The Tile Project that Wouldn't Die II

So how did this fish tiles thing happen in the first place? Ah, it is a long and winding road, my friend.

First of all, I'm not a stranger to laying tile in houses. Several years ago, I got very serious about this and took a class from an expert. My first project was a full bathtub surround with a few custom-glazed tile pieces inset into the pattern. Then I laid a kitchen floor/access area to a deck; about a 9 x 12 floor. I made and matched the glaze of a 1950s kitchen floor for a builder. No small feat, that. Next, I did a counter-top, then a free-flowing designed shower pad and a utility room floor. (My tile man raved about this and kept saying, "You did this? You did this?") And I've tiled the infamous shower stall half-way up to befuddlement.

But I digress. My initial thought for the overall design was to make bas-relief tiles using a full fish mold of plaster. So I made this. In the photo it appears to be an 'outtie', but it's an 'innie'.

And the cigar in the fish's mouth? That's added clay the stands above the height of the mold in order to make an indentation into the clay for an open mouth....think about it. I later cut it away on the second head and made a closed mouth on that mold.


I merrily pressed clay into the mold, pulled the slab out, flipped it over and, OH NO! the fish is pointing the wrong way. Well, not the WRONG way, just the opposite way I wanted it to. (Forehead slap)

Do my chicken-walk out of the studio and go back to the house to think.

Then a brilliant idea hit me. Take that clay fish and cut it into sections, bisque it and use it as a press-mold to go INTO the tiles. Sorta anti-bas-relief tiles. Sorta the intaglio/cameo effect. Then I realized I could make more than one head and more than one tail. I could introduce movement into the design. So I made these:


Notice I haven't bothered to be neat on the back or edges. No need since the mold is very thick, which I wanted for strength and the back or edges would never come into use. So now the fish will be pointed in the RIGHT direction.

The Tile Project that Wouldn't Die

The Tile Project: An exercise in frustration.

The Idea

Create tiles for my shower stall using the theme of a fish ladder. Now, I must tell you that this will (drumroll) be the third attempt at making free-form fish-impressed tiles that will FIT on the WALL after firing. (rimshot)

Really, I must have some sort of tile dyslexia. I have measured carefully, I have constructed carefully, I have fired carefully and still, they do not fit.

The Process

I made a clay ruler to measure the shrinkage. The inches were marked and I bisque fired, glazed and fired again. I calculated the shrinkage of the tile.

I then made a paper pattern to fit the three walls of the shower. A la Renaissance cartoons for frescoes, I marked grids on the walls and made exactly the same grids on the paper. I drew the pattern on the paper. I cut the individual squares out and numbered them. I used a copy machine to increase the pattern to correspond with the percentage of the shrinkage of the clay. Good analytical thinking, right?

After rolling, impressing, cutting to grid, bisquing and firing, they still didn't fit. Too much shrinkage.

I modified the design. I decided instead of making a free-flow pattern which had too much risk of warpage and poor fit, I would make a band or frieze with new design.

I am making the tiles now.

Pray for me.

Summer

Blue Jay Calls


bring back smells of hot summer air

of crushed green leaves,

wet dirt,

cut grass.

warm rain on concrete.


the summers of my childhood.

Studio Jewelry at the Renwick

A few weeks ago we made a busy trip to D.C. Each time we go, I have my 'rounds' to the Renwick, the Corcoran and to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. I try to at least make it to these places and as many other museums as possible.

A trip to the Renwick is always inspiring, but this time it was the contemporary jewelry show that sent me back to the hotel with my head buzzing. There was about 250 pieces of work on display.





















As well as this huge and beautiful necklace pictured here, there were about 250 pieces on display. This necklace is made of acrylic and sterling.

One truly interesting piece was made of very humble materials indeed--multiple pieces of colored cardboard and elastic thread. A total wonder. I spent a good bit of time trying to visualize how this was made. The artist had to (1) color the board with graduating colors in order to control the variation and progression of color. (2) cut out the shapes so that the juxtaposition creates the 'swirl' repeat. I wish I had a photo, but taking pictures was not allowed in the gallery.

The great thing about this show is that it also included some of the artist's working drawings and diagrams. I was interested to see the variations in these graphic 'thoughts'. Some were works of art in their own right; others were practically gestures. Quickly and spontaneously drawn almost in a rush to get the inspiration down on paper before it flew away.

Potters who Bake/Bakers who Pot

Many potters are excellent cooks. Maybe it's cross-over skills of the same thing. Mixing ingredients, experimentation, understanding how things blend and change in an oven.

A lot of the potters I know can cook up a storm. So it makes sense that a good cook/potter should be able to design dishes that work exceptionally well in the cooking process.

For instance, this baker is rather large, has an exaggerated flare to the top of the rim, is relatively thick. It is large because I usually want to make something that will last at least two meals. It has a very large top surface and a shallow depth so the ingredients will cook in less time and it is thick in order to retain the heat for a longer time after it is removed from the oven. It is also easy to handle.
















The clay is stoneware, the glaze is spontaneously applied Cayote light shino, rhubarb, and alligator, I believe, and fired in oxidation at cone 5.



















I use a template to cut out the slabbed bottom, throw the rim on the wheel, and form the upper rim angle, but do not bring it out or flare it as much as the finished piece. That comes later. I measure the outside circumference of the bottom using a piece of string. The side is thrown a bit bigger than the bottom. (Use the string to measure the rim to be sure it is bigger. Excess rim will be removed later.)

I carefully wire-cut the rim, but leave it on the wheel. After the rim and base have stiffened, I remove the rim carefully and open it by cutting it down one side and and place it around the scored & slipped outside edge of the bottom. Then I overlap the place where the rim came together. I cut and joined it together. I roll out a worm of clay making it the entire circumference of the inside and join, pressing and smoothing it into place using my fingers and a sponge. I let the piece set up a bit, then gently using a rib, coaxed the upper rim outward into a more pronounced flare.

Casseroles and Bakers

Recently I bought a machine that converts slides into digital files. For years, I've been taking my own slides of work as much to use entering shows as to document my work. So, I've been in the process--off and on-- of converting slides, both of family things and my work. I'm glad I have made a record, but wish I had been more diligent in taking photos of everything because I know there are some pieces I sold before I made a slide.

Anyway, it's interesting to look at old work. Here's one of the first baking dishes I made. It's all slab work with off-set handles. An interesting idea, but not that practical. It's much better to have the ability to grasp a hot dish easily. Flared out rims, sturdy handles are definitely more functional.

The oval blue and white casserole is quite large. I really like the look of it and still have it. Thanks to the flared sides and the end swirls, it is easy to pick up.






This last one is a small vegetable dish. The lid was thrown upside down, with a generous amount of clay allowed at cut-off from the wheel, then allowed to get soft leather-hard and trimmed making the large top area. I really like the look of it. The top ring area is about 4 1/2 inches wide . Easy to grip, but hotter than a knob projecting above the lid.

Butter Keeper and the Tool

Butter Keepers really aren't hard to make. After you catch on to how they fit together and how to measure the top and bottom parts in such a way to guarantee they will fit well, you can easily throw them with confidence.

A good butter keeper should have a large flat area on the top so that when it is opened and the top, which is filled with butter, is lifted out of the base, the top will sit flat on the table and not wobble when the knife is inserted into the soft butter.

I make a measure tool similar to a Japanese tombo (http://www.bambootools.com/tombo.htm). I use it at the wheel to measure the inside volumes for the water-bath bottom half and the top lid in order for them to fit together neatly.






























Take two skewers (they must be pointed at one end) and tie them together using a twist tab. You can snip off the blunt ends to make them shorter and easier to use. This photo is a close-up of the knot. It must be loose enough to allow the sticks to slide up and down and from side to side easily, but also stay put. The pointed ends give a precise placement at the center of the bottom and the edge of the inside rim.

Sometimes when I get a size I particularly like, I will take a waterproof pen and mark a line on each stick to keep that measurement just in case it might slip out of adjustment.

Or you could have a master set of skewers and just glue them together to keep them rigid. A set of different sizes could be used as a "master" set and compared periodically with a "working" set.


(I'm showing how to measure the base and top with a finished butterkeeper, but you would do this with raw clay.)

Throw the base first. This will establish the size of the butter keeper. Keep in mind your clay shrinkage and that the lid, although smaller, should hold at least one link of butter compressed.

With the base still on the wheel, line up the sticks so that the vertical is perfectly centered with the center point at the inside bottom, the horizontal piece level. Adjust the horizontal stick so that the point is lined up with the inner edge of the inside rim.

Keep that measure. This will tell you the inner volume of the area that will hold the water-seal part of the butter keeper. The butter chamber in the lid must slip easily inside and not rest on the bottom or floor of the base. You need to have space for the water seal to cover the butter and keep the air out.

















When you throw the top, you can eyeball the clearances by holding the skewer in the same way and guage how the measurement of the top is smaller in height and check that the width is narrower than the bottom. If you wish, you can make an "inside" tombo to use.

Another check of how well the two parts will fit together is to invert the top while it is still on the wheel and hold it over the base and look to see if it appears to fit.

Also, don't forget to allow for wiring off the top and bottom and be sure to make those parts just a tad thicker and you want the finished product.

Sidenote: How do you get skewer sticks to stand up in a butter keeper base? Muffin to the rescue!

The next two diagrams are from a hand-out I give every person who buys a butter keeper.

"Against Happiness"

Funny how things happen. After posting "Reflection" in the blog, this just came in my email this morning. It's from a painter who publishes a twice weekly email newsletter on art. http://www.robertgenn.com

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"Art and Happiness"

In the recently published "Against Happiness," popular writer Eric Wilson disparages our current love affair with putting on a happy face. With our "feel good" culture and the widespread use of happy drugs, everybody's trying to be cheerful and there are no decent dollops of melancholy and sadness, he says. When this happens, art becomes bland, unchallenging and redundant. Dr. Thomas Svolos of the department of Psychiatry at Creighton University School of Medicine thinks Wilson is right. "When you're melancholy, you tend to step back and examine your life," he says. "That kind of questioning is essential for creativity."

I think they're onto something. Life's not about getting free of pain, but rather finding happiness through service to some process with links to a higher ideal. A state of thoughtful melancholy and sensitivity breeds an elevated creativity and a more profound happiness. Here are a few of my own keys:

Work alone and be your own motivator.

Take time for private wandering and nature's gifts.

Dig around and explore purposefully.

Serve others as well as your own passions.

Look for potential in all things and all beings.

Face life's deeper meanings squarely and truthfully.

Move through thoughtful understanding to pervasive action.

Know you are partner in a great brotherhood and sisterhood.

Accept sadness as part of the human condition. 

Know that in the big picture you are not important, but what you make and do is.

Rogert Genn

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Theme Shows

I was just thinking in the context of past commissions - making an object in accordance with subject matter or theme and art shows that require applicants to make work that relates to a certain theme or specific title.

I must admit, usually I knee-jerk at the idea with a negative reaction. I'm repulsed, nay insulted by the kind of arrogance that assumes they can dream up some theme and make everyone dance to it. Who knows why a show has to have a theme. For marketing? I think that sort of mind-set reveals a basic ignorance of the art for it's own value and an ignorance of the creative process. It dishonors the artist.

Now, if I happen to have, on my own, created a piece that could fit into the 'category' or theme requirement that's fine.

The two commissions I have taken on were done because the subject intrieged me and because the driving force behind both of them was education-related. And I find that a most worthy cause indeed.

I have made and contributed pieces with a dog and/or cat themes for a charity sale that supports a women's prison inmate program to train guide dogs. Also a very worthy objective, as is Empty Bowls sales. The focus is on the charity and the contribution to the cause, not jumping through an advertising hoop.

"20th Annual Glass and Clay Show" or any other title that is repeated every year and the collectors know it will come around at a certain time is a 'way better marketing idea than "The Purple Show".

I recently asked for a prospectus for an outdoor festival-type event. A one-day show. Acceptance is based on 10 samples of work (photographic examples would be okay, it said). The paperwork stipulated the artists must set up their booth on the morning of the show, which means an arrival at around 5:30 a.m. or so. Although entry fees are not too high, a one-day event means you must make back the entry fee, expenses incurred getting to the show, possibly two or three meals, transportation costs, other costs like business cards, display equipment, etc. AND make a descent profit within 8 hours. But an 8-hour show really means half a day for loading the tent, display, business materials, merchandise; packing it all up and breaking down the canopy and shelves; getting there and back and unloading it all--probably as much time as the actual selling part of the show.

But the icing on the cake is the organizing committee requires that all participants come in a Specified Theme Costume.

That is a bit much. I think I'll give this one a pass.

But it isn't just this particular event that I blame. It's the whole problem of the way shows have evolved. When did we hand over this kind of control to organizers who sometimes only regard us as window-dressing for their event? We need to take control back. There are a few shows or events which are organized and run by artists who do understand, but unfortunately, they are not the majority.

Can you imagine Salvador Dali knuckling under to a committee? Vincent Van Gogh (that poor man) or the American treasure, Andrew Wyeth?

Who knows what Leonardo da Vinci or Michelangelo could have done if he didn't have to always find and please a patron?

Okay.

I feel better now.



This totally has nothing to do with the above, but this drawing lived in a not-too-often-used closet for quite a while.

Why? Because I wasn't too sure I liked it. Whenever I opened the closet, I would see it anew and so it was a fresh image every time.

It's called "Reflection". Nobody in particular, just an old woman looking at herself in the mirror, thinkng.

I finally decided that I did like it.

Drawings--rough drafts

I've been doing a fair amount of rifleing through some old work at an attempt (Notice I said 'Attempt') to better organize my environment and I ran across a couple of things I did for projects.

This is the plan for a wax of "Tracking the Thunderbird", a project that was a collaboration between the local water board, the library and the schools in order to bring awareness to the various sources of water in our area. And believe me, in the Pacific Northwest water is everywhere. It was brilliant.

The idea was to set up teams of three people: An illustrator, a story-teller and an artist to design a large bronze plaque. The plaques would all have the same basic motif--the stylized head of a thunderbird.

As each story was developed, the artist would modify the design of the thunderbird head to fit the different chapters of the study book. We met as teams and brainstormed ideas for each of the chapters. My group was Estuary. The writer wrote a story which the illustrator worked into the book drawings and I carved the wax blank for the plaque design.

Thunderbird bronzes which were cast using a sand mold process, were mounted on concrete bases and then placed or hidden in various areas that illustrated each of the locations and sources of water. The task for the children was to find the bronzes using clues in the book--a kind of science scavenger hunt.

It was a rather nervous project for me because I got one and only one wax blank. No re-dos allowed. I drew and drew, tweaked and tweaked the design. The main story idea was a giant snake controlled an estuary of the fresh, brackish and salt water and all the creatures that lived there and depended on it. He held them in the coils of his body and lay with his tail in the fresh water; his head in the salt water. (The Estuary I was illustrating was a very twisty-winding creek.) The upshot of the tale was that a brave sea gull marshalled a band of sea gulls to drove the snake from the estuary so all the creatures could live and thrive. Hey, I didn't write it, okay?

Does the snake look a little familiar?

One of the tricks is that there are 12 birds hidden within the design.
Can you find them? Hint: Think positive and negative images. And don't forget the Thunderbird.