If you’ve been keeping up with my previous posts since November 2016, you’ll know that I’ve been in a bit of a creative funk. The results of the election knocked the stuffing out of me and it took awhile to find my creative footing. When I’m stuck like this I find what I need to do is just shut up and make and let the reasons why take care of themselves. The act of making with my hands seems to plug my brain into some sort of electrical outlet that ignites the spark that jumpstarts the creative juices into flowing.
For those of you who know my work, I’m not much of a thrower. There are several reasons both ergonomic and creative. Ergonomically I seem to have freakishly small hands. Add to that my lower back is always an issue. I keep toying with teaching a clay class called Throwing with Tiny Hands and a Bad Back. Creatively, round forms make me very nervous. They’re just so- circular! Circles have so many connotations: they have no beginning or end; they have a sense of completion; and there’s always that pressure of repetition. I’m not a production potter by any stretch of the imagination.
But this winter I hunkered down in my studio every day and threw. There was something very soothing about getting up in the morning, making a pot of tea, putting on an audio book, shutting the door and sitting down at the wheel. Life at the time seemed so out of kilter, and I needed the structure of repetitive routine. I craved the calming influence and hypnotic effect of watching the wheel go round while clay squeezed between my hands. I began to look forward to my days at the wheel like I never have. I decided to challenge myself and throw plates, platters, bowls and cups to fill the kitchen cabinets in our new vacation home in the mountains of Colorado. I may be out of creative gas but I could at least trick out my ride so that when the tank refilled I had more power under the hood and bells and whistles on my dashboard to go more places than ever before.
I decided to stop being a wimp and to finally learn how to throw plates on hump molds and plaster bats and to make cup handles with an extruder. I also challenged myself to throw series of bowls and forms the same size, and to nest.
From there I started thinking about colors, glazes, firing ranges and applications. In the spirit of adventure I decided to revisit some old glaze recipes requiring spray-on application as well as some I’ve never done before, even using commercial glazes in combination with others. Spraying involved figuring out the correct thickness, even which air compressor to use.
While all this was happening, the creative current began to trickle in. I had a bag of glass nuggets incompatible for fusing and a glass lidded jar from a defunct terrarium. All of a sudden the jar was on its side with the bag of nuggets next to it, and every time I walked by I glued one on. What began as form of wheel avoidance and procrastination became an Ex-Voto urn for the sculpture Good Friends.
It was such a relief to make a glass sculpture by simple cold working. But then it made me miss fusing. I found myself getting emboldened. While I was doing all these new things, and to a certain amount of success and satisfaction, why not finally get around to finishing some sculptures that have been percolating way too long in my noggin? Time to fuse some glass and make bases for sculptures and lamps, and while I was at it, how bout some coasters and trays for spring!
Before I knew it, I had completed my goals. That wheel work paid off in spades. Not only do I have the dishes, bowls, and mugs made, but I seem to have launched myself into a better place creatively.