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praying for inspiration

June 28, 2010 in art, life | 1 comment

This December I will have a small solo exhibition of my clay drawings.  By small, I don’t mean insignificant – but, small spatially.  Perhaps compact better describes the space.

I’m planning on six pieces.  Smaller pieces than most of my previous drawn clay work.  The size thing is a real challenge for me.  The dedicated space for the exhibition is about 10′(h)x38′(w), which requires me to think and create differently.

BFA solo installation

~installation: BFA solo exhibition. 1985

I’ve always sort of thought visually in terms of actual size – life size.  As an undergraduate my drawings and paintings never fit into the confines of little illustrated vignettes.  I built and stretched large canvases for my paintings.  Life drawings were, well…life sized.  My BFA solo exhibition included several ‘sofa sized’ paintings.  Except, mine were actual paintings of sofas (and the occasional chair).  In drawing class I refused to be limited by the size of the paper.  A small page could easily be filled with a ‘large as life’ figure.

Thinking small.  Small in size.

I was a student of few financial means – as are many students.  I couldn’t afford large, lovely sheets of paper.  Often, I would scrounge in the trash for the crinkled brown paper that had been used to wrap rolled sheets of the good stuff.  Those crisp, hot pressed, mud colored sheets became my drawing surface.  Though the wrapping paper was less than ideal (and no where near archival), it was big and free.  On the occasion I was able to invest in good paper, it wasn’t uncommon for me to sit in life drawing class with a halved or quartered sheet of paper concentrating on a foot or hand because it filled the page nicely.

Thinking concise.  Concise in character.

~installation: MFA solo exhibition. 1990.

~installation: MFA solo exhibition. 1990.

In graduate school, I was once accused of having “little girl/big art” syndrome.  This comment was flung my direction as I loaded a 160 cubic foot car kiln with the parts to just one installation piece.

Thinking intimate.  Intimate in voice.

Praying for inspiration.

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it comes with the territory

April 19, 2010 in art, teaching | No comments

I few weeks ago I subbed in a level 2 ceramics class at the college.  I’ve been out of the classroom for about three years.  It felt good to teach again.

I was asked to demo bowls on the potter’s wheel, trim feet and discuss creating sets.  When I give throwing demos I always warn students that I will likely go about the process in a very different way than their instructor.

By warn I mean,
“students pay attention, there’s more to this than you think”.
Or,
“watch closely, that part of the process you’ve been struggling with may present itself in a new way”.
Or,
“I’m not just doin’ this to hear myself talk.  Listen up and ask questions”.

I find that potter’s have a sort of regional dialect to throwing.  Add to that the potter’s economy of handling the clay and you’ve got a whole new process.

One of the questions asked was about some of my tools.  Potter’s tend to make a lot of their tools.  While this is probably true for many jobs that require physical equipment, ceramic artists have a rich history for creating very personal tools specific to their process.

In particular, the question was about my throwing stick.  I was taught how to make this tool when I first learned to throw.  Those wimpy Popsicle stick like throwing tools that come in the basic student’s kit just don’t do the job efficiently – if at all.  Beginning students find this to be frustratingly true the first, third or maybe the tenth time that confounded stick ends up skewered into the undercut of their pot, hypnotically spinning while they attempt to stop the wheel in their panic to save the piece.

made tools

~handmade tools

~from top:
platter rib and aluminium finishing tools, by Tomas Mendoza.
twisted cut-off wires.
throwing sticks – (left to right) they become smaller with use.

repurposed tools

~repurposed tools

~from left:
adhesive comb, dog syringe, dental tools, spark plug brush, fork, printmaking tools, watercolor tool.

Chinese tools

~traditional Chinese tools

~from left:
mouth glaze sprayer, trimming tool, finishing tools made of Water Buffalo horn, sculpting knives, rib made of Water Buffalo horn.

 

handmade brushes

~handmade brushes

~from top:
Chinese natural brushes of a variety of animal hair and feathers.  Brushes that I’ve made – smaller two of goat hair, larger made from dog fur.

If you’re in the neighborhood….
My functional work us now being carried by Practical Art in central Phoenix.  Be sure to stop in sometime.

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strug.gle [struhg-uhl]

November 3, 2009 in art, teaching | No comments

bottle

struggle: (v) to contend resolutely with a task, problem, etc.
I struggle to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

struggle: (v) to be coping with inability to perform well or to win; contend with difficulty.
I struggle to consistently make choices that develop Christ-like character.

struggle: (n) a task or goal requiring much effort to accomplish or achieve.
I struggle with creative/artistic intent.

Of the three definitions, two are verbs.  They are actions.  They are every day, ongoing.  But, the third.  The third is a noun.  A thing.  A thing I purposefully place within my creative parameters to overcome.  Like all struggles, they are necessary for growth.

Over the years, students nearing graduation have bent my ear in a panic.  How do you make art without the support of academia?  In reality, it’s not the support they will miss in so much as the challenge.  The struggle.  The thing they griped and moaned about.  They just don’t know that yet.

Professors set up problems to be solved – generally referred to by students as, ‘this stupid assignment’.  Those problems create the boundaries from which the student is challenged.  So then, apart from school, the student must take on the role of “creating a task or goal requiring much effort to achieve”.

For years I have desired that my functional work relate more to my drawn tiles.  The processes are different and I’ve had difficulty resolving the visual disparity between the two.  Of course, I question why they would ever need to relate.  That is my swift exit from the contradiction I’ve created.

In the end, I just want to draw on my dinnerware.  That is my goal.  Then, there would need to be boundaries set up for the task.

  1. Functional pieces needed to be food safe.  So my glaze process would be different.
  2. Surface (drawings) should relate to the form.
  3. I want to create visual impact with color and contrast.  I enjoy playing with shadows to create hightened values on my tiles.
  4. The drawings on the functional work wouldn’t be as detailed as on the tiles.  Size and my desired output wouldn’t allow for much detail.
  5. I want to create layers of information without getting overly complicated.  One of the qualities I enjoy most about the tile drawings is the ability to develop layers of visual information on the ceramic surface.

I’ve struggled within those parameters.  I’ve seen some success.  But, as I approach the goal, I reset the standard so as to continue the struggle, so as to grow.

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love a good mystery

September 15, 2009 in art, teaching | No comments

Saturday, September 12th was the second day of a two day glaze application workshop I was conducting at a local community college.  The first day was held two weeks previous.  For the most part, this was intended to be a quick application refresher for students who felt a little stuck in a rut; a vehicle to step out of old habits.  One sign that your students are stuck in a rut: the zombie-like gaze when in close proximity to the studio glaze area; holding tight to their bisque ware only to thoughtlessly baptize the piece in the closest bucket of blue glaze.  Yeah…stuck.  This workshop included a mixture of experienced and intermediate students looking for motivation or inspiration to begin to see the glaze process as part of the design process.

The second day our intent was to look at student work as they applied what they had learned two weeks before.  However, our “design meets glaze application” quickly deconstructed.  The design process was halted by recent glaze mysteries.

The mystery was two-fold.  First, the tried and true glaze that suddenly gave unreliable results.  Assuming the firing process is consistent – as consistent as firing can be – usually the mystery is finding out which raw material is contaminated.  Or, discovering that one of your ingredients is newly supplied by a different manufacturer or being mined in a new location.  Some mysteries are solved while others we live with.

The second mystery concerned a ^9-10 rutile blue glaze that blistered.  Not always.  But, often enough to dedicate a good deal of creative energy to the shard heap.  As mysteries go, some are true mysteries, like the ones you live with.  This one just qualified as fussy.

Students said this glaze worked 50% of the time.  Really?  Why continue?  I assured them that they could create a new, more reliable glaze of similar character (minus the blisters, of course) in less time than it would take to do the detective work to ‘fix’ this one.  Yes…but the fussy glazes are always so alluring.  It does seem to work that way.  After suggesting the abandonment of this glaze, I was met with resolute expressions; persuading me to follow-up with a few options to begin their detective work.  Fussy glaze.

test: transparent green glaze

test: transparent green glaze

Just as the students were instructed, I also ran a few tests.  One transparent glaze. Two glazes that broke with the surface texture and one that should have mimicked the surface with it’s fluid nature.  The transparent test was by far the most successful in conjunction with  the intent…the design of the piece.  From here I’ll develop a color palette with this glaze and while I’m at it I’ll address the crazing…more fussing over a fussy glaze.

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