The Idle Isthmus

The Idle Isthmus, 2013
4 1/8" x 2 7/8" x 2 7/8"
Carved stoneware/porcelain, cone 6 oxidation, underglaze, acrylic, wax

The Idle Isthmus, 2013
4 1/8" x 2 7/8" x 2 7/8"
Carved stoneware/porcelain, cone 6 oxidation, underglaze, acrylic, wax

Some new sculptural work. The Idle Isthmus, 2013, is part of a collection of roughly a dozen pieces I've been working on in 2012-2013 over the time I've been also throwing pottery for Tea Horse Studio. These pieces reflect on transition, sexual maturity and feminine identity.

Turning points and time lines

Stoneware Candy Dish on Etsy

     I have this obsession about observing an analyzing things, life, events, people, and so on. As I have gotten older, the sense of repetition becomes more prominent. I remember when I was entering my late twenties and early thirties that I had this overwhelming feeling that everything I was doing, from the mundane to the profound, in some way, I had done before. Life events were taking on the aspects of similarity to other events in my life. I began to feel unsettled, depressed, unnerved. Was that it? Was that all there was to life and learning, that you ran out of new things to experience by the time you were thirty? Oh sure, you could always travel to a new place or read a book you hadn't read before but you were simply traveling again, just the destination was different. You were simply reading again, just the words were different. Up until that point, my experiences were fresh and new to me, dissimilar to what I had done before but now it felt like I was repeating myself. [Obsessive analyzing.] What did that mean, that feeling of deja vu? What should I do with that feeling of being stopped in my life trajectory? Where to go from here?

Covered Jar on Etsy

    Then I started noticing the patterns of life events rolling over and over, changing style, changing the characters in your life, changing locations but always somewhat similar. The layers of life excited me. The patterns they created were dazzling. The moments of change were awe-inspiring. Suddenly, rather than feeling stuck, I found opportunity. The opportunity to change how I responded to any one event or idea. Like the repetition for practice to improve your skills in math or sports or what have you, repetition of life events, similar but different, gave me moments to reflect and practice. In reflection, I began to notice events in my life that were turning points, comments made to me that stuck with me, points of view I happened upon that changed my direction. As I was traveling along my trajectory, these points dropped like pins on my life line. Significant events that piled up and would pay off later on when I looked back on them. I could be sure that if I didn't learn something from any one event, sure as shit, something similar would come up again and I would get another chance to either solve the problem or enjoy the moment.

Upcoming work.

    I think about these things tangentially when I work on my functional work these days. Carved drawings reference my interests but they also reference the ancient paleolithic cave drawings and drawings. Not only am I fascinated with my personal trajectory but then I layer that thought with the trajectory of human experience. Am I that different than people before me of thousands of years ago?  Lines are marked with points stamped into them, in patterns and randomly, bunched together and far apart.

Tiny pitcher, under glazing and drawings, pre-glaze firing.

Directions of lines change. Items are layered. Colors are layered. Things circle back on themselves or... they stand alone and isolated. Our DNA is our foundation but then we burst forward in so many directions, all slightly different but still similar. Repetition, repetition.

Larger vase, pre-glaze firing, slab-built. Stamped with repetitive circles, lines and stamps surrounding carved drawings. Stamps and lines made from wire, nails and screws.

Part of the joy that I get from working is not just the act itself, but the reflection and juxtaposition with the past work I've done. Like much of change, it's slow. Often you don't see it until you stop and look back at where you are in that moment in relation to where you've been. More than that, how much has happened in between? Evolution is cool.

Mudcolony is ubiquitous.

Clique-ety, clackity or Find Your Own Path

     Years ago, back when I was but wee, I lived in the influence of one of the great art cities of the world, New York City. How lucky was I! Or was I? Some of us yearn to climb a mountain, but growing up in the NYC area (and then finally living in NYC and in particular, Williamsburg, Brooklyn before it was that Williamsburg, the Williamsburg of hipsters, cafes, galleries, $3000 apartments and high rise condos), growing up there meant already being on the mountain top. Where to go from there?

Awe-inspiring view of the Williamsburg bridge and Domino Sugar factory, c.1985

     No doubt my informal, day-to-day art education was leaps and bounds beyond what someone from, say, Irvine, Kentucky could imagine. After all, I didn't just see an image of the great paintings and sculptures of modern art or photos and slides of great modern architecture, I could see it in person, often, on class trips, when escorting friends from out of town or simply because I was bored on a Sunday. I was fully immersed in art, The Art, The Culture. If I didn't want to peruse the giants of modern art, I could see what was fresh, new, up and coming in SoHo and then, when I lived in Williamsburg, I was on the front line, the pre-gentrifier, observer and participant of what would be next. Except... I wasn't an artist. Or rather, I didn't identify as such. I was a graphic design productionist. I was the liaison between the designer's artistic vision and the printer. The grout. Although I was there in the midst of the New Great Art Scene[tm] of NYC, I couldn't bring myself to identify as an artist. Why not? When others weren't looking, I was cutting things out and apart, drawing, painting, now photographing, designing and trying to make work on my own, hidden from anyone, everyone. Why so shy?
     One word: intimidation. I lacked confidence in myself. I did not fit into the scene, the Art World as such. I was behind the velvet rope. They spoke in a language I did not understand. I wasn't knowledgeable enough, I was not good enough. I did not get the jargon. I was not party to the wit and wisdom of the pre-hipsters that travelled the L train with me. The Art World[tm] was inaccessible. Though I was amused, attracted to, intrigued by and inspired by the art in SoHo, the Bowery, the East Village and Alphabet City and those pioneers in Williamsburg, I was not worthy. And yes, this is where the baggage of childhood makes an appearance. When you are amongst the highest concentration of cutting edge artists, high quality modern art, and a huge concentration of historically significant art in the world, if you lack confidence, you can be swallowed up by that intimidation. I envied those artists that came to NYC from near and far because they knew why they were there. Instead, I cowered. I could not find my voice. I needed space to find my voice. Even thought it was my home, as long as I stayed, NYC, the mountaintop to many, I intuitively knew I would never find my voice. I had a different mountain to climb. My path led elsewhere.

     I left for the scary, rural world of Eastern Kentucky, partially because I had a family member already here to help me familiarize and partially, because it was completely out of my comfort zone and I needed that to shake things up a bit, to help me see and hear and find my voice.

It's coming to get you...

     Currently, with the advent of modern electronic media like blogs and Facebook and such, I have the capability to be in direct touch with those in The Art World[tm], via subscriptions and comment areas. It didn't used to be that way. Breaking into that world and getting that foot in the door felt highly competitive. Now, though, I read the articles by internationally known art critics and curators, I read comments by revered artists and I am struck, particularly on Facebook, by the great equalizer of the medium. The threads of "conversation" play out like high school cliques, who can out-wit whom, who can name-drop more, &c., &c. The references, grammar and criticisms are often obtuse and meaningless. Attempts at critiquing work turn into nothing more than erudite flame wars with a large vocabulary often inappropriately used or gratuitous love-fests where those "in" with the "in" crowd pat each other on the back incessantly until you want to wash yourself of the syrup of self-love. Incestuous, myopic, masturbatory chatter amongst themselves, oblivious to anything outside their own experience. I often wonder that had I stayed in NYC, would I still be in awe of these captains of the Art Industry and their pithy turns of phrase and obviously-above-my-head observations of the Human Condition, never realizing that for the most part, a good number of these people are full of shit? And always have been? All hail the interwebs. The [Art] Emperor has no clothes. As I said to a lovely woman here from Pea Ridge who wanted to beat the shit out of me after I said it, "You guys need to get out more often."

     Fortunately, some of these same people are accessible, do have great observations, do make great art, do have wonderful insight and criticism. From them, I learn, become inspired, am motivated. Frankly, this is as much about my observations of me than a just critique of the Art World[tm]. And with the advent of the interwebs, I wonder how this will play out? Is Art [tm] still only for the collector with copious amounts of cash? Who is the collector anymore? Only the ultra wealthy? Is art as investment/commodity even viable? Isn't art as a long-term personal investment more viable? How has the internet leveled (unless it hasn't) the playing field for art and collector? Is art and art investment more or less accessible now with the expansion and the ease of internet communication? Curious times, perhaps.

Evolving,  2012

     Lost in all of this, the act of making art. While I was gnashing my teeth over the last several decades about my place in the world, what I found out was that the urge to create is part of my DNA. Literally, not metaphorically. Creating visual work, the act of making, is how I problem-solve. All the clique-ishness of the chosen few does not affect this. Deny as I might, that I was not worthy (and therefore, not an artist,) that denial did not stop my hard-wired nature to observe, analyze, find metaphors, create, and problem-solve my way through life. So I have succumbed and surrendered to the act of making. I am being myself. Found my path, found my voice.

Carry on.

I love my customers and collectors

Hello! I have a new home!

     I am ever so grateful to the people who buy and collect my things, the art things, the pottery things, the big things and the small things. They are a beacon of hope to this weird second part of my life. There is a very practical side to me. I have a tendency to eschew the frivolous for the strictly functional in life. Having worked in various retail jobs early on and design production and graphic design later on before I came to Kentucky, I sometimes default to thinking in narrow practical terms but more importantly, without realizing it, I learned to assume the role of the person doing the grout work, the connective work, the dirty work and not see myself as the creative person, the dreamer, the strangely quixotic.

I live in the Netherlands.

I live in Kentucky.

     Because of this default setting — this bad habit that must be purged from my psyche — I am overwhelmed with gratitude when collectors feel an emotional connection with my work.

Happy soap dish in California!

      Customers on Etsy are allowed to leave feedback when they purchase an item. Some have been very, very generous to me with their compliments. When I see this, I am surprised and encouraged, invigorated to continue. I am excited to wrap up my work and send it off on a new adventure. I can always make more. Recently, I received an email from a customer to whom I had sent off a piece of pottery. I assumed that there was a problem, some goof, it wasn't quite right, it broke or some other tragedy. I was reluctant to read. Happily, when I opened the email, instead, it was a gushing, happy, complimentary letter espousing my craftsmanship and artistic talent. Wow! Those kinds of letters are for my moments when I begin to doubt myself and my choices.
     Once, about five or six years ago, when I started on this weird clay adventure, a friend from back in NYC who was with me during the graphic design days chastised me when I second-guessed my choice to play in clay. She told me that the world needs people who inspire and make others happy with their work. She told me that what I did, what I was endeavoring to do, had value to others. It made me stop and consider my work, my journey, as being part of something bigger. The nice tax people, when I started this studio, told me I needed to show a profit within five years or I'd need to pick another profession as far as the IRS was concerned. I told them that as fas as I was concerned, this was it, this was my career from now on. Until I die.
     So to Faith, thanks for helping me to believe in my choices and my work. To my husband, thanks for staying steady and being my rock so I can pursue this path. And to you, those customers and collectors who have been touched by my work, from the bottom of my heart, thank you!
     Now — my mentor and teacher, has begun a blog. Joe Molinaro is the chair of the ceramics program at Eastern Kentucky University. Had he not incessantly nagged me and picked on me, um, I mean, pointed out to me that I should be a ceramics major, I wouldn't be where I am today playing in mud-pies again, essentially, and damn happy about it, too! He and I lamented in my first semester in clay of how easy it is to get side-tracked by the things that pay the bills and neglect our artistic work. I have followed the progress on his newly built studio and now, besides his hours teaching at the university during the week, he is cranking out more of his own work and not just demonstration pieces for class. That feeds the soul. Besides spawning new ceramics people from EKU, Joe also makes a yearly pilgrimage to Ecuador to research the pottery methods of the people in the Amazon region. He has a love for form, deconstruction, teapots and the geometric. He is now writing a blog. Catch up with his ramdom thoughts and work here: Clay + Art + Travel [joemolinaro.blogspot.com].

And lastly, more weird clay people at MudColony.

Remember, feel free to leave comments if you can but Blogger won't let me reply. Yet.

Blogger hates me.

More throwing.

     A word to all the nice people who have read this blog and either have commented or wanted to comment but couldn't: I love you all and don't worry, I can't comment on my own blog either. I don't know why. I write and "publish," write and "publish" but it evaporates into the ether. I try signing in, signing out, posting as "anonymous" and so on but every time I hit the "publish" button, it disappears, never to be seen again. I don't know why. When I figure it out, you guys will be the first to know as I'll probably post something about it. Than you. I have to pull handles now...

Where the hell have I been?

or "This entry is not all about art and pottery." 

From The 35 Symptoms, "Depression" 

     Several things intersected at once last year all culminating in a depressive state of mind. Peri-menopause, decreasing sunlight, the manufactured frivolity and pressure of holiday deadlines, and the string of deaths or anniversaries of parents and other loved ones. All my best plans and ideas got a little side-tracked. It doesn't always happen that way, everything coinciding all at once, but in 2012 it did. Also, the Mayan Apocalypse. Which didn't happen. And we knew that it wouldn't but it didn't stop people from, well, being stupid and apocalyptic. I digress.

When finished, some of these things will be on Etsy!

     In the midst of my foul mood, I still managed to get some things done. Oh, maybe not my whole "to-do" list but I certainly kept moving forward and did manage to crank out a few things. I have this philosophy of depression and other moods that cleaves with a Buddhist outlook, apparently, supposedly, which is simply to not sweat what is happening but to accept it, observe it and let it play itself out from a metaphysical distance. Call it genetic or artistic but I... well I was going to say, "I suffer from..." mood swings but it's not suffering. It just is what it is. I feel energetic and great, motivated and experimental for a period of time, and then I slow down, feel lethargic, dull, unfocussed. It's not in the extremes that you might associate with severe manic-depression and I do not take any medication or seek counseling when I drop into the less vigorous state of mind. I don't have anything against those methods; they don't work for me. There's a popular assumed connection between the continuum of manic-depressiveness and creativity. Van Gogh seems to be the poster boy for that theory. Perhaps there is a biological connection or at least the pre-disposition for creativity and mood swings having a relationship. All I know is that it's how I work. Since I was younger (and now that I am fifty, make that "much younger"), I have been aware of my moods and level of motivation. I clearly remember the very first time I became seriously depressed, as in staring-at-the-wall-for-hours depressed. I was 24. I lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I felt completely helpless and worthless but mostly I felt without any discernable motivation or even memory of being motivated at any time in my life. But clearly that wasn't the case nor was it a permanent state. My revelation at the time was simply identifying that I was experiencing depression. I also remember that the moment I identified what was happening, I detached from the depression a bit. I was observing it, labeling it, compartmentalizing it, experimenting with it, soaking in it, and then eventually, patting it on the head and leaving it on my bed as I got up after a few days of feeling very introverted and listless. I moved on. 

      One thing I did not do is panic and vow never to feel like that again. I recognized that it simply was a state of energy and it flowed. As it was low and lifeless, given time, it would become, I would become, energetic and ebullient. Less like a roller coaster in the extremes and more like Homer Simpson in the hospital. "Bed goes up, bed goes down."

     So that's why I have been a bit scarce. Actually, I don't even think of it as depression in the sense that I am sad anymore, just unmotivated and introverted. Not really into socializing (which is not productive when you have to do holiday sales, let me tell you. Paste that smile on!), not really into digital socializing, not really into showing my work or talking about it, blog posts, tweeting, updating my pages and sites, applying to shows, listing more pottery, writing cards, cooking, buying presents and so on. However, I do keep a long list of things I need to get done and I always make sure I have major, middle and minor tasks on it. I don't keep score on doing all of them but I do have a basket of stuff to keep me occupied; I pick and chose. Even if I only do one small minor thing, I congratulate myself on not staring at the walls for that moment and reward myself with a piece of chocolate. Yay for me! 

     I managed to do two sales and make sales on the internet. Yay for me! I managed to get some bowls and mugs thrown for future firings. Yay for me! I did manage to get my tax receipts organized, data entered, and taxes paid for 2012. Yay for me times two! That one calls for a bottle of wine! I finished the last four sculptures of my self-imposed quota of one per month for 2012 and got them bisque fired. Yay for me! I began the coloring and glazing process. Yay for me! I added new pendants and jewelry pieces. Yay for me! I worked on researching mailing lists and fair tents and other business related items. Yay for me! I cooked an awesome lentil and spicy sausage soup at home. Yay for me and my husband would concur. 

     And then I visited my folks back in the NYC area, who are 84 and 88. New York, my home town area. I did not look forward to this trip, particularly since I was feeling rather poopy-like but I knew the change of scenery, at the very least, might shake things up a bit. I did not relish seeing my mom and dad in their elderly and frail state as it reminded me that they, too, would pass away as my friends parents had in 2012 but that's the future and for the moment, I faced the present in whatever way it faced me.

NYC. A love affair with black.

     Only one day was spent in the city itself. We dove down as far as we could in the financial district. I very rarely went there when I lived in NYS so now I could tour it with impunity. We never got to see all of my friends but then I knew that this trip, with its purpose of checking up on the folks and helping them out, would not include much socializing. We did a lot of walking which is what you do in NYC. I got my fix for the moment.

     The folks did their thing and they are still doing it. We took them up to West Point where they have watched a few football games in their lifetime. They enjoyed the memories. Scott finally got to see another part of the area beyond New York City and the street I grew up on. Mom and Dad were their same combative and wise-cracking selves, even if Dad has become rather repetitious. They are seriously funny old people. I hope my husband and I are as funny when we get old.

Mother with my husband.

Dear old Dad.

No trend continues forever so eventually, I know this listless mood will abate. Spring will come. Flowers will bloom and there will be days when I cannot stop myself I'll be buzzing around like a bee. And now, I must get moving again. I feel a wee bit of energy more often each day. I am glazing and coloring the sculptures. I have some plans and goals outlined for 2013. We have done a little maintenance around the garden and house. Scott taught me how to start the chain saw so now I know that much more.

Yay for me!

Upcoming Sales

Turning Wheel Pottery, 191 Liza Allen Road, Berea, Ky. 40403.  Bruce and Kelley Hoeffer.  859-985-1444

     Alrighty, Thanksgiving is over, another bird (and ham) has been eaten and it's holiday sales time! I've got a few things going on this season in addition to items on Etsy and at Damselfly Gallery in Midway, Ky. First up this weekend, December 1&2, I will be a guest artist at Turning Wheel Pottery in Berea, Ky. with my buddies, Bruce and Kelley Hoefer along with fellow guest artists, Philip Willete, also of Berea. The gallery is at 191 Liza Allen Road, Berea, Ky. The Holiday Sale at Turning Wheel is December 1st and 2nd, from 10am to 5pm. Phone 859-985-1444.
     Following that weekend, I and other ceramics alumni will be setting up with the EKU students at their Student Sale in the lobby of the Campbell Building on campus on Crabbe Street, Tuesday and Wednesday from 9-5pm with other alumni and then...

     This is a great collection of local potters and crafts people in the area around Madison and Estill Counties. Some of this year's participants include Alley Cat Pottery of Richmond, Jake Boggs, Melisa Beth Ceramics of Lexington, Lyndsey Fryman, Bill Lennox, Dirty South Pottery of Winchester, Flatwoods Pottery of Waco, Crimson Duvall, Buddy Dobbins, Turning Wheel Pottery of Berea and me! As with both sales, this is a great opportunity to get a unique, handmade gift for the special people in your life.
     The sale opens on Friday afternoon at 4pm until 8:30pm coinciding with the Richmond Christmas Parade. Hours on Saturday are 10am to 5 pm and on Sunday, from 1pm to 4pm. Until then, I'm on Etsy!