I imagined that I would post as we worked for two weeks here at watershed center for the ceramic arts. However we were so immersed in the clay and people that I didn't have time to look at my photos or digest the experience.I loved the feeling of being in Maine and working in the old building with out my normal habits and tools. it was disorienting and exhilarating.
The first step was to mix the local brick clay.
Make pots, and discover the nature of the material.
I have experimented with new clay, low temp soda atmosphere and I loved rubbing shoulders with the other artists.
On Wednesdays my yoga group practices in a church parish house in Delaplane, Virginia.We trade off leading the practice and at the end Tom lead us in a few moments of meditation. I sat on my yoga block with legs folded and back pulled up straight, my arms hollowed like I held fragile eggshells in my arm pits. I lay my left hand inside my right and touched thumbs together making an oval shape. The oval image came back to me again and again. My breathing became a graceful strong egg filling my lungs with silence. Shivasina near the end of our hour is my favorite moment of relaxation. The silence and letting go of every muscle allows space for new images. The moments allow my brain to tumble and not think and I bring my mind back to the oval egg shape of hands, armpits and breath. In the space of shape solutions appear, there is no narrative or evolution. It is like all of a sudden I can see how the jigsaw puzzle pieces fit together magically.
I have started making a few pieces for the wood firing in the fall. The ovals of ideas move with my breath. It has been a week to follow intuition and draw on paper and clay. I start where I left off and trust the the next step will come. I moved my chair to the basement gallery space for cool air and the company of the last series of work. I stare at the sunlight and images of eggs that I photographed in March come to mind.They are nestled in gas fired bowls and the pale variation of colors circle in my mind.It is like each cycle of firing is an egg shaped Russian doll. One experience is held in the shape of the next idea, each step grows and shifts.
Yoga is learning to associate with the seer who
resides beyond the language of the mind. ~ PantanjaliI
On a recent trip to Rhode Island brushes caught my eye.
Then, visiting David Harrington in Bristol, he took me to see his studio in a nearby old mill building.
David and his studio mate had a beautiful collection of brushes and tools.
When I got home I looked at my own homemade brushes with a fresh eye.
I started making brushes in college. At first I just loved how they looked. I made all of these but the one furthest to the left which I bought on Canal Street (NYC) in 1979 from a street vendor who said he bought it in Afghanistan. The longer I had them around the more committed I became to using them, to finding the voice of collaboration between each brush, a material, and my hand. They are made of my hair, grasses, feathers and animal fur with bamboo for the handle--at least until that binder clip comes in handy.
"I don't have to lay on the couch and see a therapist
because my therapist is in my paint brushes." Abbey
Lincoln
I imagined that I would post as we worked for two weeks here at watershed center for the ceramic arts. However we were so immersed in the clay and people that I didn't have time to look at my photos or digest the experience.I loved the feeling of being in Maine and working in the old building with out my normal habits and tools. it was disorienting and exhilarating.
