I have had many ideas for entries in the blog but at the end of every day my energy has been completely used up, first by going to Stancills clay mine to get some new materials and inspiration.
We couldn't drive our truck up to some of the red clays I wanted so we collected several buckets from the more accessible "A" pile. Here's Mary Wolff prospecting on the "A" pile.
I mixed a couple of different batches of clay and began work on some new large garden pots.
The next endeavor was to begin new boulders for the wood kiln. It is wonderful weather, just verging on Fall, to be working outside in the wood kiln shed.
The finished boulders drying in the studio.
I had hoped for beautiful weather so our visitors could walk in the field and see the direct relationship between the inspiration of the Virginia hills and my expression of horizon lines and grasses in specific pots. When I walk in the rolling terrain of the Virginia piedmont, I rejoice in the moments when all I can see is hillside and sky. It's a similar feeling to being on the ocean when all one can see is sea and sky--when the horizon line becomes a boundary between the expression of landscape and the embodiment of landscape.
Not only have I been collecting images, but everywhere I go I collect shells, bricks and what ever speaks of the place. A few years ago I remember finding a seal skull on the rocky shore of Heron Island, Maine. It was bleached, white and beautiful in its mystery and simplicity. When I came up the path from the shore I met a friend who had just found an antique bottle near his porch. He showed me its peculiarities and obvious age with great glee. So I reached in my backpack to show him my treasure and his face fell. A skull? He was appalled and stared blankly at me. I asked him to think of of Georgia O'Keefe for artistic connotations. I have found duck skeletons and seagull heads and I am always struck by the structural nuances, the poetic possibilities and the artistic celebration of elemental forms in bones.
This summer has not included much formal clay/studio time. Instead I feel like the character Frederick The Mouse from a book by Leo Lionni.This book is a great antidote to narrow thinking and is a wonderful allegory for the role of the artist. While all the other mice are collecting seeds and supplies for the winter, Frederick, who has the heart of a poet, collects images to get all the mice through the winter.
