Vase

This is one piece I'm taking to the Tucson Art Museum Artisan's Sale March 27-29th.

Although it looks like it has three different glazes, it's just two.

I made it in a class and truly have no clue about the they were using.



I just layered them to test the reaction and drizzled the lighter one over the body of the vase for a fourth effect.

The orchids are the only kind I can grow--plastic.

It's definitely a one-off.

My work will be in the Southern Arizona Clay Association booth.

Hope to see you there!

"Compiling"

I don't know if I have a style.

When I was college, I definitely had a style. Anyone could pick out my pots.
I have one surviving piece from that time. (Not the jar on the left, by the way) It was the first cup I ever threw. Nothing special, just a handle-less brown-glazed cup with incised marks around the body. Nice little trimmed foot. (I love trimming.)

But there was an enormous gap between then and the time I picked up clay once again-- a whole lifetime, nearly.

Since then, I have been bombarded with information and influences. Workshops, publications, museum displays, shows, other clay artists.

Everything goes into the hopper and gets stirred and sifted, rolled out and baked.

Sorta like when I was taking Fortran.


You took Fortran?
Yes. It was the first computer class I ever took.

What? What an awful way to start!
I know!

How did you do it?
I don't know. I made an A, though--my one college credit in computer science.

WHY did you do it?
Because when I was in college, I wanted to take computer classes and I was told that I needed to have all kinds of math first. (I hated math, although I did pass a required college algebra class pretty easily.)

The computer classes were in the Science Department and it was a very exclusive thing. They had a death lock on who could enter them. I was given a list of all the math classes I would need to take before I could even think of getting into the beginning class. So, I gave it a pass. Turns out I was a natural for programming. They should have looked at my language capabilities. But then, at that time, all things computer were within the purview of the engineering types.

Much later when I took Fortran, I would write code, poke it into the (then) clunky computer and wait........the computer would make all kinds of rather charming noises (I like to think of it as little mice feet running all over the 'pins'.)

The monitor would display the message: "Compiling" while it crunched away.

That's the way I feel when I'm in these in-between, sensory-overload periods......I feel like I should have "Compiling" running in a light-banner across my forehead.

It becomes a quiet mulling of ideas, a mental doodle, a continual, winding sojourn through your own mind-forest.

Sometimes I fear it because of the inactivity. I punch myself in the ribs and think, "I shouldn't be doing this, I should be out there in the studio working." But the worst thought is, "What if I can't create anymore. What if the well just runs dry and there's no more."

It's like being an opera tenor. Their voices are so fragile that at any time, any place, they could lose it all--the voice could go, never to be recaptured. All over.

Creativity for me is not a smooth track, a steadily flowing river. It is torrent and and stillness; raging flood and and draught.

Intellectually, I know the quiet is just as important as the intensity of working. But the quiet still worries me. I feel guilty within it-- like I'm playing hokey. Am I just being creatively lazy?

That's when I need to go out and clean the studio. Or read Ceramics Monthly. Or write about it in my blog.

How the Internet Ate my Brain

(Unfortunately, this product is no longer available or I would have bought it.)


Used to be, I would go to the dictionary to look up a word. Now I use Google.

If I wanted information, I had two sets of encyclopedia, a bookshelf full of reference books. Ditto on going to Google.

Used to be, I would look up a recipe to find how to use up leftovers or cook whatever. Now I can find more recipes on the web than I need. With any number of variations of one dish.

Used to be, I would turn on my disc player or the radio to hear my favorite music, now I listen on my iPod, my computer, and I'm looking for an iPod-playing radio to hear NPR. (Although I have iPod-ed my favorites programs already.)

Used to be, I would go to the library or a bookstore (I still do, thank God.) to find a book to read. Now I order from the web, have days of books loaded into my iPod. So I save my eyes from reading in bed with dim light. (My hearing will go next.)

Used to be, I would take slides of my work, package up the cartridge, mail it and wait, get them back, check them in a viewer, label and file them in notebook pages. Now I have 3000 jpegs slowing down my computer speed, waiting to be off-loaded onto discs. But I can call them up, export them, copy them, move them around, index them, look at them on a whim.

Used to be, I would write letters to friends or call them occasionally. Now I don't write except at Christmas. But now, along with old friends, I have new friends all of which I will never meet, more than likely, but what friends they are! I've 'known' them for about, oh, maybe 12-15 years. Some I have met in the flesh, but most are cyber friends from discussion groups. And in many ways, I prefer it that way.

They are purely cerebral friendships. Just minds talking to minds. The only thing I miss about discussion group friends is not getting the little nuances of tone of voice, subtle facial expressions and body language--those things in real conversations that give you more meaningful clues. The cyber frriends I have actually met and talked to in real time, however, I feel I understand more fully when I read their emails.

What I like about the email arrangement is that I don't have to answer right away like a conversation in real time. I have more time to think about it before I shoot off my mouth. (Although I AM rather fast at a smart-ass answer, I have to say.)

There's a manegable time-lag. I can send or receive email at my convenience. So when I'm on chasing a clay inspiration, on a cooking jag, want to finish the last part of a book or have declared a cleaning jihad, I can expect to get at it or to luxuriate in unbroken time with no interruptions until I'm ready to be civil again.

(One of the horrors of my many and varied jobs was always the phone. THE PHONE! insistent, unrelenting, and usually the source of another problem on the other end that had to be taken care of RIGHT NOW.......There were days when I considered the knee-hole section of my desk a very inviting location.)

I have an antique Nokia 3588i that I rarely turn on. In my mind, it's for calling OUT only. Like, in an emergency. Like a flat tire. No gas. Forgot my purse. Forgot my shopping list. Things like that.

Besides, I have G-mail/cell phone account.

Call and leave me a message.

I'll get back to you.

Promise.

The Backward Cup

This is my trick mug.

I say trick, but really, it works well.

One day I was pondering handles. I wondered what makes a good handle? I picked up several of my own mugs and the ones I had collected and held them, closing my eyes.

I realized that most of the contact of the handle was registering at the top and bottom of the loop. At least, that's how it felt when I was holding the cup.

(I never could 'get' the thumb-stop thing. I guess it works if you hold your mug like a lumberjack--elbows out.)

So I wondered. What if you made a handle that was only the contact points?



I love to take it to shows and offer it to someone, handle facing toward them.

The reactions are extremely varied.

Most people refuse to take it by the handle, fearing they will drop it.

Most will wrap their fingers around the opposite side and then, maybe try the handle. Many people will not ever try to hold or test the handle preferring to hook their hand under the top and rest the bottom against their little finger or between their third finger and little finger.

A lot are surprised. And puzzled. Those that do hold the cup as if the handle was a full arc find that even though they know the center is gone, there is a 'ghost' center or full loop sensation anyway.

It makes me wonder what the dividing line is between those people who believe their eyes and those who believe their physical sensation.

Interesting..........

Of course, the inside of the mug is a regular mug--I wouldn't put the rest of the handle inside. Too obvious. After all, a joke is funny at first, but gets old really fast. This way, the mug remains intriguing.

A Spot of Tea

Just took this out of the kiln this morning--still naked clay--no glaze yet.
This baby is big. Fifteen inches tall; just under the lid on my shorty kiln.

Originally it had feet, but I had to take them off.

This is a new spout too. A bit more difficult to make, but I like it a lot. It's also hand formed, since I don't have a wheel here. Took much longer to make than a thrown one.

I worried that the handle might not make it, but it came through okay.
Several years ago, I cracked the code on how to make and dry these kinds of handles.

It's a secret not for sharing. It took a ton of blood, sweat and lots of smashed pots to get there.

The rest of the kiln contained lots of test tiles of terra cotta, B3 Brown and Hagi Porcelain. I made a tiny house of terra cotta, a small tumbler of the B3 Brown and a free-form vase of Hagi Porcelain.

The Hagi cracked on one end, but I'm going to test glaze it anyway. Very thin walls and a whole new handbuilt form for me and a radical departure from my previous work. The Terra cotta has a nice, interesting hand, but a bit sandy for me; the B3 Brown is lovely. Very responsive. I like it a lot. The Hagi is cranky, a bit short and completely different than the porcelain I've been using. But, oooh, what beauty when it is fired.

Taking a Breather

Just a quick note that I will be blogging again in about a week--I'm enjoying the luxury of a visit from my sister.

It's wonderful to spend time with someone who you shared a childhood with and know so very completely.

The Guardian's 1000 Novels

Recently, the UK Guardian newspaper published a list of "1000 Novels Everyone Must Read." (www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/jan/23/bestbooks-fiction).

It's interesting to see what they suggest.

The list is broken down in categories: Comedy, Crime, Family and Self, Love, Science Fiction and Fantasy, State of the Nation, War and Travel. Each category is varied in the number of books selected.

Now granted, this is a heavily weighted English list, although American writers are also included. (I was happy to see Eric Ambler, Falkner, Updike, Hemingway etc. on the list.) And the categories are not broken down quite like I would have done it.

For instance, Kim by Kipling is listed as a crime book. And Gentlemen Prefer Blonds is listed as Love instead of Comedy. And War and Travel could have been separated. Crime and Mystery are two different categories to my mind as well as SciFi and Fantasy.

In some of the listings, I've read the author, but not the particular title selected. So, I didn't count those. (But it does give me new titles to look for.)

So I wanted to know:

1. The total number of list books I have read----215

2. The percentage of books I have chosen to read in each category.

23 per cent---------Comedy
36 per cent---------Crime
8 per cent----------Family and Self
40 per cent---------Love
8 per cent----------SciFi and Fantasy
9 per cent----------State of the Nation
32 per cent---------War and Travel

3. What different kinds of reading and new titles/authors I might look for when I go to the library, order new books, and download MP3 files from public domain sources like Librivox.

Segway
I do read a lot of books that are non-fiction also, usually choosing those above novels. Generally, I want to learn new things in order to add to general knowledge.

When I was in high school/college, I read everything I could get my hands on that would be put under the category of Self-Sufficiency and life skills.

I wanted to know as much as I could about making things; be able to walk into the woods and 'read' the vegetation like a book. I think I bought every Foxfire and Euell Gibbons book there was.

I was also big on medical books, First Aid and Emergency-type information. This led to serving some years on a volunteer emergency rescue and ambulance team plus good information when my children were small and we were living in other countries. I actually diagnosed my son's scarlet fever and was able to get him treatment quickly when we lived in the Middle East. Frustrated doctor, me.

Old Reminders

This is an old pitcher I threw very early in my clay-making.

There are lots of flaws, but I've kept it around because I just like it.
It is a large pitcher--holds about a half gallon of liquid, but it will never be used. It's too heavy. The bottom is thick. The walls are thicker than I would make today. And I'd use a different type of clay.

The handle, although strong enough, doesn't have a flowing curve. And the top and bottom of the handle seem blunt. I added clay to both ends when I attached it to the body of the pot--I've learned better since then.

I do like the spout. It pours without a drop. You probably can't see it in the photos, but there is an ice dam at the very top. The spout is hand built, nice and deep, fits the body of the vessel and balances the power of the handle. The whole relationship between the body, handle and spout "works".

But the best thing is, I love the glaze. It was a special one; a spin-off from another rutile glaze that I had requested from my clay supplier. He had come up with a weathered bronze that worked well with my square teapots and was experimenting with a variation of the glaze. The lines are the result of dipping the pot in spout-first, then rotating the pot when I glazed the back of it. The thicker drips were rolled around the pot and surprised me when the drips fired this lovely blue.



It's good to keep something around to remind yourself where you've been.

One day, I'll make another and improve on the flaws. The body walls will be thinner. The handle will 'grow' from the walls of the pot. The roundness of both will be exaggerated.

The spout will keep the dip between the ice dam and the tip. The bottom of the spout will be in line with the bottom of the handle.

Or maybe I will use this form as a springboard to repeat but elongate it into an oval pitcher.

I doubt I can duplicate that glaze, though.

Life's Little Irritations

Since I've been nailed to the couch hacking my brains out for a while, I've been bereft of quality entertainment like sitting in a lawn chair listening to golfers cuss, (the house is on a golf course--is there a house in Arizona NOT on a golf course?)

So, I've been restricted to watching TV. And, not feeling so well to boot, my irritation level has developed a trigger switch. Consequently, my sights have rested on weathermen, or "Weather Presenters", "Meteorologists" as they like to call themselves these days. And maybe they are meteorologists, but grammarians, they ain't.

Like Zeus, they take possession of the weather as if they have some control over it. "We're going to bring the temperature down to the lower 30's tonight." or "We'll be bringing in the damp air from an off-shore flow."
..........It seems to be a confusion between the actual weather and their visual toys.

AND who decided weather men should yell at you and act like buffoons? Feh!

It's the Weather, for pete's sake.


I used to be so amused at the British weather reports. Very low key. Very brief.

I mean, predict the weather in Britain? Britain? sitting up there above Europe? Adrift in the north sea? Riddled by mountain ranges? Hah

So, it would go something like this:
"It might be a bit breezy today and overcast with some sun-breaks and rain here and there."

No barometric pressure, dew point, isobar map, Doppler radar.

You could walk out the back door, sniff the air, squint at the sky and come up with an about the same thing.
No yelling. No fuss.

Meh

"Under the weather" would not describe it--more like "In a subterranean toilet" would be a better description of how I've felt for the past oh, 6-7 days.

It started with sneezing like a AK-47, then runny eyes and sinuses, morphing into a hacking cough that got nowhere, on to face-and-ear-aches which became full blown body aches and muscle spasms. A low fever developed and hung around for days. Appetite went out the window and I had to remember to drink liquids. Even tea tasted awful.

The next assault was a head that seemed to inflate and hurt every time I coughed which led to a burning, aching throat and the feeling that my sinuses had been peeled. I wanted to be able to reach down my throat and scratch my lungs. My whole upper body was sore from coughing.

After spending my days on the couch watching a marathon House Hunting Overseas and my evenings laying in a scalding tub with the bottom of my nose swabbed with Tiger Balm, I decided to break out the antibiotics I had been hoarding for something else. (since the low-grade fever was still hanging around.)

I will confess to my doctor of my sins when we return home, but drastic circumstances call for drastic measures, as they say. Better risk a doctor's scowl than pneumonia, I figure.

So.........

A wan, weak wave from me, finally vertical again and looking at climbing Everest to get to the grocery store and lay in some fresh veggies and fruit to go with my chicken soup.