Creating Modern Day Artifacts

Visit Shanna Wheelock's website

 

 

Machias Women's Forum presents

Spirituality in Women's Art

 

 

Presenters: Sherry Ashby Cunningham, Elizabeth Ostrander, and Shanna Wheelock

Thursday, March 21, 2013

in the meeting room at Helen's Restaurant, Machias

Dinner from the menu at 5:30 p.m., presentation at 6:30 p.m.

Although this is the Women's Forum, men are encouraged to attend this special event!

Click here for more info.

 

 

 

 

Art Workshops

With Instructor Shanna Wheelock

Lubec, Maine

Clay Goddess: April 17

Introduction to Encaustic Painting: July 10

For more info, send an inquiry here.

 

 

 

 

 The corner of my drawing table.

Note the old Grumbacher box.

This is the same box that years ago held my mom's drawing charcoal.

 

 

"The Nook"

 I have been spending most of my time here lately

 working out ideas, sketching, reading, researching, and designing workshop fliers.

 

 

I completed nine ink drawings in the "Factory C"series and have now begun to transcribe them onto clay. 

 

 

Some things to keep in mind....

 

 

So many things happen in a week that it is hard to keep track of it all. I am in a mad flurry of art activity as the obsession with Factory C grows. I have felt an urgency to get the ideas down and this week that all began to make sense. I heard a tidbit of news that the dilapidated remains may, in part, be removed. Though I understand the safety issues with a building in such a state, I am saddened at the thought of anything changing by the hands of humans. Until now, the building's condition has been at the whim of the natural elements and the result has been one that exudes a silent and powerful sense of reverence. As my work unfolds over the next few months, I hope to capture some of that feeling in ink, clay, and wax, not only for my own creative self-indulgence, but also to serve as some sort of historical modern-day artifact.

 

This past week's agenda contained a sprinkling of business, health, spiritual, and art meetings along with a talk that Elizabeth Ostrander and I presented at The Eastport Arts Center.  I am always a bit  nervous before speaking in public. Even with more than thirteen years teaching under my belt this feeling has never gone away. I was comforted by the peaceful ambiance of the center and the presence of a few familiar and friendly faces in the crowd. For my portion of the presentation I had created a slide show of some of the key women in my life who have somehow contributed to my development as an artist. Though I focused on only a handful of women, there are in fact so many more who deserve mention. Listening to Elizabeth's account of her art experiences and journey that has sustained her through seventy years of art-making, I realized that my forty-three years on this planet has been eased and benefited by all the women who came before me, who fought for their place in what has traditionally been a "man's world." I am fortunate to have men in my life, as well, who have supported my journey, men who have broken through the traditional roles and stereotypes to value women's contributions to the art world and life in general.

 

The next few days I will prepare for my MFA seventh semester's residency, spend time with creative friends, and work on another "talk". Along with two other artists, Sherry Ashby Cunningham and Elizabeth Ostrander, I will present at the Machias Women's Forum on March 21. The topic is spirituality in women's art. I am still gathering my thoughts for this presentation as it will differ from last week's talk in Eastport. Right now the thought is that I will focus primarily on my fiber works. But we'll see. A lot can change in my mind over the course of four days.

 

No doubt some are singing Irish folk songs, eating boiled cabbage, and drinking green beer by the time they read this blog entry, being St. Patty's Day and all. My Celtic roots are strong but I will most likely be found in the studio with hands steeped in gritty mud. My internal clock, still adjusting to the time change, finds me in bed an hour longer than usual most days but burning the midnight oil to get the work done. Though the temps dipped again this week, there is a feeling of spring in the air. Foolish to think such thoughts perhaps. The calendar suggests that Spring Equinox arrives soon, but local meteorology threatens snow. Several inches. Plowable.

Full Swing in the Cave

Sculpture in progress

Production work has begun after a six week hiatus.

Bouli is my sidekick when I am working in the pottery cave.

When not asleep in the pottery cave, Bouli is a handful on the main floor: climbing, jumping, exploring, and breaking things!!! This past week I had to tape all the kitchen cupboards shut.

Things are humming along here. It's a good thing, too. I might have gotten used to that leisurely pace of only teaching and MFA work to contend with. I went back into the "cave" for pottery production a couple days ago and am starting to ready for the season ahead. I have some fairly hefty goals and want to be prepared so that I don't feel the usual "running around like a chicken with my head cut off" for opening of the shop.

The house is kind of upside-down right now. There is a slew of paperwork strewn atop the tables as I analyze previous business decisions and set intentions for the next year or so. The "cave", which was cleaned better than it had been in two years, is now splattered with slip muck and tools while mounds of plaster-infused clay that had been used for mold-making covets nearly every inch of workspace. Greenware pots are lining the shelves and sculpture is scattered here or there drying and waiting for the next step.

The living room has been turned into weaving central with skeins of lushly-dyed yarn calling to the warp. A tapestry in the beginning stages is tempting me away from some of my other chores. I know that I should first take care of the most urgently deadlined work, but on a winter's day it is hard to say no to the warmth of a nearby stove and view of swirling snow outside the window.

January and February used to be my "down time". Living in Lubec in winter the first seven or eight years could been likened to hibernation of an entire town. Everything was shut-down by 6:00 and nary a soul was to be found on the streets. The town has been experiencing a renaissance the past couple years and now there is always something happening between music, theater, and the arts in general. The new restaurants have bravely kept their doors open for winter folk, and for that the town is appreciative. It astounds me that I now have to, here in little Lubec, Maine, set aside specific time (as I did last weekend) to cut myself off from the hubbub. I think most artists understand me when I say that time alone, with your own thoughts, is crucial to manifesting artistic ideas.

Winter, the kind with snow, finally began here on Friday. It was short-lived though. I shoveled steps, decks, ramps, and pathways blanketed by six inches of heavy white stuff until my arm muscles turned wobbly. My mittens were stuck frozen to the shovel, and despite the frigid temps, my head under hat was laden with sweat. I felt like I had just finished an exhaustive hour-long gym workout. But like I said, the gorgeous winter snow was short-lived. Rain soon swept in and reduced the mass to about an inch or so of undulating ice. I have yet to try the car on the long downhill rink we call the driveway. A walk to the mailbox yesterday revealed coyote tracks, emerging from the woods into our drive and across the road. Bello, my feline walking companion, curiously sniffed the tracks, looking about with caution. I suspect that the coyote had walked as we did only a short time previous.

I love Sundays. I love how the world slows down just a bit, for just a while. I am going to step away from the computer and the chores and head into the cave, which has become the warmest space in the house since the new insulation was installed. Bouli will no doubt rest nearby, my guardian cat. Bello will occasionally saunter in, mewing and asking to go outside, perhaps to explore, but most likely to take respite from Bouli, who can't seem to leave him be for long.

I am grateful for my life. Grateful to be an artist. Grateful to view the world through artist eyes.

Unplugged....sort of

Clay form ready to be molded with plaster

Plaster poured into clay forms:
1) will be a hump mold
2) plaster will be the finished sculpture
3) will be a slump-type mold for clay or wax

Clay removed and voila! A hump mold, slump mold, and relief sculpture.

This morning I had breakfast with Buddha. Well, not in the literal sense. I mean, I woke up and laid in bed for eight hours reading the book "Breakfast with Buddha" by Roland Merullo. The timing was quite poignant. See, this past week I decided to take some time to "unplug" from the world: No news, TV, phone calls, email, facebook, etc. Just time to "be". My friend Diane does this sort of homestyle retreat at least once a year for several days. I feel consistently envious. My self-induced hectic life always has a to-do list a mile long with looming deadlines. Though a lover of reading, most of what I read is research oriented to learn something specific. Pleasure reading, like a really good fiction novel, falls low on the priority list. Sad, I know.

So I decided that I would do a 36-hour retreat. I would turn off the phone, talk to no one, read/watch no news (which always gets me riled up), set aside work issues, as well as things that I feel "need" to be done. I started to map out my two precious days of "just me" time. Then it dawned on me that if I were to actually make a plan with time slots for each thing I were to do, then that would be just like any other day. I decided to do something different. I decided to have no plan. I would do, merely, what I felt like doing, when I felt like doing it.

So, today I woke at 6:00 a.m. and reached for "Breakfast with Buddha." While reading, I had breakfast. And tea. And snack. And lunch. I laid in bed the entire time with Bouli and Bello devotedly at my feet, occasionally on my chest, purring loudly to let me know that they liked this new pace and the extra attention. We didn't leave the comforts of the warm silent space (except for food and bathroom) until I finished reading the entire book.

I loved this book. Not only because it was humorous, but because I could relate to the main character. I wish I could say it was Volya Rinpoche that I related to, an enlightened sort, rather, it was Otto, the skeptic who had much to learn.

The book made me ask myself questions like "Why do I find it so hard to meditate?" or "how much money does a person need?" or "when does a person consider themselves rich - materially or spiritually?" and "how much of our lives do we control versus what is fated for us?" "What are the most important things, and how would I live my life if I had no barriers?" All questions I've asked myself before, but since I had all these hours of "unplugged" time, I thought I might as well ponder the answers.

I have tried formal meditation many times, but never felt successful. My mind does not slow down. The most peaceful I get is when I am at the potter's wheel or weaving. I think back to one experience a few years ago when I was at a weekend retreat. I had chosen to attend an afternoon session facilitated by a man that was much like the character Volya Rinpoche. As a non -meditater, I was not prepared for what I was about to partake. It turned out that in this afternoon session we were to sit in silence and not move until we felt moved by something beyond our own thoughts....by something metaphysical, or spiritual; to be like a leaf, that has fallen on the ground. It does not move until a wind comes along and moves it.

Uh oh. Not my idea of fun.

For two hours I sat silent, cross-legged Indian style, not moving one bit, focused on a single nail in the wall. I never did feel moved by spirit to jump up and dance or perform some sort of "be a palm-tree" choreography, as a few others did. (and honestly, I thought they were bullshitting to look cool) Instead, I experienced my entire body falling asleep, except for my mind. My mind was just as active as ever, but when we were to each take a turn at describing our experience, I found that the words did not come out so easy. This was not because I could not think of anything - but instead, it was because even my lips and tongue had fallen asleep. My words came out, to my embarrassing surprise, slurred and nearly inaudible. Hell, what do I mean by nearly? I'm positive that no one understood what I said. I felt like a fool.

It was indeed a strange sensation, and an interesting experience. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I was happy to have the two hour "workshop" behind me. Kudos to those who practice formal meditation. It is harder than it looks!

That memory sparked another. I can say that once in my life I felt that my mind had emptied. It was the most incredible sensation. At another weekend healing arts retreat, I participated in a firewalking workshop. I had done this a few years previous, too, and still, met the current challenge with a certain level of anxiety. Preparation consists of hours of sharing feelings with a group, building a trust, and releasing negative thoughts and anger. To enter the coals with a less than pure heart could mean burnt feet. We were encouraged to think about our intentions and what we hoped to experience or learn. Knowing that my mind always felt cluttered, I focused on one request to the powers that be....that I experience a clear mind, to know what it feels to have no worries.

Despite hours of mental preparation and having walked coals before, I still felt my nerves rise a bit. But it was a magical late summer evening. As we began our walk, flames giving way to glowing orange coals, the lake came to life with the cries of loons. I walked the coals once. Silently. Reverently. Each person took their turn, some more than once. When all were done, silence was broken and those who shared the experience felt a new kinship with one another. Coals were raked until danger of fire subsided and everyone parted to return to their cabins for sleep.

I walked back to my cabin alone, down a tree-lined, heavily rooted path. As I walked, moonlight beaming the way, I felt a lightness - and an emptiness - that is impossible to fully describe. It was like I was walking consciously and knew my way, but my mind was clear. Everything around me became more intense: the moonlight was brighter, the trees greener, taller, the sounds of crickets louder. I could see, feel, hear, sense everything more intensely. I felt no thoughts in my mind except an awareness that I felt empty, peaceful, but incredibly sensitive to the life around me. It was an amazing feeling, floating above ground, like the huge burden of everyday mental ping pong had been lifted. I'll always remember that feeling because of its rareness.

After reading this morning's book, and recalling such intense experiences these two times in my life, I feel an urge to try to recapture these two sensations - one of my mind being alert and detached from my body, and the other sensation of sensing all fully with a mind that is completely cleared. And what of the two could be bridged somehow - would that be the total mind/body experience to the fullest extent?

I am now a mere thirteen hours into my thirty-six hours of unplugged retreat, and well, I kinda feel done with the silence for now. I know it sounds strange, but this taking it slow and easy kinda day has worn me out! After reading, I spent three hours in the cave sculpting and listening to music. I'm kinda missing talking to my husband. The cats look at me when I talk to them, but there is no reciprocation other than a blink or a yawn or a stretch for affection. I have (obviously) given in to the computer and broken my vow of temporary symbolic silence by writing this long blog which will then be posted and the link emailed. Other than that little break in the "plan" to have no plan and be unplugged, all feels good. It's supper time and I look forward to waking tomorrow to do...???? It's the great unknown. I will see what moves me.....like that leaf waiting for the wind to blow.

A New Semester Begins at Heartwood College of Art

Below is a recent piece that I finished, a three dimensional model for an installation
about military recruitment.

Let's Make a Deal
Shanna Wheelock, 2011
3D model for installation, 36" x 24" x 12"
Wood, ceramic, fabric, paper, acrylic paint, found object

Let's Make a Deal

(front side, view from top)

Let's Make a Deal: Curtain #1

Let's Make a Deal: Curtain #2

Let's Make a Deal: Curtain #3

Let's Make a Deal
(backside, view from top)

This week marks the beginning of my fifth semester in the Heartwood College of Art MFA program. I have spent the past couple weeks working out some new ideas and soon I will be able to step into the studio to begin the physical manifestation of my visualizations. It's kinda funny how the process works. Two weeks ago I felt solid about my plan, but then my mentors chimed in with their thoughts and it gets me to rethinking everything. Ultimately, the decision becomes my own, but there's just enough of a curve ball to make me doubt, then eventually come to a space where I once again feel comfortable with my (sometimes altered) direction. The thing about direction, though, is that it can change in a flash. Sometimes we choose this way or that, and sometimes we are veered by another force. Much of life is a combination of both.

Joining the program at Heartwood has had profound effects on my thinking and actions as an artist, teacher, and human being. A program such as this is NOT your typical educational experience where you step into a classroom, listen to a lecture, take notes, then recall facts for an exam. It is unfortunate that much of education is that way. Instead, with the MFA program at Heartwood, we are forced to think and create our own path. We have mentors who guide us in the process, who provide an immense amount of feedback, and offer an objective eye. It's easy, as the artist, to be too attached to your work and idea that you can forget that other eyes see and interpret your work in different ways. Art is, after all, a powerful form of communication, and we all know how lines of communication can get tangled!

So, I am beginning a new semester and am eager to jump into the materials. I have two spaces in which I do most of my creating - one being the dark 'neath earth dingy, clay-dust clad cave where I sit at the wheel or sculpt with clay. The other space, in much contrast, is part of my home - a favorite nook with a futon where I can get warm and cozy while I sketch, research, and write. I hop between the various spaces depending on which part of the process is on tap for the moment. The past few days I have spent time reorganizing my spaces, clearing out the supply closet, and taking inventory, all the while allowing the art images to flow through my mind. I have a couple of sculptural goals this spring, one being to create an installation piece for an upcoming show in June, and the other to work with a specific color. Color. Such a simple concept, right? Well, color is what I would consider one of my personal areas of struggle. I am very much comfortable with form, which makes sense since I am a sculptor. It will be interesting to see the path my work takes this semester. It's always a surprise for me. No matter how attached I feel to a plan, inevitably, things change along the way.

I will still continue to hone my skills as a juggler in the circus of life. Yep. Multitasking at its finest. I am bumping up production with my pottery and setting new goals, balancing my sculptor and potter self with my teacher self, all the while continuing to teach art in public school.

One of the major pluses about the MFA program at Heartwood is that it is both part-time and low residency. It's not an online course even though I use email for some correspondence between campus meetings. Rather, it is a program where we meet on campus twice a semester for intensive seminar weekends and presentation critiques. The schedule was specifically created for people just like me, who might be teaching or working some other job. Luckily most students in my pod are teachers and we not only support each other in our teaching roles, but we work on a similar timeline. It's perfect for the self-motivated working artist who needs flexibility in scheduling. Two courses a semester is half a full time MFA program so it takes a bit longer to get my MFA, but I couldn't imagine trying to handle a full time program on top of my other work commitments.

Speaking of commitments, I am continuing my work with Lubec Arts Alive and we are getting ready to begin planning for this next summer's event. Some of our committee members (well, more than half!) are in other locations for the winter months so it will be a gentle re-entry into community planning mode until everyone is back in town and on board. Time to get the binder organized and go over last years event to see what goals should be set for future, and check in on the financials. I love community organizing - but absolutely hate fundraising. Luckily - our community has been very generous with supporting artistic endeavors - both financially and with volunteering. Thank you!!!!!

It's a quiet Sunday morning so far. Mom has been visiting us here downeast. We've enjoyed a relaxed schedule and time to talk. Meals have been a notch above the typical food prep in our kitchen, and that has been quite enjoyable. (see pic below). Today she heads back home to central Maine - where life moves at a different pace with lots of traffic, strip malls, hordes of people, and appointments. Winter in Lubec is a whole different experience. Hopefully she heads home feeling well-rested and rejuvenated. Me, I'll snuggle into that futon for a reading and sketch session then head down into my cave to see what kind of earthly mess I can get myself into.

Link to Cobscook Pottery on Facebook - become a fan!

link to: Bouli's Fan Page on Facebook

Many years off and on as a vegetarian I have succumbed to culinary pleasures recently that include four legged, winged, and finned beings. The guilt was particularly piqued two nights ago when talking to the little lobster before she met her unfortunate demise. While I felt a certain degree of guilt before, during, and after consuming the sweet crustacean, Bouli did not exhibit one iota of remorse. Turns out she quite enjoys lobster and makes no apologies for it.

And - for you poetry buffs out there..some links about my husband's writing.....

link to Bangor Daily article
http://bangordailynews.com/2012/01/03/living/lubec-poet-wins-national-competition/

link to chapbook:
http://themedullareview.com/Chris_Crittenden_Chap.html

Lastly, a link to an interview with Chris that was recorded and archived last summer by Jane Crown's Poetry Radio. Ecellent interview. takes about 15-20 minute before the conversation gets rolling with some excellent poetically philosophical banter...it's an hour long....but well worth the listen.
http://www.janecrown.com/show_download_page.html

Out of the Snow and Into the Studio

Got a wee bit of snow a few days ago...

Current sculpture in progress

This past week has kept me fairly focused in the studio. Yet another snow day allowed time to work on a new sculpture. This one, when finished, will reach over three feet tall and is quite hefty. Throwing and wedging the larger-than-usual clumps of clay left me fearing I had permanently damaged my stomach muscles, but a few days later all returned to normal, noting to myself that I better be a bit more careful next time!!!

Creating artwork is not always fun. Just like with any job, there are parts that you enjoy and there are parts that you despise. Not that I fully despise any part of working with clay, but there are definitely some things that are more "grunt work" than pleasurable. Wedging is always a source of discomfort. It is taxing on my shoulders and takes quite a bit of time to get all those unruly clumps and lumps back into a smooth, workable ball. With the current sculpture, I spent perhaps equal time researching and sketching as I did forming the structure. The part that I do love, though, is carving. This particular piece is carving-intensive so I was in all of my glory for a few hours while I toggled from tool to tool to get the look and feel of my vision. Now I wait (hope/pray) that it survives the kiln firing so that the next phase of the process may occur.

In between shoveling last week's storm, I spent hours holed-up in my "cave". Chris said to me that I must really have a passion for what I do when I am willing to spend several hours in a cold, damp, concreted space below the earth, and actually crave and enjoy it. I never thought of it like that before, but when you break it down, yeah, it is kinda strange.

Amazingly, I am comfortable in that space, engulfed in messy, dry clay dust and mounds. For someone who seeks the just-so feng shui feeling of a home space, it is kind of odd that I don't pay attention to the lack of "homeyness" in the basement. Maybe it has something to do with being in a space that is natural to clay; deep within the earthen underground. Or maybe I am just so enthralled by the project at hand that my peripheral vision ceases and I am completely zoned into the form that is before me.

I probably shouldn't try to hard to understand it all.

A bit of rain this morning sunk the snowy yard and has created a new ice rink. It's like last week's "Snowmageddon" never occurred. Chris narrowly averted the intense shoveling schedule, boasting of sunny skies and warm temps while taking his afternoon walk with his father in California. He somehow dodged all flight delays, once again, upon his return to Maine on Friday. Bello and I are glad to have him back home with us. Now, I'm just hoping for another massive snowstorm so that he may experience the endless shoveling as I did this past month. I wouldn't want him to feel left out of all the fun, afterall!

I have some things to tend to over the next two to three weeks and suspect that I will not have a chance to blog. If you don't see a post next time you check in, just keep checking back. All should return to the regular normally scheduled life routine by the end of the month.

Hope all you romantics out there have a memorable St. Valentine's Day! (or at least your fill of quality chocolate confections!!!!)

Snowy Winter Encourages Artistic Endeavors

Last Thursday's storm brought another foot of the white stuff.

Teeny-tiny component of a much larger sculpture currently in progress.

Wheelthrown cylinders for a new sculpture in progress.

Kiln loaded and ready to fire.




It's been a snowy winter. No one will dispute that, not even those who live in the south. We have all had our share of it and it seems we can barely get shoveled out from one storm when another is forecasted on the way. This morning I had a "snow alert" in my inbox. Apparently we got another 4 inches of snow while I was snoozing, and last night the weatherwoman on WSCH news cheerfully alerted all the viewers here in downeast Maine that there is a "potential for significant snowfall mid week" with the next storm.

More than a few times over the past three weeks my arms have been reduced to a jello-jiggle after shoveling. It's a bit different here on the coast than what I was accustomed to in central Maine. On the coast, we tend to get a heavier, rain/snow-mixed precipitation. So, when the rest of the state has that light fluffy stuff that isn't a back-breaker when shoveling, we usually end up with a heavy, sticky mess that would give even the most Herculean of men quite an upper body workout.

This winter the forecast has called for more-than-usual "coastal huggers". Those storms that go out to sea are often clipping us here in Lubec. While the rest of the state (or even the next town north of us) may be dry and sunny, we are getting dumped-upon with whiteout squalls and mass accumulations.

So what does this mean beyond lots of shoveling and an enormous plow bill?

Snow days. The kind where the phone rings at 5:30 in the morning and the voice on the other end of the receiver tells me to go back to sleep. (But I never do!!!)

We've had four of them so far this season. Sometimes that elicits complaining since they have to be made up at the end of the school year, but I have sort of resigned myself that already. There is nothing that can be done: Mother Nature is in control.

For me, the snowy days have been great for studio time. Instead of my usual two days on the weekend and scattered weeknights, I have been able to squeeze in an extra full day which amounts to approximately ten additional hours of sculpting.

Winter is wonderful for creating, especially that which requires much thinking and reflecting. The stillness allows me to be more in my head and less distracted by the pull to be out in the garden or heading out of town, etc. Being snowed-in is the ultimate. Everything that was previously planned gets dropped from the schedule and that makes for pure creation.

I am currently working on two clay sculptures simultaneously. In general I don't like to have my mind scattered amongst too many things, but sometimes that is inevitable. The main component of a sculpture I began almost four weeks ago has a fracture so may need to be re-sculpted, and while I am waiting for that situation to become more clear I have begun a second major piece. With clay, I am always working against the clock. Different steps need to be done at a particular moment when the dryness is "just-so". I may come home from work some days exhausted, but I know that if I don't commit a few hours in the studio that all the previous labor done for a piece may be for naught.

Art is like that. Creating is pleasurable, but it is still work. Inspiration is a motivator, but once a piece has begun, the steps need to continue along at a specific tempo, whether or not the energy is there.

At present moment, the sun is still over an hour from rising. I've yet to assess what amount of snow we actually received overnight. I'm hoping for a shovel-free Sunday so that I may spend as many hours as possible in my pottery cave.

The beginning of a new piece always begs for extra attention. The anticipation of what it may become is at its height.

Sounds of Silence

Day after the first real snowstorm of the season. Yep! It warranted a snow day!

Sometimes you just have to take a hammer to a piece and start all over.

Bello has been feeling neglected lately. He made his way onto my lap despite my continuing to weave.

Last time I blogged I was crossing my fingers for a snow day. I sent out an all points request (begging) to the Weather Gods to please, please, please, give me a free day to get some work done (ironic, isn't it? a "free day" to do work).

Well, I guess the Weather Gods heard me, because next morning at 5:30 a.m. I the phone rang. School canceled. And it should have been, too. It was a nasty frozen mess out there with a mix of sleet and snow. Definitely not good conditions for anyone to be driving in. I was ecstatic. I laid my head back down on the pillow and snoozed another 45 minutes. When I woke, thinking of all the things I could get done that day, I noticed an unusual stillness. There were no sounds of heaters, no hum of appliances: just the sound of distant blowing wind.

Hmmmm.

The Weather Gods giveth. The Weather Gods taketh.

My hopes and plans fizzled as I realized that the power was out. How would I get my 10 million things on the to-do list done without power? I needed heat to be comfy. I needed light to do the finer, more detailed work. No electric toys to help dry paint?

Not knowing how long we would be without power, my first instinct was to shower before the hot water cooled. Once that was accomplished I clothed in the warmest wools and layers I could get my hands on. I turned on the Jotul stove, pulled up a rocking chair, placed a camp lamp beside me, and began to weave. I sat toasty by the stove, creating, while watching snow fall briskly outside.

The silence is not something I am used to, but that morning, it felt incredibly comfortable. I worked for about three hours in that spot, thinking how this was the norm for so many not so long ago. This silence. With only my thoughts to entertain. I felt peaceful. Focused.

Chris eventually sauntered down the stairs. His camping skills came in handy as he pulled out a tiny single-burner stove and prepared us scrambled eggs and hot water for coffee and cocoa. I'm sure that our ancestors long ago didn't have it quite this easy without power, but it did make me wonder what it would be like to take ourselves "off the grid".

I'm not sure I could do it long term. I have become accustomed to modern ways and modern toys. I would miss listening to music, the convenience of a quick warm meal, or hot water for a shower. Oh yes - how could I live without hot water?

Still, the thought intrigues me.

The power returned a bit over three hours later. I missed the silence. I missed the peacefulness. Even if you turn off the music, TV, and furnace, there is still the hum of the refrigerator and other electrical devices. Even if you turn off all the lights and heaters, you can still sense the electrical flow.

I finally found my groove again and got in a long day's work. One week ago I didn't think I would be able to accomplish all that I have, but I sit here tonight in awe of the amazing amount of artwork that has been completed over the past week. I finished three tapestries and am almost done with a third sculpture. The pieces have been in progress for almost 15 weeks and it feels good to see them coming to some sort of conclusion. Right now I am listening to the hum of a fan, blowing on a wooden pedestal that I just painted with acrylic paint. I am waiting for the paint to dry so that I can move on to the next step. It feels good to look around the studio and see all that has been accomplished in such a short time.

On another note, the North Pole called today. I normally wouldn't answer the phone on a Sunday morning when in the middle of work, but when Santa phones around the time of holidays, I think it best to Pick-up. It was his top elf calling with a message from the big guy. Apparently Santa was watching us in his big snow globe (yep, checking us out in Lubec, Maine) when he saw Chris, in an ecstatic frenzy, grab a gift from his Christmas stocking and tear apart the paper while dancing frantically around the room and gloating that he opened a gift and I couldn't do a single thing about it.

Well, I don't need to do anything. Seems Santa has taken care of things and Chris is on the probationary Naughty list. If I was in charge of all things festive, I think I would have just slid him right on over to the Naughty list with no chance of gift-receiving parole. But the big guy in the red suit has the final say.

It will be interesting come Solstice and Christmas, this year, won't it Chris?

Glue and Snow

Pomegrenade: one component of a current sculpture that is almost complete.
Ceramic with encaustic, acrylic paint, and iron oxide stain.

Another sculpture in progress - hoping to finish this one up later this morning.

That's Chris in the photo on the left, cooking dinner, yet again. It's been a week like that, with him doing dinner duty several nights. The work hours that I have been keeping are insane and if it weren't for Chris cooking, I'd probably be on a steady diet of Chobani and hot cocoa. The veggie tacos and a half hour walk in the damp moonless night were a much needed break from studio tasks. A good night's sleep was welcomed as well and now I find myself taking time for a quick blog entry before hitting the studio again this morning.

This past week was a convergence of deadlines. Grades were due, budgets as well, and projects for my two MFA classes need to be presented in less than two weeks. Most people I know are well on their way to preparing for the holidays: mailing out cards, trimming the tree, wrapping gifts, and shipping goodies to far off friends and relatives. My only saving grace on that front is that my shopping is all done. Albeit, the gifts are sitting in a bag without the attention of colorful papers and bows to transform them into gift-like delights. I will get to that, eventually. First, I have three sculptures and two or three tapestries to finish by the 18th. I look forward to hopping into holiday mode on the 19th.

Yesterday was a fully productive day in the studio. I have been looking at six separate pieces of work, each unfinished. The past fourteen weeks have been devoted to these specific pieces but it is difficult to get my head around the finished concept when they are in pieces rather than whole and complete. The steps for each piece have to be done in a specific order, no jumping ahead. As usual, things don't go as planned. After painting the acrylic onto the pomegrenade sculpture, I needed to attach the tops to the bodies. In the past I used "ducocement" and this time around, tried a superglue gel. Well, superglue is not so super, and the ducocement back-up did not cement the pieces even after an hour and a half of attempts. The toppers are just too heavy and awkwardly imbalanced.

When Chris returned from his Saturday morning vigil at Flatiron Corner, he offered to go to the hardware store to purchase some epoxy for me. I had already been there earlier in the morning buying all sorts of strange items which set me behind in the studio over an hour. He returned with 30 minute epoxy but mentioned that there was a 15 minute epoxy. Seeing how it is dreadfully painful for me to sit still 30 minutes while holding two ceramic pieces in the exact same position (times four!), I cried out for the quicker dry time. Back to the hardware store he went.

I had used epoxy in the past but was avoiding it. I am a messy worker and mixing the two ingredients is not the most graceful task. Extra glue spills out of the tubes, I get it on my fingers, it stinks, and on and on. But you know what - it worked perfectly. I had four tops to attach to the base sculptures. I mixed the glue, set a kitchen timer for 15 minutes, applied the glue, attached the pieces, and held them exactly 15 minutes each. Simple. Now why didn't I just do that in the first place? It was all over in a little over an hour and I was then onto the next step. Phew.

My Saturday was divided by work on three sculptures. Due to some structural issues my original plans needed to be changed. Clay is a tough medium in that you can spend hours sculpting a piece or wheelthrow your best-ever pot only to remove it from the kiln to discover a nasty huge crack. And that is what happened with each of these three sculptures, on some level. I have had issues with this particular clay, but, I like the texture and how well it takes glazes. On the sequential sculpture one component was damaged enough to have to re-sculpt. It was minor though, time wise (perhaps another three or so hours), but on the larger pieces, I needed to find a way to work with the cracks. The cracks aren't big enough to cause worries of the piece falling apart, but it did make me have to rethink the next part of the process, which originally was to glaze and fire to full temp. Ultimately, I decided that one piece would do well with paint rather than glaze and re-fire. Why risk it when I can get a similar effect with paint and a filler to disguise the small crack, which seemed inconsequential overall as far as durability. But who knows what would have happened with higher kiln temps and further shrinkage. The larger sculpture I just couldn't imagine any other way than fired to temp. I ultimately decided that it was worth the risk. Will I be happy in the end with my decision? Time will tell.

Folks who work with clay will most likely understand my dilemma. It is tough to put so much energy into a piece not knowing for sure if there will be disappointment or joy when opening the kiln lid. The anticipation is a real booger.

Enough said. I am going to shower and get rolling here.

Oh - snow coming in for tomorrow. According to the weather forecast, anyway. it's one of those quirky-type storms where the bad weather rolled off to the east only to be pushed back at us where it will swirl a bit around our downeast region before pushing its way back out. Severe weather warnings are up. Could it mean, possibly, a snow day? The first of the year? I am kinda, sorta, (alright, jump-up-and-down do a snow-dance kinda hoping) hoping that it is. I would love the extra day to be in my studio. The trade off is to make up the day at the end of the school year - a beautiful, warm, sunny spring day spent in the classroom beyond originally contracted days. But - the trade off is worth it for one or two days a year; to nab that extra hour of sleep after the phone rings, watch the wind knock around the flakes, listen to it whistle, and to be inside toasty warm, in slippers and PJ's, by the fire, drinking cocoa.

Of course, the actual version would be me in messy work clothes flitting around like a worker bee to get some work done, then outside every so often sweating it out while shoveling snow and trying to free the car for next day's travel. But I prefer to imagine the above, more romantically-stated version!

Rhythm and Repetition

Set-up and ready to start encaustics on the sequential pom/grenade sculpture series

Fusing the first layer of green encaustic medium onto the ceramic form.

Not quite done, but has three layers of green applied.

successful glaze firing unloaded today.

I've been thinking about some of the common themes that link all my work as an artist together. There are overlaps in concept that show up time and time again: mythology, war, feminism, spirituality, culture. I have also been thinking of the more concrete connections in my process and technical aspects of my work.

It seems that repetition is a common theme. I don't know how many times I have said to folks "I am not a production potter." It is true, I don't consider myself the typical potter who spends several hours a day cranking out fifty mugs for mass sale. However, I do work at the wheel and have been known to repeat the same form over and over again. It isn't so much that I have to do that, but I am finding that the process of repeating an action over and over is meditative for me.

I have been to plenty of retreats and workshops where I am told to "clear my mind and focus..." Oh, how I try. As well, there have been several attempts in my own private space. I have used 33 RPM records with speakers "guiding me" into that far-off space, or I have tried deep breathing methods, looking at the same spot for....hours? No, probably minutes. Okay, maybe seconds. But my mind always wanders. Ten minutes a day of meditation is supposed to be fabulous for the blood pressure. Why can't I do it?

It never fails, I hear that little creak in the floor in the other room, then my mind starts to wander. Next thing I know my quite un-focused mind is planning out a sculpture or thinking about what to make for dinner.

But there are times when my mind feels completely focused and balanced, when minutes turn into hours and time passes without me being aware. It's when I am working at the wheel, forming a sculpture, drawing, or weaving. These tasks, which all involve some sort of repetition, consume me and transport me to what feels another plane.

The latest fascination in my artwork is with industrial and military images. When thinking about this today, I remembered seeing a movie a few years ago with Bjork as the lead called "Dancer in the Dark, a Dutch musical about a factory worker who is going blind (set in 1960's Washington state). She is saving money for her son to have an operation to prevent the same hereditary disease. Bjork's character, Selma, goes into a trance or dream-like state where she fantasizes being in musical skits.

I thought I would share the video of one particular scene that has stuck with me - emphasizing the rhythm of the machines as she and others dance through the factory.

And while you are grooving to the industrial sounds of factory machines, I am off to grab dinner and sleep, and hope that I can adjust to the new time change with some degree of ease.

Weekend Seminar at Heartwood College of Art

Encaustics and brushes warming on the aluminum hot plate

Artist Kim Bernard facilitated the Saturday encaustics workshop.

Three pomegranates: the actual fruit, clay with acrylic paint, and clay with encaustics.

Wendy Burton created a gorgeous cool-blues and greens Monet-ish encaustic painting.

The Kennebunk Inn on Main Street was all decked-out for Halloween.
Considered one of the most haunted inns in Maine!!! (I had my own very strange experiences while staying there last weekend...so I am inclined to agree with this assessment!)

The old Fort Knox bridge, engulfed in pea-soup thick fog.

I just returned from my fall weekend seminar at Heartwood College of Art. The part-time, low-residency MFA program is an excellent choice for teachers because it works around the teaching schedule with weekend meetings, snail-mail, phone and web communication, and a studio component which is primarily done in your own studio. This semester I am in close-contact with two mentors and an advisor and so far the feedback has been phenomenal, keeping me on my toes, on track, and in critical thinking mode probably far more hours than previously-thought sanely possible.

Our "pod" meets once a semester for a three day seminar that is jam-packed with conversations, presentations, critiques, and my favorite, a hands-on workshop where we experiment with a new art medium. I look forward to the weekend seminar for many reasons, one of which is to reconnect with the other students. We have the perfect pod with excellent chemistry. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we are all art teachers who are also serious about our own work as artists. This passion for both teaching and creating filters down to our "back-home" school students, and that same openness and nurturing is shared amongst our own peers in the Heartwood program.

Every part of the finely structured three-day seminar is meaningful, but the encaustics workshop really had my heart this time around.

A lot of my friends have learned encaustics from Kim Bernard. I was ecstatic to learn that I too would have an opportunity. The one day workshop only touched on the very beginning of what is possible with encaustics, but it was enough to get us rolling. Kim is an accomplished artist as well as a fabulous teacher who exudes immense confidence in her medium as well as a love for the history and technique. It was interesting to learn that mummy tombs were painted with encaustic techniques, and that today, those artworks still exist in good condition.

Encaustics is an art medium that consists of beeswax, dammar resin, and natural pigments. The technique involves melting the ingredients and then applying them to a porous surface with a brush. Each layer that is applied is fused either to the support or the previous layer by way of a heat gun or torch. The relatively simple technique does take time to prefect. My own work most times looked like a massive glob of melted wax with inconsistently-placed lumps and a hodge podge of color. Somehow, when Kim does a demo, the wax is smooth and the colored layers interact harmoniously with one another. Granted, I am new at this. Nonetheless, I am the first to admit that my shortcomings are plentiful with this technique!

I tried the encaustics on a bisque-fired pomegranate sculpture that I had made. It was an experiment of sorts as I have been trying to decide how to finish the surface of a recent ceramic sculpture. I thought I might use acrylic paint, or maybe shoe polish, but wanted to give encaustics a fair shake. As it turned out, I fell head-over-heels in love with the texture and process of encaustics. I filled up a bag with goodies from the Heartwood art supply store and returned home late last night, eager to finish the sculpture.

Super-Feel-Good Week Adjusting to New Roles

Incendiary Grenade Sculpture

Small bowls waiting to be trimmed

Spinning coming along

Final bounty of the season

I had a great week. I confess that some (many) days the past couple months have been utlra-challenging. I've tried to focus on the positive and keep moving forward. So, in comparison, this past week felt like things were really starting to flow and make sense again. I am beginning adjust to my new routines and assignments; for a while there, it felt like total upheaval. So, this week I celebrate!

I have, in the past, been someone who would take a project and focus on it for hours on end. I like that intensity. But now, the shake-ups in my life have me moving in several different directions on any one given day, both at work and home. Yesterday I tried the new "way of doing things" in my studio - and to my surprise- it worked!

I began the day with a three-hour wheel-throwing session. Afterward, I spent four hours on a project for a client, then two hours on a tapestry, one hour spinning fibers, and an hour reading a book for a class assignment. I feel like I got quite a bit done and will try that same sort of routine today after I blog.

Other interesting highlights this past week included a technology workshop. My former profession before switching careers to art education was technology-based (both design and a quick stint teaching at college level before moving back to Maine) and I had thought that that part of my life was behind me. But it is funny how those things come back around. I am excited about the possibilities for our local students with the interactive equipment that will allow them to take their education beyond the walls of our school, to far-off places like the Smithsonian or even classrooms in other countries.

Another role that I play at school this year is that I am filling-in for the music position until a permanent teacher is hired. I never thought that I would be teaching music, but here I am. Who'da thunk it. Now that I am moving beyond the stress of being a "first year teacher" again, I am really enjoying it. It might just be hard to give up that position when the time comes!!! My history with music does go way back, from watching my mom's balalaika orchestra performances to my college job in a music store where I was exposed to all types of music and met many performers, to my time playing and performing with an awesome African drum ensemble when I was in my late twenties. This week, supply orders finally arrived at school. It felt like Christmas opening all those boxes. I think my favorite item that arrived was a Steel Drum. The kids love it too. I can imagine a steel drum band starting at our school. We'll see.

Spinning fibers is not as easy as it looks, but I think I just might be starting to get the hang of it. This week I will ply my first batch of yarn. Hopefully it will be usable for a tapestry, albeit a bit unruly, funky, and inconsistent. I have been working on two different tapestry projects; one for a client and one for a class assignment. I have come up with a an idea for a tapestry series and can't wait to see it unfold. It has sculptural elements and is definitely in the beginning experimental stage. I think that if I can structurally make it work, that this will only be the beginning of what is possible with that medium for me. I worked out the structural element while on a walk last summer. Crossing my fingers it all comes together!!!

Another awesome event this past week is that I finally finished the wet work for the "incendiary grenade". It is part of a clay sculpture series that I am working on and it draws in elements of both new work and a series that I began in 2007. Right now the sculpture is in two pieces but will eventually be permanently attached. I enjoyed the process with this piece, working large scale, combining wheel and slab work, and making those little faux bolts. Ultimately, the piece will incorporate light.

And just when this week couldn't get any better....Northern Tides launched their new website! It's a beautiful, professional site and I am pleased to be a part of their list of artists. Check it out. Deb and Jerry have been instrumental in changing the face of Lubec - or maybe better stated - in the "facelift" of Lubec. The downtown is starting to perk-up and is looking great!

Let's see, have I left anything out? Yes, lots of things, but I will blog about those later on. Today I am itching to get back into the studio. On a final note, I will share with you a video clip of the song "Steal My Kisses from You" by Ben Harper. When I hear this song, I can't help but smile. The toes start tapping, then the legs moving, the volume knob gets cranked...it just puts me in such a good mood. Enjoy!

source: youtube