All I want to do right now is throw pots. Here's the first small one bisque fired, at about 2 1/2" tall and 4" wide, it nests in both hands, the comfortable weight of a singing bowl. Feeling a little trepidation about glazing, but seeing possibilities.
In case for some reason you come here before reading the news, thought I'd mention the Lunar Eclipse starts at 8:43 EST tonight.
I've been happily throwing on the wheel this past week, but swiftly finding my weaknesses in the process so I've been carefully watching others in the studio and looking to the internet for some pointers, my favorites are videos created by Simon Leach, who very carefully explains every step and has 164! videos to watch. His work is more traditional than the work I'd like to make, but his explanation of the basics is very strong and very helpful.
I've also found the need to better maintain focus and a vision of what I'd like while I am making (and head off a soggy mess), so I jotted down few shapes I'd like to make starting with cups. Let's see if I can figure out how to manipulate the clay in these ways. The drawing on the top left with the indentions is a sketch of my favorite cup, made by Catherine Boswell(wish she had a website so I could show you more). Her work is so seductively plump whenever I come across it I have the immediate desire to touch. Mmm. . .
Any thoughts on the forms above?
Been attending Saturday morning figure drawing at the local massage school for the last three weeks. They are the same Saturday sessions my mom used to attend 20 years ago when I was little girl left at home. In going I connect to her; our life strands crossing (weaving) as I sit in the same room and follow the same complicated dance with my(her) left hand echoing the lines and shadows found in other bodies.
There is a reconnection to my own practice as well. Anxious and scattered at the beginning of the session, my hands fumble with pencils and sharpener, but halfway through the first or second drawing I find focus [the angle is here and just so] and by end of the three hours my mind is quiet and refreshed wishing for more. The best part? Coming home with drawings I like. . .
A few of my favorites:
small scanner + big paper= weird light)
I began with a twisted tangle of string, collected hair, wandering knots of grief. Then turned to transforming locks, combed to order, and swelling with possibility.
Now instant film fills my drawers, and ever so slowly the lines begin to stretch out tentatively probing, is it safe? In short bursts of confidence they streak out unfettered, literal power lines. Here the lines cross and caress, momentary echoes of warp and weft. Looking up at the sky and placing myself just so, I am weaving with my eyes and drawing with my camera.
The lines begin to meander, veins casually snaking out to explore the blank landscape alive and wanting. Without knowing my destination I travel toward it, for the moment unhurried and strangely unafraid.
Yesterday, I knit ordered knots of grey wool and considered perhaps we were not molded from the clay as so many myths claim, but woven instead.
Back in September, I wrote about how my best friend's brother was seriously injured in Iraq. Both of his lower legs were amputated and and his left elbow sustained multiple fractures requiring surgery to replace it with a cadaver's. Finally, just last week he was fitted for his prothesises and is learning to walk with beginner ones. He and Alica have been working together as a team for all this time at Fort Sam Houston, Texas waiting for his body to heal enough to start the process and I couldn't be happier that Catlin is "gettin' vertical". The sooner he walks, the sooner he and Alicia come home.
On a very sad note, there is one more young man who will not be coming home. I just learned a couple days ago the Duncan Crookston, the only other survivor of that September explosion died on January 25th after fighting for his life for almost five months in the ICU. I met his wife briefly when I went to visit Catlin and Alicia in San Antonio and I was first struck by her youth (19) and then her remarkable strength; she couldn't wait to get Duncan home just so she could take care of him. She has been a hero in all of this, and I imagine she is, at least part of, the reason Duncan held on for so long. The Denver Post wrote a little article about Duncan's funeral which Catlin(Joe) contributed to. There is a beautiful tribute written by a friend of his here and here, bring tissues.
Despite the wistful sentiment I expressed, yesterday was a good day. I took it easy, simple things: to sleep late, to bike, to make, to eat, to list things that should be done later and it was good.
Rode my bike looking up for lines and noted it won't be much longer before those bare limbs and gray skies I love will be hard to find, I have perhaps a week. The red maples are showing their seeds, redbuds, azaleas, and Japanese magnolias (my early spring favorite) are all in full force of fuschia, pink and lavender. Even the winged elms are showing off what they attempt to pass off as blooms, awkward yellow brown specks held gaily every three or four inches down its spindly limb.
I made my way to the ceramic studio on my bike, locked it up, spied this, and took it.
For the first time in seven years (and even then it was for only a short while) I threw on the wheel. Five minutes into it and calm, mesmerized, home. Intentionally, I pushed the first two hunks of clay beyond their limits and mine, they turn muddy with indecision and flop. Trying to grasping what my body remembers and my memory reveals: arms create a triangle, supple but firm, center by pushing toward the middle and up then back down. Friction and twisting calls for water, puddles call for a sponge. For a muddy endeavor I make surprisingly little mess. And from the session I pull a tall cylinderical cup, and a tiny eggshell vase. Prodded a bit at the cup to make it more interesting and easier to grasp. Went home on a cloud.
The sky was covered in clouds this morning, and I heard the announcing honks of a hundred sandhill cranes flying over in tight formation, the wind rose a bit with their presence and then they were gone, the sky followed blue.
I spent a few hours tracking down Japanese Magnolias for you.
Brought a couple blooms home and now their heady scent permeates this side of the house. Termite wings sparkle in the air and a ladybug found its way where I ate dinner tonight. Spring is here and I love it too.
Objects inspiring me for ceramics:
Ruth Gurvich (I saw these on poppytalk in October and it's been haunting me ever since)
Paula's tea set
Go bowls
Yael Mer chairs (via gris)
Jim Partridge scorched bowls
Trove stick ball fret
a tiny lovely
a little line made by a teapot on Mien's plate
(plus her wind carriers and strange gourd)
momo suzuki bowl (via hoping for happy accidents)
these bowls by natalie derouet
kirpputoria rough hewn wooden cup (via Montmartre's Sketchbook)
chestnuts and brazil nuts
this giant knit pouf (made by Christien Meindertsma)
I remember clearly:
weeping alone in my house
aching eyes staring
out that giant window
wanting to find it ugly,
instead it was golden green and heartbreakingly beautiful
perverse and alive.
miss you mom. there's so much you should see.
I have lots and lots to post about, but not quite enough time to post it just yet, future posts to include:
-an answer to Andrea's tag
-a stream of thought set off by Mien's little clementine, it's kind of in depth and I've been working on it off and on for a week (ahem) I mean two weeks now.
-a ton of polaroids (scanning them now)
-some blogs and a few flikr pages that are incredibly inspiring to me right now
-a special find at the local University used bookstore, a replica of a 1746 tiny book with tiny little woodcuts.
In other news:
Happy (Belated) Birthday to Brother Beastie! He got the tiny book, Tuscan Chicken, and a plate of homemade baklava, it didn't last long enough for a picture. . .
And because Aquarian's are somewhat pervasive in my circle, I sang this birthday song rather groggily to Tommy this morning as he got ready for work:
Hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray!
Today today's your birthday
It's not the beaver's or the bear's,
not the pickle's or the pear's
It's not next week or yesterday
Today today's your birthday!
Okay I'm off to take more polas and head over to campus take advantage of my shiny new ceramics studio membership (clay, a wheel, and a kiln, oh my!). . .
And to all of you who have commented recently, thank you so much, you always make my day brighter.
