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.

Turning the Earth does the Mind Good

Transformation Tapestry in progress

I am sitting in my studio, breathing easy and feeling completely at peace. Sad to admit, but this is a rare feeling lately. Life has been speeding by and if there were any roses, no, I did not stop to smell them along the way. Not in the past couple weeks anyway.

Yesterday afternoon was a turning point. After two solid days of work that was accompanied by pure frustration with techniques going bust and materials running out at critical moments, Chris and I headed outside to soak in the sun and the first real warm day here in Lubec. We planted a rose bush in honor of Chris' brother Gudger. It replaced the ancient rambling rose that met its unfortunate demise last summer due to excavation equipment and my not being here to save it.

Digging into the cool moist earth was rejuvenating. In fact, I get the same feeling turning the earth as I do when working in the studio with clay. We decided not to stop at the rose bush. We raked rocks and heaved up weeds. Hyacinths and hostas were planted as an attempt to green the dreary dirt landscape that is a remnant of recent construction.

Today I entered the studio with a new frame of mind. I felt okay. I felt like I could accomplish what I set out to do, and dare I say, maybe even finish-up a project?

At 4:45 p.m. this afternoon, I was able to call a piece "done" that I began working on back in January. Maybe I would have finished today anyway, but, I think that yesterday's shift in scenery and time away from the studio gave me a fresh perspective.

I am almost done with a clay sculpture that began in January as well. Both projects are for the MFA program that I am in at Heartwood College of Art. It is an incredible feeling to finally see the ideas, formulated nearly five months ago, come to completion. Or near completion anyway! I still have a few details to work out on the clay piece, but I'm in the homestretch. Final project evaluations are May 15th, and I suspect that I will be tweaking things right up until the last minute.

Here's the interesting thing to me. I am forty years old. I have been calling myself an artist since I was about twenty. I have created hundreds of works over the years and sold much of them. But for some reason, this current sculpture feels like my first real piece of artwork. I might be confusing this with, simply, taking a new direction. But there is more to it I feel.

This is the piece that I have labored over more than any other, with over 150 hours and hundreds of dollars invested. It has challenged me to persist even when I was completely frustrated and wanted to can the whole idea. I stuck it out. I spent hours sketching, journaling, researching. No doubt, this project that challenged and frustrated me will be a spring-board for further pieces. And silly me, I am thinking of going through some of the same processes again! You would think I had been beaten down enough already by it, but as I have said before, artwork is not all fun. An artist has a vision and will do what needs to be done to bring that idea into physical manifestation.

I know you must be wondering what is that I have actually sculpted. I have provided only bits and pieces the past few months in this blog. I plan to post the final piece after my MFA evaluations later in May. Even I have yet to see the finished piece all assembled.

In the meantime, head on outside to soak-up some warm rays, breathe-in the fresh air, plant something beautiful, and remind yourself to smell the roses.

One Clump of Clay at a Time

From this.....

to this.

When my students are working on a project in class, and they start to grumble that something is taking too long, I explain to them that there is a reason that it is called "artWORK". Often, artists will trudge through tedious tasks to get to the final result. There may be disappointment, boredom, and disasters along the way, but maybe, just maybe....it is accurate to say that the harder we work for something, the sweeter the reward.

I am able to empathize with my students, more than they realize. I am currently working on a project that involves duplicating the same object twenty-six times. I was pleased to finally narrow my focus down to one object that I feel passionate about, and the sketches I rendered seemed like they could work for the final sculpture.

I was off and running.

What I didn't think about was the actual technical component of the sculpting and how I would meet that final goal. I could clearly see in my mind's eye the finished product....I just skipped over, well.....a few, important steps!

Now I find myself with a deadline and a brain that is working overtime all hours of the night (yes, when I should be sleeping) to hash out the finer details. Though at times it can be discouraging (and tiring!) I love that this is partly what being an artist is all about: solving problems in a creative and interesting manner.

It amazes me, this thought, that any piece of artwork, be it a song, painting, or poem, would never have existed, in this particular, exact, manner by anyone other than its creator.

We, as artists, bring something into this world that could never have existed without us.

It's sort of like birthing a child with its own unique set of genes.

So, I have this idea, and I think it is a good one. I haven't seen any other artist render it in such a way (or even close, though admittedly, there is a lot of artwork out there). Having a bit of a problem (obsession?) with perfectionism, but at the same time realizing that things just AREN'T perfect, I am working through the steps with moments of excitement, disappoinment, pride, frustration, relief, and that question that so many often ask themselves when it feels like all has gone awry...."what the hell was I thinking?!"

Each time I begin a new phase of this project, I thoroughly enjoy the process. Honest, I do! But after, say, five of the twenty-six objects are complete in a particular step, I am thinking...."twenty-one more to go.....twenty more to go....nineteen more to go....." You get the picture. Sort of like being stuck in the proverbial purgatory singing "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall."

Hours and hours of work go into each phase, preceeded, of course, by hours and hours of a mind-numbing cerebral workout.

For example, one morning I debated the best way to make twenty-six hollow, rounded shapes all the same. I could travel down, in my mind, a few different paths. I could ....

1) hand form each one, cut them in half, and hollow them out then piece back together (how accurate could this be?)

2) throw them on the wheel (after weighing each piece of clay on a cheap kitchen scale then measuring each one as it is thrown, and trimming them all the next day)

3) make a mold and slip cast (but have never done this before, lacked all materials needed, and knowledge! Plus, it would elimate my favorite reason for working with clay - the meditative sensation of the material in the hands)

or.....

4) create a plaster slump mold (which I have done before, AND, I could get my hands easily on - or so I thought - the necessary materials).

So, Plaster slump mold it was. The local hardware store would have dry plaster for me to mix. They are open on Saturdays. Excellent.

Now all I needed was a round form that was the size of a baseball. Not being the sporty type, per say, I had no baseballs in the house. I emailed a few local people that I thought, since they had dogs, might have a spare tennis ball, perhaps? No luck! Replies came to me "I have a ping pong ball....a raquet ball.....how about calling the gym teacher?"

Keep in mind, I live in a remote area where it is not as simple as driving to the local department store to purchase a tennis or baseball. Desperation. I debated borrowing a wooden croquet ball from my mother-in-laws antique set. Plastic saran wrap would protect it, right?

Panic started to set in. I had a deadline to meet and weekends with uninterrupted chunks of time are precious to me. I didn't want to waste a minute of this one.

After two hours of searching, calling and emailing, I decided to go to the harware store and just "wing-it". And you know what....it worked! I walked in, was greeted with a smile and a "can I help you?" My odd request for a baseball size/shape object from which I could dunk into plaster to make a mold produced, literally, a lightbulb moment! Cal suggested....a lightbulb.

It was the perfect shape/size! But just in case, I picked up a toilet floaty-bobbing-rubber ribbed thingy as back-up. And a few more items.....gloves, metal rings, buckets. Oh, I felt like a kid in a candy store. Eyes wide, scanning the shelves for unique contraptions, wanting to grab at anything and everything.

This is how artists' homes accumulate all kinds of what others deem useless and cluttery junk. We look at the strangest things and think "I can use that....someday."

Anyway, this is where I am at at this point. The mold was made and thirty (yes, more than twenty-six..just in case a few don't survive the firing process) bodies of the object have been formed. After about twenty-five factory-type repetetive hours, the forms are now drying slowly on shelves while my mind is doing another one of those workouts to figure the best way to make the next component, which will be, by far, the most complex part of the whole.

Or so I think.

For now, I'll just take it one clump of clay at a time.

Arts and Healing a Catalyst for Small Town Renaissance

McGinley Jones, of Twilight Therapeutics, with one of her crystal bowls

McGinley surrounded by crystal bowls

Clay work in progress in the new studio.


Living in Lubec has been an experience like no other. It has presented some of the greatest challenges of my life, but also brought to me some of the most beautiful gifts.

The first few years that we lived here, I was eager to make the great escape. It wasn't at all like the Maine that I was accustomed to.

The word "downeast" conjures images of the idealistic coastal life. Tourists think of Bar Harbor and make the assumption that all of Maine's "beautiful rugged coast" is accompanied by an upper class arts-enriched culture. Even growing up in Maine, I thought no different.

It was a shock for us as the U-Haul passed Machias, rolling down Rte. 1, bringing into view deteriorated roads, dilapitated homes, and few businesses. We arrived to our new living space, never having been here before, sat on the worn and listing deck, watched a white coyote cross the road, and marveled at the gorgeous view, smell of salt air, and sounds of gulls.

If I could have kept myself in that moment of peace and beauty, perhaps it would not have been so difficult a transition. Nonetheless, it was culture shock. Working in the local school system, I came to know the families and their struggles of living in a once-thriving industrial mecca to what was currently a near ghost-town existence with dwindling populations and lack of jobs. Fate had dealt at times an ugly hand for those who had lived and worked here for generations.

As with many small towns that once relied on factories for their livelihood, there is a time of rock-bottom despair, followed by a renaissance.

Chris and I have lived here just over eight years now, and we have been watching the changes take place. It is bittersweet on many levels. We empathize with the people who fear and don't want change, but once that door is opened, there seems to be no going back.

For me, this renaissance feels hopeful. I see an infusion of pride returning as artists begin to bring their innovative touch. It is this insurgence of the arts that makes me feel like this is home. My first few years living in Lubec, I desperately longed for camaraderie with other artists, galleries, live music, and a general eclectic way of life. I also, very deeply, longed for a healing arts community.

Long before we moved here, Chris' grandfather would often say to us, "Lubec is a wonderful place for an artist and a writer." Wooed by that, we took the plunge and moved here on three weeks' notice. The first few years, I didn't fully acknowledge Gramp Richard's wisdom and insight. I never would have thought, eight, or even five, years ago that I would have this new understanding: that this IS the perfect place for an artist and a writer.

Hindsight, I do not think that Chris would have grown as he has with his writing, and I would not have become the artist that I am becoming. All those things I missed about my former home, they are now blooming here before my eyes. I have found an incredible artist community, am blessed with an inspiring new studio space, and am surrounded with miracles of nature every day. I smell the salt air in the summer, watch the eagles soar, fox frolic in the front yard, feel the extreme stillness of winter, and create like I have never before created in my life.

The final missing component for me was the healing arts community. Like with the artists here, the true gems are often tucked away. Slowly, the emergence is beginning. It is a new concept for those who have lived here for generations, but also, on some level, part of their innate knowing of how to heal with the land and spirit.

Eight years ago, a few days before we loaded our U-Haul to embark on our journey from Knoxville, Tennessee to Lubec, Maine, I found a pamphlet about Lubec. It listed a potter named McGinley Jones. I decided to phone her and ask questions about the arts community, and to hopefully make a connection with a fellow artist. It turned out that she was no longer practicing pottery, and as life got more and more hectic, we never found the time to get to know one another until recently.

This new friendship forging gives me another level of hope: that the healing arts community is growing here, or rather, finally coming into the light. For me, this is my own personal renaissance of my spiritual self, which has at times been dormant since moving here.

McGinley is a gifted massage therapist and reiki practitioner. In the past year, she added crystal bowl sessions to her repertoire. It is exciting for me to see this new level of the healing arts enter this area. A few nights ago, I was honored to play hostess for one of McGinley's session in the new studio, which I would like to add, has amazing acoustics!

We were a small group, sprawled out on the floor, resting as we listened to McGinley "play" the nine bowls, each one a different musical note. It is a gift for me, who is normally in such high gear, to be still for an hour and to just "experience" complete peace.

I am not an expert on exactly how these bowls affect us on a cellular or energetic level, but I know one thing...Bello the cat was profoundly affected! He rolled around, flirting and begging attention, giddy and cute as I have never seen him before. So, if it made Bello feel that good, I can only imagine how continued sessions of this sort can positively affect a person.

It has been quite a fulfilling week here for me: drawing group, clay sculpting, and crystal bowls with a phenomenal healing arts practitioner.

Who'da thunk it, right here in little ol' Lubec.



To read an older post about the arts in this region, refer to this link:
http://shannawheelock.blogspot.com/2009/07/arts-gorwing-in-lubec.html