Empty to Full

 

It always surprises me. My studio shelves were empty a month or so ago and now I have no more room for new pieces. Really, where did all these pieces come from? Is there an elf who sneaks in at night? I’m joking, of course. 

I work in my studio and throw on the wheel. But I don’t produce hundreds of pieces a week or month or even a year. Especially after this year, with the demolition and reconstruction of my home, I had months with no production at all. And after all that time away, I wondered if what I made or didn’t really mattered at all. 

It felt overwhelming. And it took a while to get my clay feet back and my hands moving.  

One chunk of clay at a time.

That’s how it happened. One day at a time, putting my hands in a new chunk of clay and wondering. What could it be? A leaf? A bowl? A penguin? A witch? A vase?

There’s a part of me that always sees more in the world around me than is really there. To me, a tree might look like a person waving in the wind. A big leaf from a tree in the park might look like a lovely serving platter. A toilet paper tube might look like a jar or a vase. 

And throwing is just my way to meditate. That is if I don’t listen to those negative voices that try to force the clay into something it shouldn’t be: taller or wider or bigger or better. 

A love of mud. 

That’s what drew me back, really. The feel. The wonder. The questions and possibilities. Most of all, letting all of that go. Stepping into the realm of here and now.  

One day at a time. 

One chunk of clay at a time.

One bowl or bird or leaf at a time. 

And my shelves went from empty to full.

And so did my soul. 

Flow

I love the Oregon coast. I haven’t been there in over 4 years. In fact, I haven’t been anywhere, really in two years. I’ve walked my beloved park. Visited local farms and wineries. Gone grocery shopping. But I haven’t really taken a trip or a vacation. 

I know I’m not alone. Covid, the Delta variant have kept us all close to home, worried and fearful. Add a death in the family and I needed to retreat or find a retreat to soothe my soul, breathe in deeper and let out all the surrounding sorrow. 

Waves

Just watching the waves move in and out. Foaming and folding and glistening. I could feel a deep calm rolling over me. The sound of the surf quieted my mind. The push and pull inside me gave itself over to the ocean. 

Gazing at the sun moving downward towards the ocean brought up so many feelings. Hope. Sadness. Love. Fear. Connection. Loneliness. Support. And joy. Yes, as the sun slowly lowered,    I could feel my soul filling up with warmth. 

Play

Taking my sweet doggy to the beach is always fun. But because he was trained from puppyhood to be a guide dog, he was always on a leash. This is his comfort zone. Ok, I’ll admit, mine too. We found a small, inlet beach area with only a few people. And I decided, it was time to take the chance. 

He loved it! He splashed. Barked. Met another dog. He ran back and forth between my husband and I playing monkey in the middle. He got lots of treats each time he ran to us. I was so excited to see him sniff the waves and run. Joyously playing. 

Mud

Art making is my therapy. I need to put my hands in clay to clean the mud off my heart and soul. This last week, I made a decision. Even though my kitchen is still a mess, I needed to make a mess with clay to feel better. 

So I threw. Even if these bowls don’t turn out, it doesn’t matter. Even if they sit on my studio shelf and dry and crack and never get glazed, it’s ok. Because just the act of wedging, throwing, pulling and shaping the clay is an act of hope. An act of balancing then with now. Centering me. And allowing the future to flow. 

  

Time In. Time Out.

Life flows like the ocean, in and out. You and I know this.  But I forget as I get caught up in the everyday, trials and triumphs, schedules and space. Today as I look back at a Facebook memory photo, I’m taken back in time to our anniversary trip to Maui. 

Facing the view of ocean and sky was beautiful. The sounds of construction below us was not. We were moved to another unit just in time for our anniversary day. This was a gift in itself. I was very relieved and grateful. 

This year, was completely different. We were home living our normal everyday life. But we did make reservations for a special dinner at our favorite place. I found a wine from a vineyard that brought back a lovely summer day picnic memory. My husband found 2 dozen beautifully garden grown roses for me to arrange around our home. 

Again the flow. 

The last few months have been a wave of events, emotions and energies. 

It was filled with the wonder of a birth. My daughter and son-in-law had a beautiful baby boy. Flying to LA for me is like landing in a different world with all the sunshine, heat and constant traffic. But I’m so glad I got to be there for my daughter, son and new grand baby. I just wish I didn’t have to leave them when I know they could use more help. 

Back home, I spent time inside my home resting, cleaning, recharging and rearranging. I weeded, cut and cleaned out in the garden. I cleaned cupboards to make room for a new set of porcelain dinnerware, our anniversary present to each other.

In my studio, I worked to get my new work from bisque stage to glazed and done. And found time and energy to get back to the wheel and throw.

Time in and time out. 

I’ve had a lot of time out of the studio and I haven’t thrown on the wheel for almost 2 months. I was a little rusty at first.  My balance felt off. Getting my feet adjusted and the seat in just the right place seemed to take forever. But once I thunked that ball of clay down and the wheel started to spin, it all changed. 

Throwing on the wheel transcends time. Normally, I see minutes, hours and days click past but when I’m at the wheel throwing clay, time just flows. Hours go by unnoticed. And time just doesn’t seem to exist at all. Because I’m in time’s flow and not outside it. 

It’s so easy to forget to flow, isn’t it? Our world is so full of schedules and seasons and reasons that chart our time in and out. Perhaps what I need to see and remember is how good it feels to flow with time. 

Creative Rhythm.

Working as I do; writing, drawing, sculpting, throwing requires many skills but the most important of all is surrender. I'm not talking about giving up but giving in. With all the outside distractions lately, I've had a really hard time giving in to the peace and space to create. The result: my own creative rhythm is definitely off beat.

How do I get my beat back?

I took a few steps forward last week at the wheel. This week started with some steps backward but it took those steps to make me see where I really needed to go.  And, surprise, it's not spending more time cringing and complaining about what's wrong and liking the unlike able. I'm not turning my back on the situation or sticking my head in the sand, but the change I want to see in the world has to start from the inside out. Giving in before giving out. 

Baby steps.  Literally.

Mondays with Meyer are a joy. Meyer and I focus on the world in front of us: sorting smooth river rocks, making animal sounds, watching geese fly, catching snowflakes, singing joyful songs and scribbling with bright colors. By giving Meyer what every toddler needs, I'm giving in to myself as well. I'm connecting with my inner child, the true artist who experiences and experiments in every moment. Not every move works, sometimes you trip and fall but I can say to myself what I say to Meyer, "Oops. It's ok. Let's get up and move on."

Moving is the key.

I love to dance. In college, I took ballroom dancing and loved it. But the biggest lesson of dance isn't learning the steps, it's learning to trust. As the music plays, I had to believe in my own body to make the right steps, to trust my movement forward and backward, to give in to my own inner rhythm.

Sometimes in the studio and in life, I try to rush or push my work out because my mind gets on the worry track. I think I'm not working hard enough or fast enough or good enough. When I focus on product instead of the process, I loose my footing. Just like dancing, I've got to turn off my mind and give in to the music, movement and joy of the moment.

Whether I'm creating with my feet or hands, trust is essential. And the basis of trust is giving in to my own inner compass, listening to the true song of my soul and dancing to its unique creative rhythm.

As The Wheel Turns: Faith, Flow and Plans.

I'm sitting on my window seat watching the sunset.  I can't believe this day has passed so quickly and how, equally quickly, my plans for the day went sideways.

Plans and the unplanned.

My plan for my day was simple.  Walk the dog.  Throw.  Trim and clean up my wheel and tools.  Put my new pieces in the studio to dry.  Eat lunch.  Clean myself up, after all, working in clay is messy.  Put my throwing towels and gear in the wash.  Run a few errands.  Do a few needed chores around the house.  Write my blog.  Make dinner.  

My plan started out as planned.  I walked.  I threw.  But as I was coming inside with my new pieces, I heard my phone beep an incoming text message from family.  I picked it up and found out my son had cut his finger and needed help.   

Faith in the face of fear.

Covered in clay, I dashed around putting pieces in the studio, buckets in the sink, and tools in water.  I changed out of my wet clay clothes and headed out the door to the urgent care center with clay under my fingernails and in my hair.

The urgent care center was packed.  There were toddlers with broken arms, young people using walkers and many, many with coughs and colds.  We were the third in line for the suture room and it was only 1pm!  Two hours later, my son had a tetanus shot, a finger sutured with glue, and was devouring breadsticks and soup in my kitchen.  He was okay and I was grateful.  Especially to see him wolfing down his favorite soup that I just happen to have in my pantry.  

Flowing with faith through the unplanned.

Everything that really needed to get done, got done.  No, I didn't get those errands run today.  I still haven't done the chores around the house or made dinner, yet.  But I finally got the clay out of my hair and nails.  And I'm writing my blog.   

 I let go, flowed with what life handed me. Most importantly, I was there for my son when he needed me. Because when he called, he had faith I'd be there for him. I was and will always be, plans or not.  

2015 Word of the Year.

It's been a process to figure out this year's word.  Some years, it's easy and just comes to the surface.  This year, it's been a struggle.  

Last year's word was flow.  And like the word itself, it just appeared to me.  It became a big undercurrent in my life, teaching me new lessons, showing me old blocks and rocks in my way and helping me move through my last 365 days slowly, quickly, smoothly, roughly and circutitiously.  I wrote many journal entries and blogs about the teachings of flow.  

Truth:  I didn't want to let go of flow.  

But the year was ending and I knew that true to the word flow, it was time to move on.  I began my search for a new word for the new year.

Looking, listening, writing and reading.  Nothing flowed out.  

So, I did what I do when I'm stuck, I make a list.  I started my list making with words I wanted to let go of...fear, guilt, fighting, comparison, defensiveness.  Then using my trusty Thesaurus, I made a list of the antonyms of the words above...calm, innocence, peace, connect, safe, secure.  That didn't ring any new year bells for me, so I added a list of related words...ease, encourage, nourish, empathy, serenity, light, confident, happy and faith.

Ah ha:  I was forcing the flow of my new word of the year.  

Why? Because a word I am most uncomfortable with kept popping up like a bubble underneath water.  The word: Faith.  I  was raised in a very conservative, religious situation.  I was required to attend church 6 out of 7 days a week for decades.  To me, the word faith brings up bad memories of doing and going and being something I'm not in order to obey someone else's rules.  

But...what would Merriam-Webster say?

Faith  noun  : a strong belief or trust in someone or something.  That's the first definition.  There are others that relate to religion and god and religious systems.  But the very first definition is about someone or something. 

Belief.  Trust.  In someone...me?  In something...life? art? flow?

Yes.  I see it clearly now.  Flow and faith bubbling, twirling, cascading and rippling along together.  To flow, I need to trust and to believe.  So, maybe, I've always had faith and didn't know it.  But maybe, now, it's time to be happy and show it.

Here's to the New Word of the Year for 2015...Faith.

Flowing all along.

Flow is my word of the year for 2014.  I've done many blogs on it throughout the year but as the end of the year approaches, it feels right to bring it up again.   Especially at this time of year when the flow of my life can get more rapid with perhaps some rough patches like rocks, whirlpools and white water.

I see that I react to the holiday flow in two ways.  Rushing and Resisting.

Some days, I get caught up in the fast and furious flow of holiday busyness.  Making lists.  Running errands.  Dusting and decorating.  Baking and wrapping.  Now, all of this can be wonderful and joyful unless you're like me, rushing too fast to notice it all.  I'm so busy trying to get it all done first, which begs the questions-who waved the start flag and is it supposed to be a race?  The answers- I don't have a clue and no.

Enter resistance. 

I get tired and grumpy and sick of all the rushing.  So, I stop.  I drink tea, put my feet up and veg out on junk tv.  I ignore my studio work while I tell myself that it's the holidays and time for relaxation and rest.  But what I'm really doing is resisting doing what I love which is relaxing and fun to stop myself from rushing around in a grumpy holiday haze.

Flow along with it all, whispers a small voice.

Ah. Ha. The light clicks on.  Flow is, just that, flow.

Flow is all of it.  Picture a stream during a year's worth of weather and seasonal changes.  There are rainstorms and high rushing water.  There's sun and heat and slow, muddy meandering.  There are rocks and resistance.  And sometimes, beaver dams, logs or debris  completely stop the flow and for a while, the stream stops.

So, maybe, it isn't grumpy me or harried holidays or terrible traffic or junk tv...it's just life in its own winding way...flowing all along.

 

As The Wheel Turns: Low Flow.

The last two months have been full, fulfilling and fun.  Work done.  Goals met.  New adventures with new people, places and art.  In other words, the flow of my life has been like riding river rapids.  

Now it's time for a change of pace.  

But it's not easy for me to slow down.  I walk everyday.  Throw.  Paint.  Write.  Do yoga and jazzercise and all the rest of the necessary work of living a creative and healthy life.  

For me, throwing on the wheel is a calming almost meditative practice.   I didn't have time to throw much for the last few weeks, so spending a few days throwing is a nice way to slow down.

I also love reading and writing and watching good movies.  I'm reading Diana Gabaldon's latest book in the Outlander series, "My Own Heart's Blood".  I wrote in my journal and watched, "Practical Magic" which definitely got me in the mood for Halloween and pumpkin carving.

This week, I also spent time painting with under glazes and doing sgraffito.  But the most important thing I did was experiment with some new handbuillt shapes including plates.  This is stepping outside my comfort zone, yes, but when I do it without deadlines or performance pressures, it feels more like play.  

I used to struggle against slow flow.  But I realize taking the time to take things slowly is a good way to refresh and revive body and mind.   I see it opens me up to playfully experiment with a new lightness and softer energy.

Flow is my word for this year.  As I become much more aware of how it moves through my life and that awareness is teaching me to accept the changes of pace with, hopefully, more grace and less fear.  

Flow: In and out and in and out.

​

As an artist, I'm used to working inside, alone, in my studio.  Sometimes, though, my work takes me outside, in crowds, with other artists.  

Last week was one of those weeks.  It was great to help the local food bank, chat with visitors and artists, and enjoy the festival atmosphere.  

This week, I'm back in my studio.  Working at the wheel or doing sgraffito with only the sound of birds and snoring dogs, I'm enjoying the quiet and slower atmosphere.

My word of the year is FLOW.  Defined as "the mental state of operation in which a person performing an activity is fully emersed in a feeling of energized focus, full involvement and enjoyment in the process of the activity."  

I can't think of a better description of these two weeks.  Whether outside selling bowls or inside making bowls, I was full emersed, focused, involved and enjoying the activities.  There is the ying/yang, black/white, and contrast in each setting and activity, of course.  But that's not a bad thing.

I used to think, or maybe I was taught, that consistency was key to a good life.  That having a smooth road, good weather, even progress, and a well-planned routine added up to an even flow.  And so, I see that throughout my life, I've worked very hard to chart a consistent course.  Of course, that hasn't always worked so well.  In, fact it hasn't worked at all.  I either pushed and pushed to get down the road faster or cut off anything that got in the way of a smooth routine. 

Now I know this is not flow.  And while it may be a life, it's not really living.  Flow is not about controling, pushing or hiding.  Flow is emersing myself in life, with all it's noise and quiet, crowds and solitude, selling work and making it with energy, focus and most of all in joy.

My new mantra: In.  Out.  In.  Out.  Repeat.

​

Digital Drawing: Learning in Layers

I had a cracked mask.  I fixed it and filled it but I could still see the crack.  Instead of looking at the fill line as a mistake I needed to hide, I saw a design opportunity. 

​

It was time to get out my digital drawing pad and try out some design ideas.

​

Here's the photo of the mask after bisque and repair.

Here's the mask repair photo with different experiments with transparent colored layers and lines.

​

Here's the actual mask, finished with layers of acrylic paint.

​

I learned a lot during this process.  

​

On a technical level, I learned much more about the SketchClub app.  How to upload a photo correctly to be able to manipulate the layers while keeping the photo the same.  How to paint with transparent layers on my iPad.  How to use transparency, pens and brush tools to design different parts of the mask.  How to translate what I designed on my iPad to the actual mask.

On an artistic and spiritual level, I learned more valuable lessons.  How to accept and own kiln  cracks as part of the clay process.  How to decide which to fix and which to forget(see last week's post).  How to embrace a mistake not as a fault but as an opportunity.  How to let go of the strangle-hold of perfectionism and flow with what happens to happen accepting the new results with happiness.  

Now, that's truly learning in layers.

​

​

​

Colds and Creativity.

I jjust got up from my nap.  As I go get myself a glass of water to stop my coughing, I step into my studio.  I see all the pieces that need my attention.  I start coughing and know that today is not a good day to work.  I could push myself as I've done many times before, but I know that I won't make my best art today.  I'm sick.

​

I'm also sick of being sick.  

​

It's been a battle I've fought for over 2 weeks, now.  I didn't realize I was sick, at first.  I thought my body aches and headache were symptoms of age and stress.  When my son got it, I knew I had it too and I did let myself rest for two days.  I felt better so I jumped back on my usual life track.  Walking, yoga, jazzercise, errands, throwing, studio work, volunteering.   Then my body hit me upside the head with an earache, sore throat and cough.

​

I wasn't listening was I? Nope.

So my body made it very clear.  Stop.  Now.  Lie down until you really feel better.  

​

But, there I was yesterday, up and in the studio because I just had to get handles on a few mugs.  I just had to run a few errands.  I just had to walk the dog.

​

Today, it's nap time.  And tea time.  Again.   

​

​As a child, I never did anything when I was sick.  No school.  No homework.  Just sleeping and reading and drinking juice, I didn't mind a few days off.   Why then, did I grow up to feel so guilty about being sick?  I could understand it when I worked a highly competitive and stressful job, getting sick and working anyway was a medal of  honor.  But I work for myself now.  You'd think as my own boss, I'd be kind and understanding to myself but, I'm not.  Sometimes, I push myself just as hard as that highly competitive and stressful working environment that I hated so much.  Sometimes, I rebel against it and play hookey.  Maybe there's a good reason my word for the year is flow.

​

Time to get off the monkey mind train at the rest stop.

Whether I like it or not, I have a cold.  In order to get well, I need to rest not work.  Maybe even treat myself to a good book, movie, game or bowl of pudding.  (Oh, pudding does sound wonderful!)  I need to be a good boss to myself, tell myself to go home, get some rest and get well.  Tell my artist self to have no fear, the work will get done better when I'm well.

​

But the most important message here: Don't feel bad about feeling bad.  It isn't a creative block, it's a cold.  Who knows, maybe the naps will lead to some new ideas.  Hmmm...maybe that's new way to look at flow.

​

​

​