The Odd Couple

It does perplex me, how people are able to get along well enough to live together for any length of time, but somehow we manage. We begin with growing up in a house with siblings and parents, sometimes grandparents as well. Squabbles are the norm but unconditional love is ever present. I consider it training for the adult years.

During college, we achieve some level of independence, but then we graduate, seek a mate, and do it with all over again...COHABITATION.

When you live alone for any length of time, you become quite comfortable in your own routines. The toilet seat or toothpaste tube is tended to in a manner likened to your personal preference. Maybe laundry loads always include matching socks, and dairy has its own shelf in the refrigerator. The thermostat is at optimum level. The nightly TV shows are always to your liking. Then suddenly, it is all turned upside down when you fall in love and decide that you will spend the rest of your living days with one particular person.

Chris and I have been together for about twelve years, and have lived in the same dwelling for almost eleven of them. We are not exempt from individual quirks that can bring a person to a near neurotic meltdown, but in most cases, we can pluck the humor from our day to day.

I told Chris that I was going to find an "Odd Couple" video and post it for the next blog. I'm not sure he believed me. As I prepared to blog this morning by watching the 70's reruns, I was belly-laughing with just about every episode I watched. I could find correlations to our own habits and lifestyle here in Lubec. Of course, it is highly exaggerated. We aren't exactly Felix and Oscar, but clips such as "Insomnia" and "Psychic Shmychic" had me in stitches.

I won't tell you which one of us is the "Oscar" or the "Felix": I'll leave that up to your imagination. incidentally, in the sitcom, one of the characters is a writer, the other a photographer. In my estimation, that makes for a pretty good combination.

What really got me on this thought pattern was that I received an email the other day from an artist in New York whom I had met last summer when she and her husband visited Lubec on vacation. I instantly saw correlations between that couple's relationship and mine and Chris'. Both Patricia and I acknowledged that without our husbands' support, there is no way that we would be able to be the artists that we are.

I had heard, years ago, that there is no way two artists can live together harmoniously, that they are each always vying for the spotlight and inevitably jealousy ensues. I have, however, found the opposite to be true. Chris, an artist with words, and myself an artist with the visual, make for a perfect team. Because we are both so passionate about our art, we understand one another and the idiosyncrasies that come with the territory. We keep strange hours, working morning until night, obsessed with the project at hand. Weekends are not for down-time, rather they are an opportunity to continue our work unfettered by the usual weekday demands of errands and job.

We both recognize that creating is as necessary as breathing. And that is key in our relationship. We make space for each other to be the artist and the writer. We support each other: artistic cheerleaders.

So it is with deep love and understanding that I post the video clip of Felix and Oscar. I imagine that soon Chris will be watching the segment as well and (hopefully!) laughing as hard as I did. I can see his hand coming down in an enthusiastic thump upon his desk each time he chortles. The banana on the beans really got me going!

Some of you know us pretty well and have a good guess who is who is this relationship, but truth be known, Chris and I are each a little bit Oscar and little bit Felix.

If most people are honest, they will recognize the duality in themselves as well.

Post Note: So there is no confusion, Chris does housework, cooks meals, and is always respectful...so don't go reading too much into the video!!! (um, I do those things, too!)

Living Quaintly

Artist Geer Morton with sketch of our back door entryway.

Close-up of Geer's sketch

Our back door entryway

Cobscook Pottery and Fiber Arts shop entrance

Entryway into the studio space

Fire Circle with Earth Loom

The Fourth of July signals an influx of tourists and summer folks to Lubec. I love this time of year because it's when the town really seems to come to life. Don't get me wrong. I love the Lubec winter as well, which offers time to "hunker-down" and be in solitude. Artists love that sort of thing. But the energy of summer brings a different kind of experience.

Yesterday brought us the return of Geer and Pat, who are counted among some of our 'favorites". I was excited to see the familiar van roll-up our birch-lined drive. We were greeted by Pat's infectious laughter and beautiful smile, and Geer's saracastic and much-adored wit. In tow, their friend Shula, a teacher from Chicago.

Geer Morton is what I consider one of those "hidden-treasures" in Lubec. This town is full of accomplished artists who seem to make their hideaway here on the coast, in the furthest reaches of the U.S. He and Pat spend most of the year in San Diego, but for a few months in the summer they are "the regulars' in our little town. I first met Geer when I was still fresh to teaching in Lubec. He offered to visit my art classes to speak about the experience of being a painter. I soon began to trek my students to his studio which is in walking distance from the school. From there, the four of us began a ritual of an early fall waffle breakfast date.

So yesterday, Pat, Geer, and Shula showed up, which totally made my day. I had been in a cranky mood from a bum glaze firing, but Geer and Pat snapped me out of that quickly. Pat and Shula toured the newly-arranged shop space in the barn and then came inside the house to see the new studio. When Pat called to Geer from the doorway "do you want to come see the studio" a quick reply "busy" was bellowed out.

Outside in the van, Geer had his sketchbook open and pencils laid out on the dashboard. He was feverishly sketching our back door entryway. I was a bit embarrassed at first, noting the crackling paint on the cedar shingles, the plexiglass window cover, and overgrown grass. As an artist though, he views the world around him differently. Artistic appeal has little to do with the appearance of "Martha Stewart Living".

He said that our entryway was "quaint".

Quaint: "Strange in an interesting or pleasing way."

Hmmmmm. Should we be offended by this?

Okay. I accept it. We are strange folk, Chris and I. Yes, that is a jawbone of some unknown creature in the window, and the plants are overgrown, and there is dead wood from the walnut tree perched against the house. We have strange weaving contraptions scattered about and the paint is chipping off the shingles, but we always seem to be too busy in our clay and poetry worlds to tend to them. There are piles of rocks here and there (I mean, you can always find a use for a rock, right?).

So, I am accepting that as time passes, our home (and perhaps we!) are getting a bit more bizarre each year. Chris is the hermit in the hut in the woods, and I am the bumblee bee flitting about from the shop to weaving studio, to pottery cave, to garden. We live with a gargoyle, piles of rocks, stacks of interesting driftwood and tree limbs, a mandala shaped veggie garden, and wild healing plants. Our huge cat "Bello" guards the yard and greets the customers, and a hummingbird often flies into my studio space. There is a nine foot high cedar log loom warped for weaving and artwork crammed into every nook.

Strange? Yes. But somehow, all so perfect.

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A couple summers ago when Pat and Geer arrived to town, we all sat by the fire circle drinking pineapple spritzers. Geer sketched Chris while we conversed, and the sketch in turn provided inspiration for the following poem by Chris.

On A Sketch Of The Poet

(sketch by Geer Morton)

poem by Chris Crittenden

jackal-faced

and jaw hung low

like a chuckling

sadist.

scribbles frantic

in the hollows,

and the slit of the chin.

askew eyes

mocking order,

a pose hunched

yet strong—

part ogre, part pensive

like Rodin.

lips racked

in a rude smirk-smear,

hands like fumes

of neck-biting

flies.

expression

like a saint

who waded too many

garbage dumps,

washed

too many sins,

legions of the crumpled

and begrimed.

Grenade
2010, Shanna Wheelock
Clay, metal, acrylic, wood
35" x 45"

A detail of the sculpture

Close-up of the pomegranate

The initial sketch for the pomegranate

Five poms sculpted (extras in the case of a kiln disaster...good to be prepared!)

Initial sketch for the grenade

Planning for the grenade project began in December of 2009. I remember spending an entire day in the studio sketching and writing the proposal. I still have the paper with my hen-scratch scrawl and a list of about twenty things that I could visualize as a possible long-term project.

I am a student in what Heartwood College of Art refers to as their "Pioneer Pod". We are a small group of artists working toward our MFA in the state's first low-residency program of its kind. The program is a good fit for me. I am able to work independently in my own studio under the guidance of a mentor and an advisor. We gather once a semester for a "weekend intensive" and move along at the rate of two classes each term. Though it is an immense amount of work, I am able to schedule it around my full-time teaching job without interruption. As an arts educator, this is a perfect program as it complements what I do in the classroom perfectly.

So, I spent that winter day in December in the studio racking my brain for an idea that I would be willing to commit myself to for five month's time. I am not sure exactly how the image came to me, but I began to research grenades. As soon as I read the Wikipedia entry, I was solid in my idea.

"The French military term grenade probably comes from the shape of the pomegranate fruit, which is also called grenade in French."

Wikipedia

Much of my work in the past has emphasized symbols and objects associated with women-centered mythology. The idea that the term grenade was a direct translation intrigued me. I decided to juxtapose the two objects: The pomegranate with it's warm magenta color and ancient fertility symbolism against the drab cool color of the grenade which represents the loss of life.

I researched the grenade online as well as read a US military issued book on grenades. An inert M67 grenade was purchased and used as the model for each of the hand-sculpted objects. The process was long, often tedious, and came with lots of challenges that I did not foresee. Ultimately, I feel that I became a better artist for having to endure the many obstacles. Perhaps, this experience could be understood as my "artistic rites of passage".

My philosophy associated with the piece runs much deeper than I am stating here, but for now, I will allow the image to ruminate within each viewer, permitting interpretation.

Life is still moving at a fast clip and the past few weeks are a blur. It is a good feeling to have the final evaluation complete, as well as my two major projects. I'll plan to post pics of my second MFA creation next week , the "Transformation Tapestry".

As a side note - it was way cool to see myself and my words in glossy magazine color. If you have access to a news-stand that carries "Artscope" (termed "New England's Culture Magazine") you can find me on page 12, in the column "Roundtable", May/June 2010 issue.

First Full Day in the New Studio

Worked in the new studio all day planning for a five month long sculptural project

Today I write from the new studio space. I admit that it has been a slow process moving myself in here, not only physically, but psychologically. The space is wide open, scarce in decoration, and so pristine. What if I don't create a masterpiece? What if I mess up this gorgeous new bamboo floor? What if...what if...what if....

I came in here about 10:00 a.m this morning, lugging from storage my old drafting table that has not been used in well over a dozen years. I spent the first two hours cleaning dirt and clay from the legging, then sweeping the floor, and washing windows. Methodically, I was preparing myself for the work ahead. In my mind whirled possible ideas for my first MFA class proposal.

Now that six hours has passed, I don't want to leave. The ambiance is extremely conducive to creativity. The drafting table is placed in front of an eight foot wide sliding glass door, from which I watched two eagles and a hawk soar overhead today. I spent time (nearly nodding off!) reclining on the futon in the little nook, wrapped in a comforter, smelling the candle scents of warm apple pie and sugar cookies, and listening to the "spa" channel on satellite radio. I time thumbed through art books and sketched possible ideas for a five month-long concentration in a series of my choosing.

I am excited to begin working on my Master of Fine Arts. I was accepted into the new low residency program at Heartwood College of Art, in Kennebunk, Maine. It is the first program of its kind in the state (and only one of two MFA programs for visual arts in Maine) that will allow me to keep my full time teaching schedule as well as be a student.

It's interesting to be a student again. I finished my fine arts degree in 1993, then my teaching program in 1999. Now I am back at it, thrilled with the possibilities. However, I was less than thrilled when I received my first assignment. I reacted EXACTLY the way some of my own students react when I assign them a project. I thought "twenty six sculptures in five months? I am trying to get away from mass production!"

I am the type of person who translates things literally in my mind, and often, I get a visual and get fixated on that one idea. I doubt that makes much sense to anyone but me, but there it is. I became a complainy whiny student. I found immense humor in this, and a better understanding of my own students. Then I thought, what lesson would there be in this for me, and what would I expect of my own students?

So, I let my mind open and wander and think of the positives. It is a meditative process to concentrate so intently on one object. Also, it teaches me to focus, and if you know me personally, you know that I can become quite scattered with a million things going on at once, multi-tasking, hopping from idea to idea, medium to medium.

I also needed to remind myself that I am artist, and interpretation is quite individual. So, how I approach my one subject twenty-six times may not be the literal translation that another might have. The final topic I decided upon and the final presentation of it is not at all what I was expecting of myself. It is a completely different path than I expected to take when I first started planning three or more weeks ago. And already, I am sensing the possibilities for growth in my own work. Perhaps the bulk of that growth has already occurred, just in my being able to apporach the project from a different perspective and to find its inherent value.

I won't share all the details just yet. First the proposal needs to be accepted, then I need to get into the studio and feel my way around it. There may lie still a learning curve or two for me. But expect an update in May when the project is complete...or perhaps...transitioning to a new phase.

Headline: Highly Contagious Flu impacts Billions

It seems fitting, now that I think of it, that the first artwork to grace the walls of my new studio space is a drawing of a skeleton.

Symbolically, it represents the basic structure. The foundation has been poured, the walls raised, the floor laid. And now, though it is sturdy, a hollow feeling remains, awaiting all the necessary components to make it a complete living organism: furniture (vital organs), window and floor trim (muscle), and a working artist (lifeblood).

The new addition is sort of like having a third arm added to my body. I have always made do with two but could certainly put a third to use. It feels a bit strange and I am not quite acclimated to it yet. Having our house nearly double over the course of the last few months has been overwhelming at times, but also exciting. The new studio will allow me to work with clay year-round, no more below-freezing barn temps to deal with, lugging buckets of water back and forth, and hungry nesting critters who find my fiber creations tempting and cozy.

Fifteen years ago I had a vision. No, it wasn't a mystical white light pouring over me with the voice of God speaking profoundly about my soul's purpose. It was more of an an epiphany. In one moment of clarity I felt I knew my life's purpose and could "see" the physical environment in which I would work and what I would be doing, and how I would be contributing to the healing of this Earth. I just didn't know how I would get there.

At the time, I was not a teacher, at least not in the public school classroom sense. My life was a blank slate and anything was possible. Back then, I wouldn't have understood how even the smallest change or experience would influence my journey and bring me to this moment, which is still not the end, but very much the beginning.

So, I had this vision: a space for people to create, and in the process, heal. Over the years, The "retreat" has morphed in the physical sense, being tweaked in my mind to what is adequate to meet my goals, but also manageable. Instead of a massive arts-compound with cabins and hordes of people shuffling through and the stress of running a major business, I decided to focus on a more intimate, personal approach: a healing space for my husband and me where we invite others, in a more laid back sort of way, to create and heal with us.

The Gahnadi Quote comes to mind "You must be the change you wish to see in the world."

And certainly, much change is needed. My approach is to strive for a life of balance, creativity, empathy, knowledge, kindness, truth, love, and sharing. That's a tall order, but a satisfying one. Just imagine, what if that were to become the latest pandemic? The headlines would read.....

Harmony Flu Sweeps Across the Globe: CDC Warns World Peace Inevitable.