Show and Tell

 

Last weekend, I was a small part of a very big show at the Oregon Convention Center. The Oregon Potters Association Ceramic Showcase has been helping clay artists sell their work for 40 years. I am glad and grateful to be able to show and sell my work in this show. 

Before I ever threw a bowl, built a vase or made a mask, I went to this show. I remember being in one of their very first shows at the World Forestry Center with my husband and baby. I walked around marveling at all the wonderful work. I never imagined I’d ever make anything out of clay, much less be part of a ceramics show. 

Art, like life, evolves. 

As a teenager, I rebelled against more math classes and decided to take an art class. I liked it. Even though I wasn’t very good at it, I kept going: drawing, calligraphy and watercolor. The first class I took in clay was a total failure. 

I took more classes as an adult in painting, pastel and fiber art. I made masks out of window screening and clay. I showed mixed media work in copper and clay. Then one day, a very kind man, gave me his kiln and wheel. Several years of classes later, I was throwing bowls and mugs and firing vases and sculptures. 

Thirty years later, I’m showing my ceramic work as a member of the group that inspired me. The Oregon Potters Association. 

Keep on keeping on. 

It’s easy to give up. I know. There have been many times when no matter how hard I worked, things just didn’t work out. But(ok you knew there’d be a ‘but’) I have a stubborn streak or dumb luck, that kicks me into gear. And I keep going and sometimes get a chance to turn my failures around. 

Packing up for the show took days. Setting up and taking down took hours. I did my work shifts and had some wonderful and fun conversations with other artists. Hearing their stories helped me see the process of art and life can be both bumpy and beautiful. 

 

Show set up and take down is a work out. 

But getting myself out there is worth it. 

Not just for the sales, 

But to hear other artists tell their art stories. 

Clearing and Opening Up

Creating creates beauty and, sometimes chaos. But always, it creates mess. Not just the daily studio cleanup kind of messes, where brushes need washing, wedging boards need scraping and the floor around the kiln needs sweeping before another firing. 

I’m talking about clearing out the deep mess that gets pushed into the corners and the bottoms of drawers and the back of closet shelves. Not every bag of clay or glaze works. Not every piece created is wonderful, useful or something to sell. And that’s ok. 

It’s all part of the process. 

A year ago, when the pandemic started, I was given a box of free clay. It had been delivered by mistake and the artist offered it for free. I took it gladly. I made a few nice things with it. 

Hungry Caterpillar birthday favors for my grandson’s first birthday. 

And Peace Dove ornaments. 

But in the end, I realized I just didn’t like the smell or texture of clay. I tried to pass it on again but that didn’t work. So I cleared it out and recycled it. Now I have room for new clay and new glaze. 

This clay that I didn’t like, led me to create a few new little things. It led me to a new experiment: little plates.

 I always thought that plates had to be big to be useful. Dinner, dessert, salad plates or platters. I do love design but I also love function. When I made these little plates, I thought they might be good as teabag holders for my teacups.

What a surprise: these little plates can do a lot! They can hold jewelry, keys, charger jacks, paper clips, candies or nuts, a small candle or soap and yes, a teabag. 

Opening up. 

I’ll admit clearing out isn’t fun or colorful or obviously creative. But facing the messes and mishaps help in the end.

Sometimes things need to go to make room and space to create more work. Sometimes it’s a germ of an idea that needs time to sprout into a different form. Sometimes it’s just something to get you to something better.

Most of the time, it’s an opening waiting for you to go through. 

Love and Waiting

 

I love clay. The smoothness, strength, flexibility, shaping, and painting. I love how it takes texture. Whether I throw it or roll it, I love how it feels. It takes textures of all kinds: leaves, twigs, lace, handprints, footprints, words and more. I can paint on it like a canvas or draw on it like paper or scratch out designs. 

And I love holding it in my hands through the entire process bringing it to life. Running my fingers over it time and time again to smooth edges and add handles and trim sweet little feet. 

I don’t love firing.

I have, over time, made my peace with bisque firing. I used to agonize over it. I worried that my green ware would blow up into tiny pieces. Not only would I lose one piece but, perhaps, others might be shattered just by being in close contact. All it takes is an unknown bubble to cause such destruction. 

But I know this necessary step will give me the opportunity to add more color, texture or meaning to the pieces. And I love that part of the process, too. And after many years of bisque firings under my belt, I see opportunity. 

Glazing and waiting. 

Once I’ve added all my color and my piece is bisque fired, there are only two steps left: glazing and firing. I hate both. 

Mixing and dipping each piece in clear glaze seems really simple. It is and it isn’t. This time around I bought 2 new gallons of clear glaze. It did not look or feel like my old clear glaze even though it was the same brand. It mixed up differently. It covered differently. It dried on the pieces ok, but I am still worried. Why? Because this, is it. 

All I can do now is load my kiln. Turn it on. Turn it up every 2 hours from low to medium to high. 

All the pieces that I’ve loved to throw, roll, trim, shape, paint and texture are in there baking at 2,200 degrees. 

And wait. Until the kiln turns itself off after reaching it’s required temperature. 

And wait. Until the inside kiln temp is as cool as the outside temperature to unload the kiln.

Will the glaze look wonderful? Will my colors and textures and sweet little feet survive?

Will I love each piece? I hope so. But right now, all I can do is wait. 

Things are springing up all around. Plum blossoms. Daffodils. Tulips. With all the blooming comes wind and rain, but I am ready to embrace it all. This time of year, I’m reminded of a poem I just love by e.e. Cummings.

Here’s a small excerpt:

 in just-

spring   when the world is mud-

luscious 

and the little lame balloonman

whistles far    and wee     

and  eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it’s 

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

One thing I don’t look forward to is the time change that happens in my state. Turning the clocks ahead one hour takes me weeks of adjustment. I have a hard time falling asleep and waking up and worst of all is trying NOT to fall asleep during the day. 

Thank goodness for tea. 

I don’t know how I’d be right now without teatime in the afternoon. Oh, wait I do know. I’d be falling asleep. I’m lucky to have someone in the family who brings home luscious teas from Barnes and Noble. 

Making a fragrant cup of Earl Grey or Tower of London has become a daily ritual that really makes my day. Holding my hands around a cup of hot tea calms me. And inspires me to make more colorful and joyful teacups and mugs. 

Flowering. 

All around me, the world is bursting with new life. The geese at the park are building nests. My peonies are peeking up from the ground. Pussy willows are popping out. Playgrounds are filling with the happy sounds of little ones. 

I don’t know about you, but I need spring desperately this year. With all the fear, anger and sadness, I need some comfort, light and happiness. And I do see glimmers: virus numbers are down. Vaccinations are happening faster and faster each week. 

Spring brings not just blossoms but a glimpse of the fruits of summer. So even on a rainy, mud luscious day like today, I look out my window and see the changing light. And hope. 

It’s spring. 

Here comes the sun. 

Light

Today, I sat like a cat in the sunlight and wallowed in it. I read and snoozed and put my feet up for a bit. Basking in the cozy warmth for a few hours, I forgot that it was cold outside. As soon as my neck felt that cool shiver of daylight dipping, I got up and made a cup of tea. And watched the light change outside and in. 

I see once again how important light is to the world and to me. We all need it and it feeds us all in so many ways. 

Warmth. 

Decorating, during the holiday or not, is more to me than creating a functional living space. It’s an emotional and creative process. It’s a way I make my house into a nest from which my husband, children, and now grandchildren can feel loved and supported and grow. Even when they need to fly the nest, it’s always here should they need a soft place to land for while. 

This last week, I redecorated many areas for the holidays. Books and toys and candles and twinkling lights and china all come down from shelves and cupboards and closets to bring back cozy childhood memories, beauty and soft warmth. 

A few pieces of my Spode Christmas Tree collection and gifted teapots mingle with my handmade porcelain teapot and teacups. Afternoon tea is becoming a daily ritual. 

Santas sit, pose and ring in several spots around the downstairs. 

The coffee table set up for play with the Brio train set that now two generations enjoy. 

The tree and stairway sparkle. 

Light is life.

I love twinkling lights year round. And the holidays just give me more chances to play with light.  And I know, especially this year, I need even more light and warmth in my life. 

We may not all be able to gather or celebrate this year in the ways we always do, but we can still celebrate the sun shining outside, the warmth in our own home and let that light warm our souls and lighten our hearts.   

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.”