My love of making things has always run deep. It didn’t matter what supplies I had, I’d just make things out of whatever was available. I remember a very simple question from a counselor in art school who asked me, “Why do you want to create objects?” It tripped me up, because by that time I was looking outside of myself for some kind of road map to where I should go, in my head and in my life, instead of listening internally, which is where our genuine, unique message comes from. This felt like a criticism and a challenge to me, so in finding a legitimate reason for “making objects” I figured I’d go for the functional, “sensible” approach. This led me to blowing glass and making pottery and making vessels! There’s the value of this “object,” you can use it! Now I make pictures on top of pots.
There is nothing more grounding than sinking my hands into clay on the potter’s wheel. Clay, unlike the stress of glass, is very forgiving. I need that in my life. The things that I make are messages of love, which is completed when another finds beauty in it. I feel the most free when I am creating, and the most loved when someone loves my work. When I was a kid, I was most happy making mud pies, making masks out of papier mache with my mom, who always had some art project underway in our kitchen, or making pictures. Both of my parents gave me unrestricted permission to create, and when I started witnessing “rules around art” in school, it not only confused me, but it knocked me off of my authentic path.
Accessing that wild, creative spirit after following the prescribed societal path of “what you are supposed to do” and “what you are supposed to make”…college, marriage, career, children, functional objects, all of which have brought me the most exquisite gifts, but getting back to pure expression, the genuine me, continues to be my life pursuit.
“Working with my hands is the way that I communicate.”
I write. I draw. I read. I cry. I look and absorb and feel…and then I make things. That’s my process. There is a gestational time with creativity that I have learned is important. At times I feel so impatient and frustrated when I go through a “dry” period. By rote, I crank out pottery orders, which is sometimes monotonous work, on my established designs and feel like I am in a rut. Then I remember to look back at my journals that hold my work sketches–my scribbled ideas and colors–of what I have created in the past. Journal entries ironically start with…being in a “dry” period. I start again with writing. Then drawing and painting. I read books and study other artists’ work. I let feelings out and I cry. Then I work. It is the sensitive artist who sees deeply, feels deeply and then expresses fiercely!
When I entered art school, I intended to study children’s book illustration. Now, in my 50’s and having had a full, creative pottery business for 31 years, I have a deep desire to illustrate children’s books. I make my pictures and paint my illustrations that tell a story. I have started to include bits of these stories on pots that I usually give away. I am realizing slowly that creative life is not a race; it takes its time and happens when we are ready. It’s our story and there is no right or wrong way. I am learning that dark, dormant times are important for healthy gestation and growth. And I am grateful for those purges of ideas and periods of prolific work, whether it’s watercolor illustrations or pottery…it’s always evolving. Make a mistake, waste that paper, make things over and over. I was inspired by hearing a jazz artist in an NPR interview say “Go ahead and make a mistake.” It’s in the mistakes that we find our genius. When you don’t know where to start, just start somewhere!
“There’s always a way.”
– Tom Hanks in Philadelphia
My love of making things has always run deep. It didn’t matter what supplies I had, I’d just make things out of whatever was available. I remember a very simple question from a counselor in art school who asked me, “Why do you want to create objects?” It tripped me up, because by that time I was looking outside of myself for some kind of road map to where I should go, in my head and in my life, instead of listening internally, which is where our genuine, unique message comes from. This felt like a criticism and a challenge to me, so in finding a legitimate reason for “making objects” I figured I’d go for the functional, “sensible” approach. This led me to blowing glass and making pottery and making vessels! There’s the value of this “object,” you can use it! Now I make pictures on top of pots.
There is nothing more grounding than sinking my hands into clay on the potter’s wheel. Clay, unlike the stress of glass, is very forgiving. I need that in my life. The things that I make are messages of love, which is completed when another finds beauty in it. I feel the most free when I am creating, and the most loved when someone loves my work. When I was a kid, I was most happy making mud pies, making masks out of papier mache with my mom, who always had some art project underway in our kitchen, or making pictures. Both of my parents gave me unrestricted permission to create, and when I started witnessing “rules around art” in school, it not only confused me, but it knocked me off of my authentic path.
Accessing that wild, creative spirit after following the prescribed societal path of “what you are supposed to do” and “what you are supposed to make”…college, marriage, career, children, functional objects, all of which have brought me the most exquisite gifts, but getting back to pure expression, the genuine me, continues to be my life pursuit.
“Working with my hands is the way that I communicate.”
I write. I draw. I read. I cry. I look and absorb and feel…and then I make things. That’s my process. There is a gestational time with creativity that I have learned is important. At times I feel so impatient and frustrated when I go through a “dry” period. By rote, I crank out pottery orders, which is sometimes monotonous work, on my established designs and feel like I am in a rut. Then I remember to look back at my journals that hold my work sketches–my scribbled ideas and colors–of what I have created in the past. Journal entries ironically start with…being in a “dry” period. I start again with writing. Then drawing and painting. I read books and study other artists’ work. I let feelings out and I cry. Then I work. It is the sensitive artist who sees deeply, feels deeply and then expresses fiercely!
When I entered art school, I intended to study children’s book illustration. Now, in my 50’s and having had a full, creative pottery business for 31 years, I have a deep desire to illustrate children’s books. I make my pictures and paint my illustrations that tell a story. I have started to include bits of these stories on pots that I usually give away. I am realizing slowly that creative life is not a race; it takes its time and happens when we are ready. It’s our story and there is no right or wrong way. I am learning that dark, dormant times are important for healthy gestation and growth. And I am grateful for those purges of ideas and periods of prolific work, whether it’s watercolor illustrations or pottery…it’s always evolving. Make a mistake, waste that paper, make things over and over. I was inspired by hearing a jazz artist in an NPR interview say “Go ahead and make a mistake.” It’s in the mistakes that we find our genius. When you don’t know where to start, just start somewhere!
“There’s always a way.”
– Tom Hanks in Philadelphia
