Searching for the light in the moment

Today, the sun is shining over my shoulder. I’m warm underneath my homemade crochet infinity scarf. I’m sipping fresh, hot coffee. 

Right here, right now, I’m ok.

It’s been a crazy, tough, scary three years, hasn’t it? And I’m here to admit, this new year has been much of the same. New covid variant. New mask protocols. New isolation guidelines. Things are changing on a daily basis. Shopping is still difficult with supply chain issues. Vaccinations were supposed to make everything good again, but even with boosters on top of shots, we’re still being told that’s not enough. 

I don’t know about you, but I’ve had more than enough. So why? Oh why did I pick my word of the year to be: shine?

Clay therapy. 

I did get a new supply of my favorite clay, English Grolleg porcelain. And this week, I finally got to sit down at my wheel, next to my space heater and throw. What a relief it is. And how easily I forget that no matter how small or large a piece I throw, I come away calmer, happier and, yes, more centered. 

I’ve written many times about how the process of throwing is very zen for me. It requires my precise attention, yet at the same time, the ability to let go and flow. I turn on my Bluetooth speaker, space heater, put out the bed for my ‘Lab’ assistant and throw. 

The biggest step: set no goals. No expectations. No pushing. No production quotas. All I did was measure out chunks of clay for a couple of pieces. In what seemed like no time at all, I had 2 new bowls. 

I felt calm. And refreshed. Even though I was covered in mud. 

Firing up the kiln.

This week, I fired my first kiln load of the year, too. It was just a bisque load but with clay you never know what might happen. Some of the pieces still had their natural leaves attached which needed to burn off safely. And the clay I’d used was older and drier which makes it more vulnerable to cracking during firing. 

Luckily all went well. Leaves burned off nicely and no cracking. I’m looking forward to painting new colors on the leaves and glazing the big

Did I shine this week?

Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve had family with omicron. Supply stresses. Still no sink or floor in my kitchen. Professional dilemmas and doubts. Do I do a large indoor show? Will it get shut down? Will it be safe? Will people come? Is it worth the risk?

I sigh and breath in:

The feel of new clay in my hands and new pieces from the kiln. 

My ‘Lab’ Assistant snoring peacefully. 

Today’s sun on my head. 

Maybe this year’s word, shine, means searching for the light, however small, in each moment. 

So right now, I’m going to take in that softness, color, sweetness and light. 

 

 

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. 

  

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?