The nice thing about wheel throwing vs. hand building is that you can make charming functional objects with speed and (some degree of) elegance. Unless you become obsessed with making teeny necks for all of your vessels, rendering them pretty useless. That seems to be my plan. They’re a spirited lot, I can say as much.
“It looks so nice outside,” they said. “Let’s go play.”
“Oh, that’s so much better, ya.”
Spring is not so very promising as it is the thing that looking back was fire, promising: ignition, aspiration; it was not under my thumb. --Rachel Zucker, from "Diary [Surface]"
Spring in Portland is a thing to behold. Some days the changes in sky come by the minute, certainly too quick to attune one’s mood to (unless your mood is equally changeable, I guess, in which case you should really consider migrating here). Before everyone had their personal soundtracks white-budding in their ears as they wandered through the city, we had to rely on things like the sky to invest our otherwise mundane moments with scope and gravitas. That, at least, is what I was mulling over while I sat in The Half and Half, enjoying a piece of pie and coffee with cinnamon & (obviously) half and half.
Spring break started off strongly — Ch., a friend of jmags & co., came for a second visit, this one filled with drizzly walks, roller skating (more, I know), and speed scrabble. Last Sunday, after Ch. — possibly the most accommodating house guest ever — slipped out quietly to head back to NYC, I found myself in the most inexplicably cranky mood. Although we’d planned to stay in for the day, jmags suggested we go out and about, and it ended up being just the thing.
Well, I should back up. “Inexplicably” is not quite right — I can pin it down, a little, to a phenomenon I’ve experienced at the beginning of open stretches of time, like the beginning of Summer Break last year: I get so excited by the many possible way I might spend my time that I end up paralyzed and manic. It’s so dumb. And, in my defense, after that first day, I have been both productive and fairly relaxed.
But back to last Sunday: books always help, and jmags knows this, so we went to Powell’s. I selected another Murakami & a replacement copy of Rebecca, one of the first grown-up books I read — I think I was about 9 or 10. But! I also picked up several books about clay, the best of which you can see taking up precious real estate on the table next to the pie. (I would also like to take this moment to note that my hands continue to be my most photogenic part.) These books have been enchanting and inspiring me all week, both at home and at the studio, where I’ve been working on my throwing skills. I’ll have photos quite soon.
And that brings us to Polaroids. Although jmags and I were gifted a cache of the precious film, we’ve been tentative in using it. But the sometimes-bright skies of spring were an inspiration, and look at the progress we’ve made on the wall:
On Monday I start a yoga class (the first one for me… we’ll see). I feel like I’m entering a period of productivity, both physical and creative (and, I hope, professional), and the accompanying exhiliration is a nice place to be at the end of this break. I’ve always felt my time of year was fall, not spring, but evidence suggests otherwise. Promising.
(disclosure: jmags took the top two photos — that’s why they look so nice)
So in my last post I was extolling my summer productivity; now, safely into October, I can affirm with at least a bit of smugness that I have continued to be a very busy girl. Last night, sipping mulled wine and basking in front of the second living-room fire of the season, I reminded myself of this dropped stitch — the documentation part — and, ahem, I am here to pick it back up. First both in degree of importance and frequency: clay.
It’s vital, I think, to test these things out before committing to them. Are you a lady who wears glasses? Clonky 1950s frames to boot? Then you want to check your tea bowls before they come home to roost, or something.
In August I went to camp: http://www.menucha.org/. For a week. It was such an indulgence — no cooking, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping (aka drudgery in triplicate by means of compulsiveness). We had 24hr studio time and home baked bread with every meal. My course was Ceramics, and there were six or so others happening elsewhere on the grounds. Near the end of the week we smoke fired our bisqueware in garbage cans out on the well-hosed lawn. The day felt near as hot as the temp of the trashkilns. I think my projects emerged successful.
Above is my bird-head whistle and (I think?) a vase. In the case of the latter, I really just did what the clay told me. I’ve decided the vigor of that whisper — the clay’s I mean — is a sign that I’m doing something right. Here, also, are my stones:
They are not perhaps the most impressive of my projects, but I think they were my favorite. Two pinch pots apiece, joined with a coil, then paddled to silky asymmetrical smoothness, thumbed and coddled, and burnished with terra sigillata. And lit on fire in a garbage can.
In other news, jmags and I have decided we will probably seek larger quarters in early spring. I’m so hoping for a yard, where I can brick out a corner for my own trashkiln.
P.S. I’ve been making strides on the food front, too. Pics soon.