"Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the
dark. That's where the most important things come from, where you yourself came
from and where you will go." Rebecca Solnit
Zoe reminded me yesterday about how my solstice project originated from a love
of Advent calendars. She asked me to buy one and send it to her at school. Last
night she had been to a meeting where they lit one candle and read
inspirational quotes. The idea of that simple light reignited my desire
to draw. I sketch the dark and light and mix it with my pots.
Talking with Zoe (who is in her first year of college) reminds me of the
transformative experiences I had at 19. For her it is new to leave home and
meet kids from so many different backgrounds. It forces her to reexamine what
she has always taken for granted. I launch projects hoping for some kind of
evolution in vision or expression, but I don't know what it is until it is
accomplished. I am constantly trying to shift the boundaries of my work, subtly
altering palettes of clay, glaze, firing, and drawing. The job description of
the artist requires opening doors and inviting in the unfamiliar, to shift
boundaries so that old territory is seen afresh. We make or arrange or collect
or describe so that daily life becomes novel.
In this solstice series I open my mind to the dark nights. As in every year, I
am shocked and surprised by how early the sun sets. I have to push every
single evening to get out the door for that dog walk when there is still light
in the sky. As patterns shift with the season I am looking into the dark for
that unknown spark of new work.
J. Robert Oppenheimer said, "live always on the edge of mystery--the
boundary of the unknown."
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