles and helps me stay strong. 

When everything else seemed to stop, my best act was to keep going in my studio. I made teacups for the first time. Trimming those delicate little feet took a lot of concentration that stopped my spinning thoughts. 

Act started to appear in my bowls giving me new thoughts. 

Act Brave.

Act Kind.

Act True. 

Acting in my own behalf. 

This phrase kept appearing in my journaling. I was a bit surprised because I always thought I did a good job of taking care of myself. But looking deeper, I realized, I did a much better job of acting on behalf of others like my husband, my children and even, my dog than I did on myself. 

Many, many times in my life, I’ve kept my mouth shut. Put up with abuse. Waited and waited to be asked, recognized, heard and seen. I kept my ideas, opinions and feelings to myself. I realized that many, many times, I did not act when I could or should have. 

Act helped me this year. Even with the pandemic fears, I acted. I worked. I created. I showed my ceramics. Instead of always depending on some organization or somewhere else, I learned to sell my art myself. I put my art on Etsy. I did social media promotions. 

I did act. In spite of all the closures and cancellations and quarantines, I acted. I acted brave by promoting my own art. I acted kind by going out safely with mask, sanitizer and social distancing. I acted with love by taking care of myself, my husband, my children and grandchildren. I acted true by voting with my mind and heart. 

What will be the word for 2021?

After this year, I have no idea what 2021 will bring. I don’t know what word could possibly help us move beyond this year into a better one. 

And the only act I want to take right now, on this New Year’s Eve, is say goodbye 2020! 

Horizons

 

It’s December already and my birthday month. While I’ve grown up sharing my birthday month with my Dad and the holidays, there have been times of resentment. But not anymore. 

I can’t explain it, but it feels good to share in the twinkling lights and special decorations that come in my birthday month. Especially this year. Maybe even more because of this crazy year. I need more light, color and sweets to balance the stress, fear and difficulties. 

Looking at the horizon. 

One of my favorite things to do is sit on the window seat and look out as far as I can see. Watching an eagle fly over the distant trees. Seeing a cat run from one yard to the next. Viewing the progress as a neighbor strings up their holiday lights. Waiting for the clouds to move and let a little sun shine my way. Even at the beach, I could spend all day watching the horizon change. 

This popped up in my horoscope: “You live best as an appreciator of horizons, whether you reach them or not.” Those words from poet David Whyte would be a perfect motto for you to write out on a piece of paper and tape to your mirror for the next 30 years. You, Sagittarians are most likely to thrive by regularly focusing on the big picture. Your ability to achieve day to day successes depends on how well you keep the long range view in mind.”

Messes, order and disorder. 

That’s what I see most of the time. And as a clay artist, I make a lot of mess. This week, I glazed almost 2 dozen teacups and a bowl. I mopped up all the drips and washed up all the tools.

The next day, I loaded and fired up my kiln. Firing is an orderly procedure. I set my timer and turn up each dial from low to medium and high in 2 hour intervals. 

But what I can’t clean up or control are the results of the firing process. I can do everything right at every step, have lovely bisque teacups going in, but what comes out is not always up to me. And I have to admit, I don’t like this part of the process. 

Another quote from my horoscope this week: “To accomplish all the brisk innovations you have a mandate to generate, you must cultivate a deep respect for the messiness of creativity; you must understand that your dynamic imagination needs room to experiment with possibilities that may at first appear disorderly.”

This is my last kiln load for 2020. And I’m hoping, yes I admit, for a lovely kiln load of teacups. But I also know that this year has been full of mess and disorder. 

And still, I hope. 

I may love a scenic horizon but I’ve never felt like a big picture person. Maybe, especially this year, it’s time to start. 

Grateful

 

I am grateful. Yes, in spite of all the terrible, difficult, confusing, maddening, and scary things this year has thrown in my path, I am humbly grateful.

I am grateful for my breath, my hands, my body (yes, even as it grows older). My arms are strong enough to lift my grandkids. My back bends, slowly. I make sure to use my abs. My legs love to stretch and walk and climb with me every day around the park and back. And my hands still love to throw, shape, trim and paint clay. 

Home and heart. 

Again, I’m grateful for my home, warmth and food. Especially this year with all the problems finding TP, cleaning supplies, flour and even yeast, it’s been scary. Just when I stopped ‘backing up’ my pantry so many things got hard to find. But one day at a time, I’ve gathered and stored. And I’m grateful my pantry is ‘backed up’ once again. 

While many other hearts filled with anger and violence and fear gnawed at my soul, my arms opened to welcome my children and grandchildren home. After many years apart, my daughter, son-in-law and baby grandson came home. Now I get to take care of two sweet, wonderful new humans. My granddaughter, Meyer is at that magical age of 5 and my grandson is moving from baby to toddler learning and growing with amazing speed and sweetness. 

Art and soul. 

Through all these difficult months, art has been my island of peace, safety and joy. Throwing teacups. Trimming delicate feet. Stamping bowls with messages to ‘act brave and kind’. Creating my own new way to make birds with heart shaped wings and encouraging words. 

All of this work lifted me up when my heart started to sink. It gave my body a way to work through my feelings. And my mind something else to focus on and move onward. And I am always and ever grateful for the opportunity to do the work I do.

Inside and out.  

Quarantines. Walks in the park. Gallery sitting with a mask and no visitors. Shopping with social distancing. It feels more than a little surreal. It’s difficult. Frustrating. And sad. 

But inside, my home is still my home. Today, my daughter and I cooked and watched a movie.  My husband and my doggy Darby are now snuggled by the fire. Upstairs, my daughter and son-in-law are gently singing my grandson good night. And tomorrow, my son and granddaughter will be here to eat turkey dinner and

Every day. Every breath. Yes, even for every roll of TP.  

I am grateful. 

Again and again and again. 

What are you grateful for today?

Small Steps

I’d like to say that this week has been an amazing array of big, grand and glorious things, events, sales and opportunities. I’d like to be able to look up at the sky and twirl like that opening scene from the TV show, Mary Tyler Moore. Or sing with free abandon(and on key) like Julie Andrews in the “Sound of Music”.  

But all I can truthfully say is that I showed up and did the best I could do. All the time looking up at the sky and asking, “Is it all over, yet?”

Slapping, rolling, trimming and cutting. 

Yup, the studio works doesn’t just give me something ‘to do’ to distract me from the current events swirling around, it saves me. Energizes me. And calms me. 

Precisely trimming a teacup takes all my focus. My mind cannot wander, well, unless I want a footless cup. Or an uneven bowl bottoms. But there is no doubt one of the most therapeutic part is slapping that clay down during hand building. I don’t have a slab roller, so throwing the clay down on a canvas board with a slap is a way to wedge and shape it before I roll it out. 

These are some of the many small steps it takes to make a finished bowl, teacup, vase, bird or ornament. Many days, it feels like nothing is getting done. 

Wise words always help me. 

Especially now, when I feel lost wise words of others help me find way. Martha Beck’s words landed in my inbox to save my day. 

 

“Any action we take, at any given moment, is small; big achievements are simply accretions of many small acts. Creating a full, meaningful life doesn’t mean doing huge things. It means that we align each small step we take with our sense of what’s right. And that takes courage.”

Martha Beck’s advice, “Today, look for two or three opportunities to act in accordance with what you most value, even though it takes courage. Tomorrow, do the same thing. And every day after that. Years from now, people will tell you that you’ve done big things. You’ll know better, of course. But it will be wonderful all the same.”

I don’t know that people will tell me I’ve done big things. After all, my teacups are small. But I do know that 10 years ago, my small step was a throwing class once a week and now, I see shelves full of vases and bowls and mugs and jars and, yes, teacups. And my work is out there online and in galleries. 

So, I know that once again, Martha Beck is right when she says, “It’s amazing how big a difference we can make over time, especially when all our small actions come together.”