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. 

“Make some art today. And feel better.”

 

I found that quote on Pinterest last week and I took it as my marching orders: get back in the studio. Now, don’t misunderstand, I love working in clay and I love my studio. 

But for the last 11 months, my energy has been sidetracked into the reconstruction of my home. Building or rebuilding a home takes creativity, of course. Color choices, counter and floor surface decisions and cabinet designs to name a few. But alongside the design ideas are many days, weeks and months of waiting for the supplies and contractors to get the work done.

During all this, I lost access to my studio, kiln and wheel. In fact, my wheel and kiln area are still blocked. But my studio, where I do slab building and underglazing is unpacked and open. 

New clay. Hurrah!

I love clay. I, especially love new, fresh clay. Last week, I went out and bought 50 pounds of new clay, blue underglaze and clear glaze. Wow, that felt good. But what felt the best was cutting off a big square of porcelain clay back in my studio. 

As I wedged it and rolled it, I wondered how I could go 4 months without putting my hands in clay. It really is wonderful. Soft. Squishy. Smooth. 

There was a moment of fear as I got out my tools and forms. I worried I’d screw it up. Forget some important detail. I’ve been away from clay for so long, I felt blocked and scared. But, as I put my hands on the clay, I began to relax and remember. I got out my favorite lace and rolled it over the surface. Then, carefully formed it into one of my favorite things to make: a lily vase. 

Before I knew it, I’d made 2 new lily vases. 

Restored and relieved. 

There is nothing better than making something out of mud. Standing next to my table rolling out clay. Cutting it. Forming it. Feeling its edges and softening them. Pushing charms and hardware into the soft, strong surface. 

After all the fear and sadness and chaos of the last year, I found my way back to myself. Making some art out of clay today, did indeed, make me feel better. 

Anger vanished. 

Fear floated away. 

All that was with me was, me.

And clay. Hurrah!

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. 

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.