No Blocks. No Sales.

I ran into some fellow ceramic artists at the clay store a few days ago. I was buying some glaze for a high school project, and I was fretting about my preferred clay being out of stock. Then, I flipped the script, and told myself how grateful I was, that I had bought six bags at Thanksgiving. Anyway, these artists seemed surprised to see me, because they thought that I had given up working with clay. They both do lovely work, and have visited me during Open Studios. But, they do Open Studios, too. So, we don't connect in real life. 

I haven't given up on ceramics. What I have given up on is worrying about my work. I really needed the money that Open Studios provided for me each year. It was an enormous amount of time and effort. To be honest, it was also super stressful for me, as an oversensitive introvert. So, with the money that my parents left to me, I decided that I could afford to just hop on out of it. I also gave up any thoughts of returning to Etsy. Talk about time, and effort!

My sister talked me into taking a step back. She is a creative genius, and rarely shows or sells her work. And, she seems happy enough. So, for the past two years, I've just been making my own private ceramic sculptures. Nothing functional. Just fun for me. 

The sad part is the pile up of work. But, then, I usually just find some way to give it away. I might have a sale sometime when it becomes completely unmanageable. Or, maybe I'll just post some work, and if people want it, fine. But, the best part of not selling work, is exactly what Mr. Rick Rubin is describing here: 

Video About Art as a Diary

It's pure expression. I'm not making plates, unless I feel like making plates. And, when stuff goes wrong in the kiln, or with glazing, I don't throw a fit, or feel stressed. I learn from my mistakes, but I don't internalize any blame. I was making a bust with a head the other day, and the kiln shed was damp, and the clay was wet. I mistakenly loosely covered the piece with plastic. The head split into two pieces. So, I recycled the back of the head, and kept the front. I just tore it up, and then set it out to dry. It is drying way too fast, which is making it kind of pull apart from itself. And, this is the best part about not selling your work: it is what it is. I like the blown up head. It's sort of like a mask. I like what the shed has done to it.

Being more loose about worrying, and not caring what people think or want, frees me up to experiment.

 

We Own Nothing, Really.

 

It has been horrifying, watching the firestorms in Los Angeles. I don't even know how to process the destruction. A few months ago, I was scrolling through photos of flood damage to many ceramic studios in North Carolina, after Hurricane Helene. One artist lost his entire town to a nearby river. In both instances, it was amazing to watch people rally together, to provide aid and support.

I live in a place that is prone to earthquakes, tsunamis, and wildfires. Our planet is slowly demonstrating who is boss, after years of mistreatment.

I started thinking about why I live here, and what is important. I started to think about my ancestors, and about why they came to America. On my mom's side, one ancestor worked in a cotton mill in England, with everyone in her family. All of the children worked at the same mill. Their goal was to save enough money to pay for their ship fares. On my dad's side, life was even more dire. One ancestor worked as an indentured servant, sending all of her earnings, except for enough to buy a pair of wooden shoes, to her widowed mother. Her sister also worked as an indentured servant in the fields, and was accidentally killed when a farm worker was waving his scythe around to tease her, and cut an artery in her leg. All of the field workers watched her bleed out and die, as there was no help near.

All of these ancestors came here for one thing: some land, and a home. Where they lived, this was not an option for peasants, and factory workers. All of the land was owned by the gentry. So, they saved up, and came here. I was thinking about the farms of both sets of my grandparents. Both families owned land. My dad's family raised sheep and turkeys. My mom's family grew hay, and alfalfa for livestock. They also had some cows, sheep, and a pig. Being able to own land, and to have a way of supporting themselves from the land was so important to them. Everyone worked so hard to keep their farms "going". They took great care. 

Neither farm still exists. My mom's parents passed away, and their home and farmland were literally paved over to make a parking lot. My dad's parents passed away, and they sold their house. But, it doesn't belong to their family. When my parents passed away recently, we sold their house.

So, I decided to memorialize the transiency of land "ownership" by making some farm wall plaques for both sides of my family. 

I was lucky enough to be able to purchase a home on a plot of land. I have worked really hard to fix up my house. In fact, I was obsessed with it during the first few years of being a homeowner. But, as we've learned from history, and from global warming, none of this really belongs to anyone. Originally, all of the land was owned by the First Peoples. My grandpa always had a metate and a mano on his porch, which he had found while plowing his fields. I know that my land was owned by the Calendaruc Tribe, which lived near the Amah Mutsun. I am positive that someone once lived on my little plot, because it is located high above the flood plain, and the sloughs which flow out to the ocean. No matter how hard we work the land, or how much time we spend on it, it's not ours. And, we will be gone, and then someone else will take over.

So, my farm signs are a reminder of what once was, and of the transitory nature of ownership.

Tidy Up.

I collect a lot of antiques. Always have. And, continually making paintings and ceramic sculptures creates quite a pile up around the old homestead. So, I have been trying to throw out some of the clutter. I filled one and a half garbage cans with junk. And, I neatened up, and organized my work areas, so that I can paint and glaze with more room. Brushes are all together, and so are my glazes. I had to drag a six foot tall ceramic sculpture out to the patio. It had been located in the study for about 15 years, so it was time for it to move on. There is still more work to do, but my house is starting to look a tiny bit more organized.

  

 

Art Splosian

 

Why do we make art? We make art because it fills our soul. Art is a challenge. We make art, but not everything we make is excellent. However, the odds of something excellent turning up, are increased by continuous making. We need to get in that 10,000 hours. One of my students in AP Drawing said that art can't be rushed, it can only happen when we feel inspired. I countered that notion with the famous Pablo Picasso quote, "Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working." I love the experimentation that churns out during vacations...

New Year's Revolutions

 

As we enter four more years of lies, and idiocy, I've started early with my resolutions. I've been test driving a few, trying them out. So here goes:

1.    No more news.

I've decided to not follow the news, no more listening or watching. So far, I've made some simple substitutions in my daily habits. I listen to "ClassicalFM", broadcast from Great Britain. It's like a pop radio station for classical music. Last night, they broadcast music to calm fireworks adverse pets. There are ads, and a bit of news, but it's not news about our country. I have been watching videos about art, and home, instead of the news.

2.    Less worry about things I cannot control.

Our country is falling apart, and the constitution is hanging by a thread. But, I'm unable to do much to stop the slide. So, I'm going to focus on how I can help locally in my community. I'm trying to be kinder in public. I am going to help people who are rounded up, and put in camps. I will participate in whatever activities can make change for my community. The process of having my hopes constantly dashed, believing that decency will win out, is unsustainable. I want to feel hopeful and light. I want to never see or hear TFG, or his billionaires ever again.

3.    Less screen time. 

I have broken my Facebook habit. And, I'm no longer combing other social media. I enabled my alarm on Instagram. And, I need to stay off of Threads. This is difficult, because I live alone, and social media provides a bit of community comfort. But, it is sometimes a false community. I am hoping to substitute the time burned while scrolling, with art and reading time. And, I'm hoping that the dopamine hit will be superior to that provided by social media.

4. Appreciating what I have.

I am so grateful to have a home, and to have family, and friends. I want to get back to keeping my home looking good. And, I want to spend more time communicating with family. I have assigned certain home chores to assorted days of the week. So far, so good. This way, I have more time on the weekend for enjoyment, art, study, and relaxation. I've been trying to better support friends, and family.

5.   Less unhelpful fear, and reflection.

This year, I started a new job. However, the reason that I left my old job, continues to irritate and annoy me. I spent four years not being trusted, even while being told that I was "trustworthy". It was four years of having my artistic soul crushed, and of having someone actively turn coworkers, parents, and children against me. Although I really am weirdly enjoying the adventure of starting over at the ripe age of 59, I also keep being hyper-focused on the past. Even with the upcoming efforts to make my emergency single subject credential permanent, and writing completely new lesson plans, I still keep feeling put-upon. I need to continue to mentally reinforce the notion that leaving the former aspects of my career was a show of personal strength. Abuse should never be tolerated. I need to focus on building up my sense of worth, instead of feeling bitter. What I'm doing now makes me happy. It's a better path. So girlie, recognize that, and move on... In the words of my dad, "The cream always rises to the top." I am cream. I am also a teacher who serves specific student needs. Throughout my career, I have been directed and placed where I can best meet the needs of individual students. I was needed elsewhere. I need to think and be grateful for the ability to find a new job, only five years before retirement, at the same pay rate. That was a blessing. Live in the now!  

Christmas Cheer

 

This letter arrived in the mail today, and made my day... I've been feeling a little cranky of late. I spent her year of fourth grade, trying to keep my hip and knee pain at bay. I'm glad that I was still doing a good job, because almost every night I would drag myself onto my bed, and cry. It got worse during the second half of the year, right before my surgery. 

I am thankful that I've had the opportunity to work as a teacher... And, I'm grateful for all of the kindness that kids have shown to me over the years.

Working with the Spins.

I've had a bit of a nasty case of vertigo during the past month. It began as a severe bout, with an inability to stand up without vomiting. And, it became more random, with short dizzying events. But, in between resting, I've been able to make and fire some work. I finished my holiday wall plaques. Also, I've got some work from the Thanksgiving Break out of the kiln. Percy has been a very friendly nurse, as I've been sick.