One of the saddest things about art is that I’ve found there are a great number of people who believe it is out of their reach. That it hangs in a museum, miles away from them and simply isn’t or can’t be a part of everyday life. Art IS within reach, and if it is not for you, then it should be. Granted, things have come a long way in regard to accessibility, but sometimes what is keeping the art from our lives are the roadblocks we set up in our own minds. Sometimes apprehension or fear that we may not understand can keep us away. Art is not simply for the affluent or the educated. Art is for us, right now.

I would rather have someone see my work and want to pick it up, to hold it in their hands, to feel the cool weight of it, than to simply want to LOOK at it from behind a rope or under glass.

I know, better than most that our senses are funny old things and they often work (or don’t work) in curious ways. When I describe it to people, they laugh it off or don’t understand, but any fellow synesthetes out there will testify- things are a bit different for us. To one, numbers may be different colors, and to another textures may be associated with certain tastes or sounds. I won’t speculate as to whether or not this means our senses are fighting against each other or cooperating, but any way you slice it, our senses are intertwined, sometimes even fused. That’s why it’s not surprising at all that many synesthetes are drawn to creating art- they need several dimensions, colors and textures to depict how synesthesia feels. Or sounds. Or tastes.

But what a beautiful moment it is when something touches you, moves you on many different levels at once! We, as a society, tend to want to compartmentalize things, keep everything apart and not touching and tidy. But the deepest experiences we have are a messy rush of feeling, sight, sound, taste, colors, numbers, words, light and depth. If you think, right now, of a fond memory, or a sad one, I’m willing to bet that there are sounds, smells, and feelings in addition to what simply happened or what you saw.

Its funny and bittersweet, I am remembering when my children were small, they would ask me with all the charm and manners they could muster, if they could “see” something ( And to be honest, I can’t recall what it was but I’m sure it was fragile and expensive or rare), and when I said yes, they reached their little hands out for it…….I gently reminded them time and again that we don’t see with our hands…and in my deep ache to reach people on many levels with my work, I know now that we do.

I don’t know what it is…I could be casually going about my day, when something catches my eye and I just have to stop. It could be a scarf on a girl on the street, a cardinal in snow, the red lips of a girl laughing in a dimly lit restaurant booth. For me, something about the color red has always been……magical.

I know that I’m not the only one who feels this way. After all, red has, for a great length of time, signified love, courage, passion, power……even sin, blood, anger, guilt, lust and sacrifice. In a gray sea, a navigation light on a boats port side warns against collision. Red demands attention.

The color red has so effectively wrapped its tight and tender grip around my psyche that it does all of these things…it both draws me in and warns of danger in the same sweet breath.

In my studio (and in my mind), there is a collection of images, words and clippings that inspire me. About halfway through this stack is a simple image- a pomegranate. The rich reddish purple orb is slashed open, exposing the watery pulp and arils inside, and this has set me to thinking.

Pomegranates are quite an interesting fruit. For thousands of years, it has been used a remedy for a whole host of ailments (even though we are only just recently inundated with commercials and studies singing its praises). Ancient Egyptians viewed it as a symbol of wealth and power. Ancient Greeks deemed it the “fruit of the dead”, thanks to poor Persephone, who through her misfortune is said to have brought about the changing seasons- A time of fertility, and one of heartbreak and sterility.

It adorns coins, is used as artists signature in paintings, and to symbolize royal families. In some cultures it is a traditional housewarming gift, and in others it is distinguished enough to be present only at weddings and funerals. Jewish tradition even cites its calyx as the design of an ideal crown. Some say that in religious representations, when broken and spilling, is said to signify the magnitude of Jesus’ sacrifice and pain. And its red seed-filled richness is widely viewed as a symbol of life, fertility, even sexuality. It amazes me that this fruit, which fits in the palm of my hand means so much and has to so many cultures and for so many thousands of years. It is quite awe-inspiring and I am now excited to say that my next works will find their inspiration in this… this little red pulpy wonder.

Have you ever seen a whole bunch of tiny little tots pretending to play soccer? Well, my son is now quite the accomplished player, but his first team experience at the ripe old age of five was, well, ridiculous. My husband and I faithfully lugged our gear and family to every game regardless whether he knew what he was doing or not. 

 While looking proudly on, we decided that the game should be renamed “swarm ball”,  because wherever the ball went, a swarm of little boys followed trying to get a piece of it.  This gave us such a case of the giggles that I had to turn from the sight of it. Imagine my surprise when only a few yards down the field was another couple rapidly losing control of their composure. They were trying to appear proud and normal but their shaking shoulders and red faces gave them away. I knew that this level of irreverence was highly admirable and rare, so after the game I introduced us to a couple that, unbeknownst to us, would profoundly change the way we look at life. As it often happens when ones children are the same age, my husband and I found ourselves often thrown together with Cheryl and Tom, and from these happy chance meetings grew a dear friendship- one of those rare ones where all four of us truly liked each other! We admired Tom and Cheryl not only as individuals, but also as a couple. Believe me, they knew first hand that life wasn’t always fair or easy, but even after decades together, they still had tenderness in their eyes when they looked at each other. As someone who sometimes gets absorbed in one task or another, I had to commend them for their balance. They knew that every odd moment that their family happened to all be in one room was precious.  They also knew that work was important, and they taught their boys this, but so was play. They knew the importance of now. 

So, a few weeks ago, I had one of those “perfect days” in the studio. Literally…perfect.
The timing was just right- as soon as I had finished one task, the clay was just right to begin the next. And so I moved seamlessly through the work, content and efficient. My mind was clear and focused; my only thoughts were of my hands in the clay. I finished the day totally satisfied, with some great work to show for it.
As I climbed the stairs to hop in the shower, I wistfully thought to myself that every day in the studio should be this peaceful, this precise, and this productive. I simply shut the door, showered, and began making dinner for my family. Work did not enter my mind again that evening…not once.
The following day, I found myself telling a friend, and later my husband, about how I couldn’t believe that I had had such a day in the studio. For some reason, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Because my studio is in my home, my business partner often remarks that she is surprised I am able to get any work done, but I just laugh it off.
As nice as it is to have those few perfect days here and there, I almost prefer it not to be….I like my two loves to overlap. When I am doing dishes, I like to think about what project I’m currently working on, or what’s brewing next in this silly head of mine. When I’m at the wheel, I like to think back on the funny text my son sent me or the upcoming birthday party. I love having my studio open to my friends and family, even if it’s only to have my daughter stop by and tell me that my new work looks like a salad.
When I am alone with my work, many times my mind wanders to some little worry or another, and soon this little distraction has chipped and chipped away at my focus like green ware, until I feel surrounded by the rubble of my own thoughts. But other times, the studio is full of friends who have stopped by to have a glass of wine and see the new work, laughing with my family, children and dogs running this way and that. The music and laughter tends to get a bit loud sometimes, but I just smile to myself, keep working, and think “What does it really mean to have a perfect day in the studio?”

I think that for the most part, people view things as a “story”, all neat and tidy with a beginning, middle, and an end. Having things simply packaged like this helps us move on to the next tangle in our crowded, overworked brains. This thought crosses my mind as I clean my studio in anticipation of a new student’s arrival. I move from one side of the room to the other, top to bottom, mentally checking off tasks as they are completed. Finished, I look back into the quiet space and a tiny spark of nerves ignites in my stomach.

Taking on students again has brought my own anxieties from long ago back into consciousness. Ones feelings towards their teacher can color how they feel about the subject as a whole. The relationship between student and teacher is a complexity-both feel pressure, anticipation, and curiosity. Getting back into teaching has spurred my productivity greatly…having examples of work helps my student see some diversity, and with pieces in shows and in stores, this is not always an easy task. My student puts a great deal of pressure on herself to learn quickly and produce flawless work, but this cannot always be the case. With failure comes great understanding! When I told her to cut a recently constructed vase into two pieces, the look on her face was priceless. She resisted at first, but she finally relented, and seeing the walls of the vase and their varying thickness helped her see what she needed to improve. She is starting to see that perhaps not every project will have the safe and predictable beginning, middle, and end.

This is a difficult medium. Things crack, drip, buckle, explode. And that’s alright. The human drive to produce perfection time after time is unrealistic, and when working with clay, you must be able to accept a little risk.

One day a friend and I were flipping through some art magazines, and for one of the first times, we disagreed quite strongly on a piece! It was a perfect porcelain vase, smooth and lovely, with the front smashed in. Interest piqued, I asked her what it was about the piece that struck her. After a moment she said “Everything about it is perfect, and whether we realize it or not, no matter how hard we may try to preserve it, we almost EXPECT this very thing to happen. The fact that it already has is almost a relief.”

So the end product of a perfect vase or bowl is not what I strive for in teaching. It’s the look on my students face as they struggle, and suddenly the light bulb goes on and everything about the PROCESS falls into place. And this constant, tireless fight against ruin, against flaw, might be preventing their best work from captivating someone

Getting this blog started has been on my to-do list for the past few months, and to be honest, I may have consciously pushed it off for a later date on more than one occasion. But then it started to buzz in my ear like a mosquito, and then I knew I HAD to do it. And why not? I was a bit overwhelmed by the prospect of being interviewed by Muses, but I survived, didn’t I? It is quite easy to settle in to my work, my routine (or lack there-of), and go about my business and work rather privately. Speaking to groups or in public at all has always sent me into a cold sweat, and for some reason blogging feels very similar. My pulse quickens, my throat tightens, you get the picture. For any of you who know me, this may come as a bit of a shock. I am very gregarious and chatty, yet put me behind a podium in front of more than two people, and I’ll hit the door so fast it would make your head spin.

I am not one who resists technology in the least…in fact, I embrace it! For the most part, I am always connected and relatively accessible. On the other end of the spectrum, I have an immense interest and respect for the art and artifacts of ancient cultures. It tickles me that I can sit on the beach sipping Perrier, receiving tweets from a friend on another continent, researching irrigation systems of ancient Peru. It amazes me that I can look into the past, into their lives, their struggles. I think in some way or another we are all a bit voyeuristic, whether we choose to admit it to ourselves or not. So finally I had a good laugh at myself and just decided to start. If I waited until I had something fabulous and profound to say, I might never begin!

A few weeks ago, I was blessed to find myself in the mountains of Washington State, at an event that was strange and wonderful all at once. The pace was easy, the food divine, the company warm, the music inspiring…..the cell phone reception? Non-existent. And for the first time in a long time, that was fine with me. My family was fine, I had no worries, and I could just disconnect. At sunset, I broke off from the group and went for a little stroll, which turned into quite the hike. As I reached a clearing, the fog lifted from the trees, the clouds broke for a split second, and it was breathtaking. I grabbed my iPod from my back pocket to try to capture this, and as I held it up in front of me, poised to take the shot, it slipped from my hands and crashed onto the rocks below me.

Needless to say, I came down the mountain a bit crestfallen. Not only did I miss a gorgeous picture, but the screen of my darling iPod was now shattered. I started to tell my friends my tale of misfortune, and the funniest thing happened. I started to laugh. I put the shattered iPod away and didn’t think of it again. Well, until a few days ago, when my 2 yr old grandson was making hats out of household objects and singing an adorable rendition of the batman theme. I pulled out my iPod and started filming. Just because something isn’t perfect doesn’t mean it isn’t wonderful. I now believe that technology should be viewed with irreverence….sharing this precious and hilarious video through a cracked screen is just as special. If you really think about it, a lot of what we see is thru a cracked screen. Beautiful and a bit warped