Hello February!

 

Wow, you’re here already! Even though the groundhog saw his shadow, meaning six more weeks of winter, I see small signs of spring. Little buds and more green are popping out. The birds are flying around and calling to each other. I know I might be overly optimistic but I’ve decided to enjoy it anyway. 

And remember, enjoy is my word of the year. What are you seeing that you enjoy? It might be a nice hot cup of tea while you look out the window at a chilly blue sky. 

Cooking clay. 

One of the most important parts of working in ceramics is kiln firing. I’d like to say, I enjoy it but I’d be lying. It’s stressful for me. I worry about loading each piece correctly. Firing the kiln for the right amount of time. The waiting and not knowing is hard. 

What do I enjoy? All the bright colors popping out. Feeling the clay change from wet to dry, heavy to light. Seeing new pieces stand on their own almost finished. 

Especially seeing new experiments come to life. 

Throwing things. 

There are many ways to work in clay. I love slab building and throwing. I started out doing slab building because I’d failed at wheel throwing. But I faced my failure and fears and now I love to throw things. 

 

I throw teacups, bowls and mugs. But it’s been hard to get back in the groove since our flooded home restoration. 

And today’s throwing day was more about getting my area set up again. Getting my chair in the right place. Fixing my floor props for my feet and pedal. I was frustrated. But once my hands were in that wet clay, it all went away. I really enjoyed throwing bowls. I don’t know why but bowls are my favorite. 

Enjoy Today.

Believe me, I know life is not always sunny. Just like the clouds change outside my window, so does life. As I get older, I want to see more, create more and love more. How do I do that? How do you do that? I think the answer is simple. 

Enjoy. 

Right now, this minute. 

Breathe it in. Sip it in. 

Or throw some clay. 

Whatever it is, enjoy your day. 

Grateful

 

Looking out the window as the sun sets on this very cold day, I’m very grateful. I’m warm. I’m safe. I’m healthy. I have work to do that I love. My life and path has evolved with the help and guidance and generosity of many people. Some I know and some I don’t. 

I never forget those helpers. And this time of year, I want to let them all know just how grateful I am. 

Teachers

I’ve had great teachers and some not so great. But in each case, I learned lessons that have served me. When I was lost teenager at a new school in a new city, art found me. My art teacher encouraged me to draw and learn calligraphy. An experienced watercolor artist taught me how do soft Payne’s gray skies and gave me one of his paintings to encourage me. It hangs in my new living room. Every time I look at it, I remember his kindness to a scared 16 year old in a class full of 35 year old moms. 

My first clay classes were disasters. Forty years later, I finally found a teacher who turned that around. Literally. She took one look at how I was placing my hands on the wheel and saw the problem. I needed to throw left handed and that meant turning the wheel the opposite way. Instantly, it all felt right. Nothing flew off the wheel or fell on the ground! The clay centered and stayed and grew into a small bowl. I was amazed. 

I was told to say as a child that I was ambidextrous. But this teacher told me that was often said to children who were really left-handed at a time when being left-handed was discouraged. I’m glad I found that out and glad that I can use both hands, too. 

Helpers

I started showing my work in galleries over 20 years ago. But it was the kindness of Graystone Gallery owner, Bill Murray who got it all started and I’ll never forget it. I’d been to his gallery and loved his shows. I had taken art and sculpture classes for years and finally made some pieces out of window screening and paint. I wanted to show them in his annual mask show but I was terrified. I made an appointment, drove to his gallery with my pieces and asked. He said, “Yes”. 

Years later, I met a wonderful couple who bought one of my copper masks at Graystone. They offered me their old kiln and wheel. They weren’t using them and wanted to pass them on. Their generosity helped me learn to throw and glaze and fire all the bowls, cups, vases and figures I now make and show and sell. 

To all my teachers

All my helpers 

All the gallery owners, studio visitors, neighbors, friends and family

Your teaching, help, support, generosity, kindness and love have turned my life into a creative journey I could never have dreamed possible. 

I am grateful. Forever. 

Wheel Keep On Turning

 

It was time. Ok, beyond time actually, still I hesitated. Was it in the right place? What kind of adjustments would be needed? Would it still work? Most important, would I remember how to work on it? 

I used to love throwing, but would I still love it after almost a year away? If you read my blog, you’ll know about the trials over the last year. Let’s just say, it’s hard to create when your home is torn apart, your studio is a storage space and your wheel is covered to protect it from construction debris. 

Thankfully, reconstruction is done. 

Studio time.  

I headed back to my clay with a notebook full of new ideas. Small sculptures. Luminaires. I collected new leaves at the park. Still, it took some time and patience to get the joy of clay back into my life again. 

Slab building was my first clay love and I still love it. Rolling out clay with music playing in the background is wonderful. Trying out new forms and figures was a challenge, too. Sometimes what I draw doesn’t look the same in clay as it does on paper. 

But sometimes, if I don’t fight it, I find my way to something else instead. Something new and unexpectedly joyful. 

Facing the wheel at last. 

My wheel sat silent and still for a year. There was dust, debris and bugs. The clay I had left out in the garage was hard and spotted with mold. I’ll admit, I just had a hard time getting out there. But the boxes were gone. The debris was cleared. My wheel area was set up and clean. 

It was time. I opened a new bag of clay, cut a few chunks and settled at the wheel. Would I remember how to throw? Would I just make a mess? I decided it didn’t matter, if I made anything at all. What mattered was sitting down and putting my hands in the clay. 

Sigh. It was everything I remembered about throwing. Cool clay turning into a warm round mound. Pushing and pulling and smoothing and coaxing the blob into a bowl. Or two. 

But here’s the biggest reasons for my wheel to keep on turning. 

The wheel helps me:

Sit in one place. 

Use my hands instead of my head. 

Center myself from imbalanced to balanced. 

And feel anxiety replaced by peace. 

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. 

Picture Healing and Joy

So much anger and pain. Outrage and blame. Shaming and shunning. Sadness surrounds. 

I’m just me. What can I do? Sit in silence. Let the tears roll. Do the best I can to be honest and helpful and understanding and aware. And try to not let the fear overwhelm me, sending me down onto the floor of the closet in savasana or ‘corpse pose’. 

What heals you? 

Kneading bread? A walk, jog or run around the park? Baking brownies? Planting, weeding or pruning? Picking up a paintbrush? Making a collage? Crochet? Sewing? Knitting? Reading a good book? Watching a show? Listening to music? Dancing? Yoga? Watching the sunrise or set? Playing with your baby or grandchild? 

Do it. Do it now. 

Doing what heals you is proven to physically bring good health and that healing extends beyond you into the world around you. We all need it so much right now. 

Joyful posts. 

A friend started a Facebook post series of photos of things that bring her joy. Another posts jokes and funny cartoons. It lifts me up out of my darkness. 

So here I am posting pictures that help me to see small bits of joy. 

This week, my goal is embracing healing and joy alongside sadness.  

In peaceful grace, breathing in and out, one by one, let’s energize around healing and joy and life for all of us. 

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. 

Adventure. Progress. Fun.

I wouldn’t say I’m an adventurer. I think of myself as a home body. But when I look around at where I am and where I’ve been, I clearly see the risks I’ve taken in my life. And that to me is the definition of adventure. 

Have you ever had someone tell you, “Well, you can’t do that. You really think you can just apply for that and get it?”  I applied anyway. Quite a few times in my life, someone actually said that what I wanted to do was not possible. (Because I was young, and a woman?) That it was not easy. (So what.) That it took time and talent. (So I’m out of time and talent?) That it was, well a good idea years ago, maybe. (Because I’m too old and a woman?)

I did it all anyway. Was I always successful? No. But most of the time, I not only surprised the naysayers, I surprised myself.

Take this week for example: Tuesday, I sat down to throw a few cups and vases which I usually do with no problem. But that day, I wound up with mush and one small bowl. Frustrated and determined, I sat down at my wheel the next day with a few more chunks of clay. I threw a cup, a bowl and played around with a new tool making a small cactus planter. Better, but definitely not great. 

Later, I walked into my studio and saw not just 4 small clay pieces but 4 shelves filled with a dozen thrown clay pieces all done in the last 3 weeks. So this week I surprised the biggest naysayer of all, me. 

Progress is not a straight line. 

I know I was taught to get from one place to another, you had to move forward. But the reality is progress is made in fits and starts. Two steps forward and one step back still moves you ahead. 

These sculptures sat on my studio shelves in pieces for months and years. I didn’t have a head for one of them and the other was a vase that didn’t want to be a vase. Now both are in the kiln again this week with another layer of color. If all goes well, they will get a final glaze and be finished at last. 

A summer of fun. 

That’s what I set as my goal for the next three months. I could hear myself saying loud and clear, “Well, that’s setting yourself up for failure, now isn’t it.” But being the stubborn adventurer that I am, I’m giving it a shot. 

The first week, my fun was going to the beach and running through the waves with my new pup, Darby. Sipping a Heff with lemon and munching on a big piece of fresh baked delicious pizza. 

This week, it was strawberries. There is nothing that says summer to me more than eating fresh just picked berries, especially if I don’t do the picking. I also love to cook. I have fun coming up with new ideas and making delicious new dishes. One day it was apple bacon strawberry waffles. Another day it was pork tenderloin and strawberry salad. Yet another day a strawberry galette. Fun and delicious. 

Here’s what I learned this week. Adventurers aren’t all mountain climbers, some are living among us making progress one small risk at a time and hopefully, learning to have fun a long the way. 

Done. Almost.

Firing up the kiln is always exciting and scary and this week was no exception. It’s a bisque load which is only the first firing. This is the firing I use to set the first layers of color and dry out the clay. Hopefully all the pieces will make it through this phase in one piece with no cracks. But this is only the first of two to three more firings. 

Next, depending on the piece, I add more color or a color wash. In most cases, I put the pieces in another bisque firing to set the color before I do the final glaze fire. But other pieces get added color lightly applied, then a special clear coat for the final stage. 

Finishing while Firing. 

While my kiln was doing the first part of the process on these new pieces, I was finishing up on several pieces. Finally.

I admit I hate finishing. I don’t like endings in my work because I love the process of creating. But the other reason is good old fashioned fear of failure. 

Questions and self doubt and past mistakes creep in like fog on a dark night.

What was I thinking? Do I even like this piece? What if it turns out ugly and not even close to what I had in mind? What if I hate it and everyone else does too? Hey, I was asked to leave a gallery because I changed my color palette and they didn’t like it.

Because these two pieces are both sculptural, I get especially nervous. Have you ever had people come into your studio, stop in front of your work, start pointing and talking? Then when you come up to see if you can answer questions they tell you they know all about it. Thank You. Then they leave. Or they say, well it’s not very pretty is it? Or wherever did you get an idea like that? Yeah, maybe I have a reason to be nervous. 

Is it art? It is what it is. 

I love clay and color and texture. I love creating bowls and mugs and vases and plates that are colorful and textural that people can use everyday. I also love letting my hands tell a story or describe a character that I imagine. My only problem is that my hands don’t always manifest my imagined image exactly. 

Things happen on the way from my heart to my hands. Sometimes there is a breath of beauty I could not have thought of before. Sometimes, there is tension and misinterpretation of a language I am always learning to speak. 

When it comes down to the end, what’s done is done. It is what it is. 

And it’s my job at this point to let it go. 

As The Wheel Turns: Distractions.

Life is full of distractions.  Things to do.  People to see.  Places to go.  Add a goal of dedicating yourself to creating new work and life gets even fuller, sometimes to the point of over flow.  Now, don't get me wrong, having an overflow of ideas, taking these ideas from inspiration to a finished pieces of art is a wonderful, exciting thrill ride.  

But sometimes, the ride gets sidetracked.

The road to creation can take many detours.  Some of those detours wind their way to new ideas and back to new creations.  But some of those detours are sharp turns that lead the creative life off course.  Ideas, projects and new pieces get lost.  Along this road, I tend to get busy driving through the traffic of to-do lists, outside pressures or some kind of internal expectations of achievement.  I forget the most important thing in my life: creating.

The sign says stop.

But stopping is one of the hardest things for me to do when I'm driving my busy car.  I want to make it through the yellow lights, pass the slower cars and get there first.  Creating, I know from experience, doesn't work that way.  Putting the peddle to the metal does not get the art work done faster, in fact, it causes more creative crashes than anything else.  And even as I write this, and know this, I still see there's this push inside to drive on, faster, anyway.  But I am learning, finally to stop.  

The way is simple, really.

Routine helps me immensely.  Taking a walk in the park every morning with my sweet dog, Jilly.  Look at the trees budding.  Feel the leaves swaying.  Hear the crows gossiping. Smell the fresh grass and taste the spring air around me.  Bring that outside into my quiet space as I wedge the clay, get out my tools and put down Jilly's bed next to my wheel and let it spin.  Wherever it goes, I go.  Whatever comes out of the clay, I accept.  

With a lump of clay in my hands, there are no distractions.   

Why, a little curious voice asks, do I keep forgetting this simple truth?  Maybe this is just part of my process of living.  So simply: next time I see the distraction detour coming, I need to pick up my clay and follow it instead.

As The Wheel Turns: Goofing around pays off.

I take my work seriously.  Very seriously.  Ok, maybe too seriously.  So sometimes, it's important to put in some serious goofing around time.  

This week, I unloaded a glaze load from the kiln.  Loaded another load with greenware, bisque fired it and unloaded it.  I have shelves filled with finished pieces, pieces to be glazed and others waiting to be bisque fired.  With my shelves filled up, there's no room for a normal week of thrown work. 

Instead of focusing on throwing my usual mugs, vases and bowls, I experimented.  I rolled out a slab and created a handbuilt jar.  I rolled out coils into branches and gingko leaves, attaching them all around the jar.  I cut out a lid, put on a handle and more leaves. 

Hand-building with clay is a lot like going back to kindergarten for me.  Remember the brightly, colored play-dough?

But wheel throwing is so peaceful, if I go too long without it, I get cranky.  So this week, I decided to combine my kindergartner with my adult artist by throwing two halves of a vase on the wheel and using hand-building to put it together.  Of course, I couldn't resist adding a layer of heart-shaped leaves and whimsical dots.

I know this sounds like a lot of serious work.  But it wasn't, really.

Without the expectation or need to fill the shelves, I could goof off. Get out the clay and just play.  I goofed around, had fun and discovered some new ideas for more pieces.