*
spun from still gray clay
drinking vessel flowers rise
quick stems opening
(*the mugventure continues.)
spun from still gray clay
drinking vessel flowers rise
quick stems opening
(*the mugventure continues.)
Muggus Jumbo-issimus: It's all About the Process
Six hundred grams of clay makes a whopping big mug. In fact, it makes a beer stein. Today I put the handles on 24 beer stein-sized mugs.
Late last week these were thrown, with little to trim away later. A day later, the bottoms were "thumbed off" around the edges to clean them up. This is satisfying. It's just a firm thumb swipe all around the bottom edge to pull off extra clay. It beats trimming with a tool for speed and casual accuracy, and it feels...elemental. A sort of visceral clay-thumb connection takes place.
The mugs were "fluted" after that. I took a loop-shaped tool to the first mug, and swiped a shallow line down the outside, starting at the center of the belly and sliding straight down to the bottom, over curves, like riding a sled with a single runner down a hill. (You have to do this with a sure touch, or what you've done just looks like an uneven gouge.) This move creates an indentation about 1/8" wide and less than 1/16" deep. Smooth little glides of clay come off the loop tool as you go along. Then- this is a nice contemplative action- I followed the first swipe with another beside it, then another, all around the mug. The lines go marching, the potter gets in the zone, and this is called "fluting".
Fluting was followed by sponging off. Cutting a flute in a soft-ish pot leaves little burrs of clay along the cuts. A well squeezed-out sponge moving up and down swipes the burrs away and leaves clean lines that will not be sharp-edged after they've been fired. A nice upward delicate swipe gives the top of each flute a little arch. I know I'm getting into the minutiae of the flute here, but hey, I'm alone in the studio much of the day, I ought to find my work engrossing. Flutes are more interesting than my navel for gazing purposes.
By the time I was done thumbing and fluting, the day was at an end and so was the work week. About 8 pieces of dry cleaner plastic covered the board of mug bodies for a couple of days. I couldn't get to them, but they were on my mind. Well, thinking of unfinished mugs beats worrying about my kids, traveling in Cambodia and Laos on vacation.
Thumbing. Fluting. Now, pulling handles. Today was handle day. The Muggi Jumbo-issimi needed sturdy handles. 16 to 20 ounces of fluid have to be held up comfortably. Even if your wrist gives out from the weight, the handle should be up to the task. I paused to consider the length and width of handles required. Then, with a couple of long boards set up to take the handles as I made 'em, I "pulled" 24 handles, plus a few spares in case.
Finally, I applied the handles, and added thumb rests to top each one. Re-covered lightly with plastic in my new, improvised damp cabinet (baker's rack plus plastic- thanks, Dirtkicker Pottery, for the idea!), the mugs and handles are downstairs communing with one another and exchanging body fluids... I mean, evening out the dampness between body and handle, so they will not crack apart by drying too quickly. (But who knows what really goes on when the mugs are mugging alone together downstairs.) Now I can think of what I would like to make next. I think it will be other sorts of mugs and cups. My website needs a design-a-mug page and I want to give the people photos of their size-shape-color-handle type options!
Engrossing, muggy First of June, 2010.
Late last week these were thrown, with little to trim away later. A day later, the bottoms were "thumbed off" around the edges to clean them up. This is satisfying. It's just a firm thumb swipe all around the bottom edge to pull off extra clay. It beats trimming with a tool for speed and casual accuracy, and it feels...elemental. A sort of visceral clay-thumb connection takes place.
The mugs were "fluted" after that. I took a loop-shaped tool to the first mug, and swiped a shallow line down the outside, starting at the center of the belly and sliding straight down to the bottom, over curves, like riding a sled with a single runner down a hill. (You have to do this with a sure touch, or what you've done just looks like an uneven gouge.) This move creates an indentation about 1/8" wide and less than 1/16" deep. Smooth little glides of clay come off the loop tool as you go along. Then- this is a nice contemplative action- I followed the first swipe with another beside it, then another, all around the mug. The lines go marching, the potter gets in the zone, and this is called "fluting".
Fluting was followed by sponging off. Cutting a flute in a soft-ish pot leaves little burrs of clay along the cuts. A well squeezed-out sponge moving up and down swipes the burrs away and leaves clean lines that will not be sharp-edged after they've been fired. A nice upward delicate swipe gives the top of each flute a little arch. I know I'm getting into the minutiae of the flute here, but hey, I'm alone in the studio much of the day, I ought to find my work engrossing. Flutes are more interesting than my navel for gazing purposes.
By the time I was done thumbing and fluting, the day was at an end and so was the work week. About 8 pieces of dry cleaner plastic covered the board of mug bodies for a couple of days. I couldn't get to them, but they were on my mind. Well, thinking of unfinished mugs beats worrying about my kids, traveling in Cambodia and Laos on vacation.
Thumbing. Fluting. Now, pulling handles. Today was handle day. The Muggi Jumbo-issimi needed sturdy handles. 16 to 20 ounces of fluid have to be held up comfortably. Even if your wrist gives out from the weight, the handle should be up to the task. I paused to consider the length and width of handles required. Then, with a couple of long boards set up to take the handles as I made 'em, I "pulled" 24 handles, plus a few spares in case.
Finally, I applied the handles, and added thumb rests to top each one. Re-covered lightly with plastic in my new, improvised damp cabinet (baker's rack plus plastic- thanks, Dirtkicker Pottery, for the idea!), the mugs and handles are downstairs communing with one another and exchanging body fluids... I mean, evening out the dampness between body and handle, so they will not crack apart by drying too quickly. (But who knows what really goes on when the mugs are mugging alone together downstairs.) Now I can think of what I would like to make next. I think it will be other sorts of mugs and cups. My website needs a design-a-mug page and I want to give the people photos of their size-shape-color-handle type options!
Engrossing, muggy First of June, 2010.
Swamp of Despair
Unloaded the bisque kiln today, faithful readers. The very kiln filled with- you guessed it- 10” dinner plates. Dinner plates made from my new dark clay, with even darker chocolate brown slip brushed lavishly on each center like large thin Swiss Fudge cookies. They were lovely when they were raw, before they were dried and fired.
But then I unloaded this bisque kiln. Ugh. UGH! Bad plates, bad! Into the trash with you! And you!
The smooth-as-pudding slip in the plate centers crackled and lifted delicately in the heat of the kiln like a finely textured salt marsh on the fringes of the Kalahari. Not. Ideal.
The plates themselves, so nice and light in weight, had dried unevenly. TOO thin! The bottoms of two were cracked all around, ready to drop out.
The rest were okay, maybe… It is so tiring to achieve “okay, maybe” when what I want is “Oooohhh, yes.” I won't even know till they are glazed and fired again whether the Kalahari slip can be compensated for with a glaze layer on top. I can only grit my teeth and hope.
The kiln also contained nice big cereal bowls. So the electricity used to fire this otherwise stinkin’ load will at least be paid for when I finally sell the bowls. People like big cereal bowls. Cereal bowls and nice big mugs are bread and butter.
There is a symbolic kayak waiting to ride me out of this Swamp of Despair. It is a day spent making mugs, and a day or two of trimming and handle-making to complete them. And that, my friends, is this week’s antidote. Then next week, if I’ve gathered up enough Plate Commitment to continue, I’ll have another go.
Sigh.
But then I unloaded this bisque kiln. Ugh. UGH! Bad plates, bad! Into the trash with you! And you!
The smooth-as-pudding slip in the plate centers crackled and lifted delicately in the heat of the kiln like a finely textured salt marsh on the fringes of the Kalahari. Not. Ideal.
The plates themselves, so nice and light in weight, had dried unevenly. TOO thin! The bottoms of two were cracked all around, ready to drop out.
The rest were okay, maybe… It is so tiring to achieve “okay, maybe” when what I want is “Oooohhh, yes.” I won't even know till they are glazed and fired again whether the Kalahari slip can be compensated for with a glaze layer on top. I can only grit my teeth and hope.
The kiln also contained nice big cereal bowls. So the electricity used to fire this otherwise stinkin’ load will at least be paid for when I finally sell the bowls. People like big cereal bowls. Cereal bowls and nice big mugs are bread and butter.
There is a symbolic kayak waiting to ride me out of this Swamp of Despair. It is a day spent making mugs, and a day or two of trimming and handle-making to complete them. And that, my friends, is this week’s antidote. Then next week, if I’ve gathered up enough Plate Commitment to continue, I’ll have another go.
Sigh.
Dinner Plate Challenge
Plates. Despite 25 years of making pots, even I have never cared much about ‘em. Plates are dinnerware, and I haven’t really done dinnerware. Making dinnerware means throwing one sort of form repeatedly to the same dimensions, with the same size and angle of rim, the same foot lifting it the same distance from the table. This, sadly, has not been my forte. The gauntlet, however, has been thrown down.
Three weeks ago, I approached a gallery about selling my work, and the owner had a request. Did I make 10” dinner plates? Would I make them of rough brown clay, with not too large a rim?
So now, yes, I will. I’m not sure she’ll want them when I’m done. She has an image in her head of what she wants. I have an image in mine of what I’m willing to do. I’m not even sure I know how to charge the right price. Even so, this challenge is about to break the dinnerware (sorry, bad pun) barrier at M. S. Pottery.
I found a teaching video that told me exactly what I needed to know.
If I can get muscles like this potter's from just throwing plates, that would be cool.
Besides the technique demo, this woman even tells me how much clay (about 3 lbs. per plate), how wide to make the wet plate (12”, which will shrink to 10”), and how to form the rim. Basically, I knew conceptually how to do this, after all, but a little extra guidance got the motion going.
Off I went to Ceramic Supply, got some brown clay that was NOT rough (an executive decision; rough clay scratches your cabinet and table- bad for sales) and got down to business.
It isn't rocket science. I got it pretty quickly. Why'd I wait so long to go for it? Shapes and sizes were approximately similar. Angle of rim had a learning curve, though. Rims all need to match, so the plates can be shelved in a nice neat stack. But rims like to lift when drying. While you are making them, each one has to be made to the same angle as the next, so they will lift at the same angle as they dry. I had to recycle the ones with rim differences back into lumps. After a day's work, only six were set to dry in the kiln room. This morning I threw another 6 on my handy dandy old Lockerbie kick wheel, and I'm about to thrown some more. I’m shooting for a couple dozen this week, or till I run out of brown clay, since this is a trial run and I only bought 100 lbs. Then back to the gallery owner, who can take them or not. If they’re nice, the price is right, and I can scoot some traffic to my website, they may sell there too.
Challenges keep the work fresh, and the work is always having to be fresh, because challenges are perpetual.
Next, maybe, the elusive and so far unsuccessful Seder plate..?
Three weeks ago, I approached a gallery about selling my work, and the owner had a request. Did I make 10” dinner plates? Would I make them of rough brown clay, with not too large a rim?
So now, yes, I will. I’m not sure she’ll want them when I’m done. She has an image in her head of what she wants. I have an image in mine of what I’m willing to do. I’m not even sure I know how to charge the right price. Even so, this challenge is about to break the dinnerware (sorry, bad pun) barrier at M. S. Pottery.
I found a teaching video that told me exactly what I needed to know.
If I can get muscles like this potter's from just throwing plates, that would be cool.
Besides the technique demo, this woman even tells me how much clay (about 3 lbs. per plate), how wide to make the wet plate (12”, which will shrink to 10”), and how to form the rim. Basically, I knew conceptually how to do this, after all, but a little extra guidance got the motion going.
Off I went to Ceramic Supply, got some brown clay that was NOT rough (an executive decision; rough clay scratches your cabinet and table- bad for sales) and got down to business.
It isn't rocket science. I got it pretty quickly. Why'd I wait so long to go for it? Shapes and sizes were approximately similar. Angle of rim had a learning curve, though. Rims all need to match, so the plates can be shelved in a nice neat stack. But rims like to lift when drying. While you are making them, each one has to be made to the same angle as the next, so they will lift at the same angle as they dry. I had to recycle the ones with rim differences back into lumps. After a day's work, only six were set to dry in the kiln room. This morning I threw another 6 on my handy dandy old Lockerbie kick wheel, and I'm about to thrown some more. I’m shooting for a couple dozen this week, or till I run out of brown clay, since this is a trial run and I only bought 100 lbs. Then back to the gallery owner, who can take them or not. If they’re nice, the price is right, and I can scoot some traffic to my website, they may sell there too.
Challenges keep the work fresh, and the work is always having to be fresh, because challenges are perpetual.
Next, maybe, the elusive and so far unsuccessful Seder plate..?
How Was the Show?
The show is over and, to answer the question I have been asked often in the last week, it was good.
What does the question mean, “How was your show?” Well, you reading this, what do you think? I would really like to know. Does it mean, “Did people show up?” Does it mean “Did people buy your pottery?” Does it mean, “Did you enjoy the experience?” Does it mean “Did you make money?” Help me interpret.
My usually reply to “How was your show?” is, “Good.” A vague question, a general answer. Sometimes there’s a further question: “Did people buy your work?” I respond to that, “Yes, they did.” To the further question- and I wonder if you agree that this is pretty nosy? “Did you make money?” I want to say, “How is your salary lately?” but I don’t. I just say, “It was a good show,” and I smile, which people can read any way they like. People don’t mean to pry, they were just, um, curious. I just realize some people (not you, of course!) are kind of clueless about making pots; feel free to lead the uninformed to this blog! Call it public service to potters... Explain about the hobby versus work thing, OK?
So this is a nice time to point out that pricing, labeling, writing up inventory, packing, hauling, unpacking, setting up show furniture and pottery, and manning my booth is just the laborious bump at the end of months of making & firing cycles in the studio. What I have invested in a show began long before the show. It is not a hobby, it is not a game, it is not “How lovely, so relaxing” as is one’s experience at paint-your-own shops. (It's true; I'm a bit tired of hearing "How relaxing.") Shows are one facet of a studio and retail website program.
Being a potter is a creative, exciting, heavy-lifting, muscle-using, dirty, messy, visceral experience that wraps up design ideas, powers of observation and active, continuing education, physical ability and tenacity. I do love to make pottery. It is work. I am trying to make it pay better. Sometimes it does.
Having said that, it was a good show. We had various booths, made up of 18 varied painters, four jewelers of different sorts, one local chocolatier, and me. The crowd was heavy for our one-day event, which had been widely advertised in large mailings, emails, posters, and newspaper items. I made money for me, for the gallery’s cut, and the 15% donation for the social service organization that benefited from this event. I enjoyed working with gallery and service organization people. That, in my opinion, is good.
Shows, additionally, are not just about money (though heck, I can only put this plainly, I want the people to buy). This show was good both because of the reasons above, and because I got to talk to people.
Talking to people about the work at a show is illuminating for me, not just them. The people make me think! People wonder about utility. They wonder about why I designed a piece a certain way and not another. Couldn’t that goblet use a plate under it? Shouldn’t the creamer be a bit larger, with a wider mouth? How did I get this beautiful color, this interesting texture? Would I make mustache cups? Salt shakers? Smaller oval serving bowls? Would I lower the price on this? Alternatively- Why are my prices so low? (I even got a kiss for the affordability of a certain vase! And a discussion with a dear friend about how high the price was on another vase, and why I believe it is justified. Go figure.) Then I assess my work based on what people have said.
Feedback! One of the best reasons for doing a show, after sales!
I came home and made a list the next day of items to modify or try next. That's GOOD. Thanks for feedback as well as sales, people.
It also made me happy to have so many comments about how my work has changed or grown in the last 25 years. (Yes, I know that is a no-brainer. Experience changes the work all the time. Still, if I don’t come out of the basement periodically and show the work, who will know it’s nicer now?)
And that's how the show was. It was "Good."
What does the question mean, “How was your show?” Well, you reading this, what do you think? I would really like to know. Does it mean, “Did people show up?” Does it mean “Did people buy your pottery?” Does it mean, “Did you enjoy the experience?” Does it mean “Did you make money?” Help me interpret.
My usually reply to “How was your show?” is, “Good.” A vague question, a general answer. Sometimes there’s a further question: “Did people buy your work?” I respond to that, “Yes, they did.” To the further question- and I wonder if you agree that this is pretty nosy? “Did you make money?” I want to say, “How is your salary lately?” but I don’t. I just say, “It was a good show,” and I smile, which people can read any way they like. People don’t mean to pry, they were just, um, curious. I just realize some people (not you, of course!) are kind of clueless about making pots; feel free to lead the uninformed to this blog! Call it public service to potters... Explain about the hobby versus work thing, OK?
So this is a nice time to point out that pricing, labeling, writing up inventory, packing, hauling, unpacking, setting up show furniture and pottery, and manning my booth is just the laborious bump at the end of months of making & firing cycles in the studio. What I have invested in a show began long before the show. It is not a hobby, it is not a game, it is not “How lovely, so relaxing” as is one’s experience at paint-your-own shops. (It's true; I'm a bit tired of hearing "How relaxing.") Shows are one facet of a studio and retail website program.
Being a potter is a creative, exciting, heavy-lifting, muscle-using, dirty, messy, visceral experience that wraps up design ideas, powers of observation and active, continuing education, physical ability and tenacity. I do love to make pottery. It is work. I am trying to make it pay better. Sometimes it does.
Having said that, it was a good show. We had various booths, made up of 18 varied painters, four jewelers of different sorts, one local chocolatier, and me. The crowd was heavy for our one-day event, which had been widely advertised in large mailings, emails, posters, and newspaper items. I made money for me, for the gallery’s cut, and the 15% donation for the social service organization that benefited from this event. I enjoyed working with gallery and service organization people. That, in my opinion, is good.
Shows, additionally, are not just about money (though heck, I can only put this plainly, I want the people to buy). This show was good both because of the reasons above, and because I got to talk to people.
Talking to people about the work at a show is illuminating for me, not just them. The people make me think! People wonder about utility. They wonder about why I designed a piece a certain way and not another. Couldn’t that goblet use a plate under it? Shouldn’t the creamer be a bit larger, with a wider mouth? How did I get this beautiful color, this interesting texture? Would I make mustache cups? Salt shakers? Smaller oval serving bowls? Would I lower the price on this? Alternatively- Why are my prices so low? (I even got a kiss for the affordability of a certain vase! And a discussion with a dear friend about how high the price was on another vase, and why I believe it is justified. Go figure.) Then I assess my work based on what people have said.
Feedback! One of the best reasons for doing a show, after sales!
I came home and made a list the next day of items to modify or try next. That's GOOD. Thanks for feedback as well as sales, people.
It also made me happy to have so many comments about how my work has changed or grown in the last 25 years. (Yes, I know that is a no-brainer. Experience changes the work all the time. Still, if I don’t come out of the basement periodically and show the work, who will know it’s nicer now?)
And that's how the show was. It was "Good."
Tired for a Good Reason
Thanks for coming to the show, and thanks to all of you who bought some of my pottery! I enjoyed the day and hope you did, too.
Those of you who didn't make it, see you another time perhaps. More nice pots remain in need of homes...
Please be aware that the show will remain up until Thursday, April 29th, and you are most welcome to visit during L&M Gallery hours, although the artists will not be present. If you call me or email me, I will try to be available to go with you if you want the company. Otherwise, some pots are available through my website, http://www.mimistadlerpottery.com.
It's good to get feedback at shows, and see what people like or need or want.
Tomorrow, back I go to the studio, to work on some requests. And now, ready to give up being dressed up and "on" for the day, I bid you a comfortable and restful night.
Those of you who didn't make it, see you another time perhaps. More nice pots remain in need of homes...
Please be aware that the show will remain up until Thursday, April 29th, and you are most welcome to visit during L&M Gallery hours, although the artists will not be present. If you call me or email me, I will try to be available to go with you if you want the company. Otherwise, some pots are available through my website, http://www.mimistadlerpottery.com.
It's good to get feedback at shows, and see what people like or need or want.
Tomorrow, back I go to the studio, to work on some requests. And now, ready to give up being dressed up and "on" for the day, I bid you a comfortable and restful night.
Hi-ho, Hi-ho, It's Off to Show I Go
Tomorrow brings an art show to Elizabeth, New Jersey at L&M Gallery. I’m in the show again this year. It’s a fundraiser for the food pantry of a local social service organization, Jewish Family Services, which caters to interdenominational clients. This is a great organization, providing job and personal counseling, helping qualifying clients with rent or food, providing Meals on Wheels for older clientele. Last year was its first art show, and we raised lots of necessary funds in a difficult economy.
I don’t mind at all being the only potter. The rest are painters, jewelers, a nature photographer and a chocolatier. We have the whole large, bright second floor, and we are an interesting group.
I couldn’t be more excited about it. Since I’ve been doing only one show a year, I put lots of energy into this. I have more than 75 pieces of pottery set up, ready for the opening at 1 PM for patrons and sponsors, ready for walk-ins at 2. Then I am happy and primed to chat, explain, kid around, promote, and sell pots.
It made the weekend to-do section of the Star Ledger, under the heading “Benefit”! I hope that brings in some people.
Meanwhile, if you haven’t been to my website, it’s up in a new version, as of this week. Go to http://www.mimistadlerpottery.com to see it. I have more pottery than made it onto the site, but more will go up over time. So please go there, and I would love feedback if you haven’t left some already: mimi@mimistadlerpottery.com. There have been some glitches viewing it on Internet Explorer, which I hope have now been fixed. (If you have IE as your browser, let me know how the site looks.)
I will have some photos to post on Monday. Come back and see! Wish me luck!
I don’t mind at all being the only potter. The rest are painters, jewelers, a nature photographer and a chocolatier. We have the whole large, bright second floor, and we are an interesting group.
I couldn’t be more excited about it. Since I’ve been doing only one show a year, I put lots of energy into this. I have more than 75 pieces of pottery set up, ready for the opening at 1 PM for patrons and sponsors, ready for walk-ins at 2. Then I am happy and primed to chat, explain, kid around, promote, and sell pots.
It made the weekend to-do section of the Star Ledger, under the heading “Benefit”! I hope that brings in some people.
Meanwhile, if you haven’t been to my website, it’s up in a new version, as of this week. Go to http://www.mimistadlerpottery.com to see it. I have more pottery than made it onto the site, but more will go up over time. So please go there, and I would love feedback if you haven’t left some already: mimi@mimistadlerpottery.com. There have been some glitches viewing it on Internet Explorer, which I hope have now been fixed. (If you have IE as your browser, let me know how the site looks.)
I will have some photos to post on Monday. Come back and see! Wish me luck!
Mug Drawing and Spring Unfurling
Springtime! That means the leaf buds are swelling, the squirrels have dug out my tulip bulbs and eaten them, and I have drawn the winner for the mug lottery for subscribers to an RSS feed to my blog. S won. Nice for me- I just have to walk the mug on over. S has been under the weather, and busy, so she hasn’t picked it up, but I will bring it to her today, and she will have a new mug for her coffee. The rest of you- thanks for playing along!
It took me a while to post this, loyal readers! First bronchitis, then a basement flood, then a sneezing, barking, nose-roughening cold got me, but I did the drawing on March 17 as promised. So a green (and blue) mug goes to S!
Somewhere between the ailments and small natural disaster, I made it into the studio to produce some bowls. Inventory was somehow thin on these staples. With spring minutes away, I reverted to childhood and (though rain was lashing down sideways and seeping inventively through the foundation of our house), I imagined lying on my stomach in the spring grass, just as I used to, studying the roots and stems stretching to the newly reinvigorated sun. I could almost smell the good (though rocky) Spring Valley soil damp with the first wild scallions and early grass blades. One jar of black underglaze, one long and flowing and one short-tipped brush later, I was happily brushing grass blades all over the outside of my just-made bowls, drawn from my child’s-eye nirvana among the roots and soil. Just for fun I brushed a touch of tracks- slug? ant?- inside the bowls.
There’s something about a child’s-eye view that remains imprinted on the psyche long after one is grown. There she is, Nature in the form of that humble carpet, the American lawn, living and breathing in my brush and underglaze, with art springing from the unconscious between between the living memory and the brushing of the strokes that describe it. Spring!
It took me a while to post this, loyal readers! First bronchitis, then a basement flood, then a sneezing, barking, nose-roughening cold got me, but I did the drawing on March 17 as promised. So a green (and blue) mug goes to S!
Somewhere between the ailments and small natural disaster, I made it into the studio to produce some bowls. Inventory was somehow thin on these staples. With spring minutes away, I reverted to childhood and (though rain was lashing down sideways and seeping inventively through the foundation of our house), I imagined lying on my stomach in the spring grass, just as I used to, studying the roots and stems stretching to the newly reinvigorated sun. I could almost smell the good (though rocky) Spring Valley soil damp with the first wild scallions and early grass blades. One jar of black underglaze, one long and flowing and one short-tipped brush later, I was happily brushing grass blades all over the outside of my just-made bowls, drawn from my child’s-eye nirvana among the roots and soil. Just for fun I brushed a touch of tracks- slug? ant?- inside the bowls.
There’s something about a child’s-eye view that remains imprinted on the psyche long after one is grown. There she is, Nature in the form of that humble carpet, the American lawn, living and breathing in my brush and underglaze, with art springing from the unconscious between between the living memory and the brushing of the strokes that describe it. Spring!
Pottery Rhythms
Rhythms
Purring like a cat, the heat pipes
gurgle on and off sleepily through the hours,
a long-breathing rhythm overhead
rumbling like a living pet-
and music's on in the studio
while clay shavings peel away beneath
my trimming tool like
skin off an apple, and
the bottom of a cereal bowl
is shaped and smoothed.
Phone rings and I don't answer.
Rather hear the purring
of the pipes, my potter's wheel turning,
these blues thumping and wailing
than chatter. Another hour
Everything can go on without me.
I love this dusty vault
this cluttered order
these spinning bowls one then
another. Conversations
between the senses.
Purring like a cat, the heat pipes
gurgle on and off sleepily through the hours,
a long-breathing rhythm overhead
rumbling like a living pet-
and music's on in the studio
while clay shavings peel away beneath
my trimming tool like
skin off an apple, and
the bottom of a cereal bowl
is shaped and smoothed.
Phone rings and I don't answer.
Rather hear the purring
of the pipes, my potter's wheel turning,
these blues thumping and wailing
than chatter. Another hour
Everything can go on without me.
I love this dusty vault
this cluttered order
these spinning bowls one then
another. Conversations
between the senses.
On Family, Time and Serendipity
There is nothing like family. They knew you when and they put up with you now. I realize "family" is different things to different people, but to me it is my husband and kids, and in-law kids present and pending, sisters and brothers, nephews and nieces, aunts, uncles and cousins, and my closest friends. This makes a sizable group to be blessed to possess. Sometimes it has been hard for a relatively reserved person to have an individual voice in this noisy and opinionated crowd, but individuality will find its way, with persistence.
Recently the sibs and I marked the 7th anniversary of our mother's passing. There's no denying Time; we are not immortal. So I am living the moments as they arise. Today I am in Israel visiting my closest-in-age sister. It is quite something to consider all the years between sharing a bedroom (and squabbling) in the house on the Turnpike and spending time with my sister's family more than a quarter century after she moved to Israel. Later this week, I will be in Amsterdam, visiting my youngest child (wasn't I just putting a little pony tail on top of her head?) and getting the feel of her life in her semester abroad. Wasn't I in college yesterday?
But when I was in college, I had no clue that one day I would wake up each day pondering what to work on in the pottery studio today.
In the same vein, there is no way to know what tomorrow will bring even though I have an agenda at work. Sometimes it brings a surprise. Here in Israel, where my studio is an abstraction I think of from far away, I am thinking of textures and slabs, and do not want to know what I will assemble from them yet. I think I will let the ideas roam free when I get back home next week, and see what transpires. It's time for some serendipity. I have a show in April, and want some experimental work in it.
Hey- thanks for reading the blog, friends. I have about 15 people in the mug lottery (you know who you are), so your chances are excellent for drinking out of a new mug in March if you are one of them.
Recently the sibs and I marked the 7th anniversary of our mother's passing. There's no denying Time; we are not immortal. So I am living the moments as they arise. Today I am in Israel visiting my closest-in-age sister. It is quite something to consider all the years between sharing a bedroom (and squabbling) in the house on the Turnpike and spending time with my sister's family more than a quarter century after she moved to Israel. Later this week, I will be in Amsterdam, visiting my youngest child (wasn't I just putting a little pony tail on top of her head?) and getting the feel of her life in her semester abroad. Wasn't I in college yesterday?
But when I was in college, I had no clue that one day I would wake up each day pondering what to work on in the pottery studio today.
In the same vein, there is no way to know what tomorrow will bring even though I have an agenda at work. Sometimes it brings a surprise. Here in Israel, where my studio is an abstraction I think of from far away, I am thinking of textures and slabs, and do not want to know what I will assemble from them yet. I think I will let the ideas roam free when I get back home next week, and see what transpires. It's time for some serendipity. I have a show in April, and want some experimental work in it.
Hey- thanks for reading the blog, friends. I have about 15 people in the mug lottery (you know who you are), so your chances are excellent for drinking out of a new mug in March if you are one of them.
Seven Minutes of Isaac Button at His Wheel
Taken in 1965, this is a black and white video of Isaac Button (England) throwing cup after cup with regular rhythm and speed. (Note: It helps that he has someone else to wedge his clay and take the ware from him as it is done!) His aura is calm- check out the pipe, the whole demeanor. His fingers are capable. Watching this is mesmerizing and soothing. He died about 30 years ago; it is very cool to have this footage of him at work.
Click on the title of this post to watch the video.
As an odd aside, he is missing part or all of his left pinkie. I hadn't noticed that till I just re-watched this video. Is pottery-making hazardous to the limbs? Holy moly, I hope not.
Back to pack for my trip!
Click on the title of this post to watch the video.
As an odd aside, he is missing part or all of his left pinkie. I hadn't noticed that till I just re-watched this video. Is pottery-making hazardous to the limbs? Holy moly, I hope not.
Back to pack for my trip!
Link to Dick Unsworth on YouTube
Watch it if you can- it's good!
On Taking a Break, and One-Handed Goblets
Soon I will take a two-week break from all things clay, and travel to Israel and Amsterdam to spend time with family. I will leave rawware drying, and bisqueware waiting, ready to be glazed. I will visit parents' graves, and gather for joyful meals with siblings and their families in Israel. In Amsterdam, I will see my daughter who is studying there. I will come back, I hope, with a spirit refreshed and hands ready to take up my work in the basement again.
Until I leave next week, I am making goblets and little plates. The goblets are new in the repertoire. I am throwing them in one piece (stem and cup as one unit), and trimming out excess clay from the base once they harden a bit. They're sweet vessels.
Something that has changed from 1985, when I started working in clay, is that now there is YouTube. I learned to throw one-piece goblets this week from videos found there. There is a marvelous British potter named Dick Unsworth, with a video I especially liked. (I have enclosed a link.) I followed his process, though my shape of cup is more tapered, with less belly, and the goblets are smaller in general. Mr. Unsworth seems to have lost his hand at the wrist to some vagary of fate, and so he throws pots using one hand and one blunt-ended wrist. The wrist, interestingly, seems to be to his advantage in some respects. It makes a nice supporting and pushing tool.
Human ingenuity and drive are beautiful. I learn from all my teachers as I find them.
See you in a couple of weeks!
Until I leave next week, I am making goblets and little plates. The goblets are new in the repertoire. I am throwing them in one piece (stem and cup as one unit), and trimming out excess clay from the base once they harden a bit. They're sweet vessels.
Something that has changed from 1985, when I started working in clay, is that now there is YouTube. I learned to throw one-piece goblets this week from videos found there. There is a marvelous British potter named Dick Unsworth, with a video I especially liked. (I have enclosed a link.) I followed his process, though my shape of cup is more tapered, with less belly, and the goblets are smaller in general. Mr. Unsworth seems to have lost his hand at the wrist to some vagary of fate, and so he throws pots using one hand and one blunt-ended wrist. The wrist, interestingly, seems to be to his advantage in some respects. It makes a nice supporting and pushing tool.
Human ingenuity and drive are beautiful. I learn from all my teachers as I find them.
See you in a couple of weeks!
Toshiko's Pots at the Newark Museum
Hello from the view at my computer instead of my potter's wheel! It's been photography and photo editing (for clarity only; I promise I'm not making them look other than they should!) and working with Web-a-Deb on the website. Oh my gosh, this stuff takes a year and a day. You know when a pottery woman's fingernails are growing that she hasn't been handling the clay lately.
Down in the studio, the kiln is firing away, cooking up a load of small plates and a few other things. A few lucky duckies get plates from me in a few weeks on Purim. The rest will be for sale. I hope they come out as nice as I think they will...
I haven't exactly been idle. With the anniversary of my mother's death coming up, I am thinking of what to say, since I usually speak at our annual family gathering on this date. So I have been trip-trapping over the bridge of time to letters and relatives' memories of an era before I was born. It is like existing in another dimension for a little while, then resurfacing. I am fascinated, and honestly, it is bittersweet, because my mother is close to my heart.
But back to art, since I digress here from clay ruminations, as I have in life recently! The Newark Museum in Newark, NJ, is a strange configuration of rooms with all sorts of items grouped in relatively small collections, into time periods and art movements. I had to wander a bit, even with map in hand- and it was interesting wandering, with some highlights!- but eventually I found my destination.
Off in one little room, all by themselves, are the ceramic objects that I had come especially to see. To nourish my curiosity and my heart and mind, suffering clay withdrawal due to all the other things that have occupied me, I stood before each piece and took it in. It may sound crazy, but I felt myself absorbing their presence almost with a little whoosh of induction. Toshiko Takaezu's forms, in smooth stony colors, like moons, some round, or tall, cylindrical, like rocks: these closed forms are so quiet and yet so strong at the same time. Some have vestiges of an almost-opening, a tiny conical peak at their very top to remind that these were, indeed, created in the same methods as utilitarian vessels. They are meant to be part of a landscape, I think, though when grouped together, they are a landscape.
There is nothing showy about them, but Takaezu's forms satisfy something so powerful within me that I seek them out wherever they are on display. One of the forms was a garden seat. It is just a sort of short, voluminous round stalk that flares out as it proceeds upward from the ground, terminating in a very slightly convex top that can be used as a seat. It is easy to visualize it set in grass or sand, a perch from which to absorb the smell of earth, sound of birds, feel of wind.
The garden seat form is symbolic to me. Sometimes I am reminded of what it is to just be quiet and observe the life around us. Eventually, I find, it likes to spill over into my work.
Toshiko is in her 80s now. Long life to her!
http://www.clevelandartsprize.org/awardees/toshiko_takaezu.html
Down in the studio, the kiln is firing away, cooking up a load of small plates and a few other things. A few lucky duckies get plates from me in a few weeks on Purim. The rest will be for sale. I hope they come out as nice as I think they will...
I haven't exactly been idle. With the anniversary of my mother's death coming up, I am thinking of what to say, since I usually speak at our annual family gathering on this date. So I have been trip-trapping over the bridge of time to letters and relatives' memories of an era before I was born. It is like existing in another dimension for a little while, then resurfacing. I am fascinated, and honestly, it is bittersweet, because my mother is close to my heart.
But back to art, since I digress here from clay ruminations, as I have in life recently! The Newark Museum in Newark, NJ, is a strange configuration of rooms with all sorts of items grouped in relatively small collections, into time periods and art movements. I had to wander a bit, even with map in hand- and it was interesting wandering, with some highlights!- but eventually I found my destination.
Off in one little room, all by themselves, are the ceramic objects that I had come especially to see. To nourish my curiosity and my heart and mind, suffering clay withdrawal due to all the other things that have occupied me, I stood before each piece and took it in. It may sound crazy, but I felt myself absorbing their presence almost with a little whoosh of induction. Toshiko Takaezu's forms, in smooth stony colors, like moons, some round, or tall, cylindrical, like rocks: these closed forms are so quiet and yet so strong at the same time. Some have vestiges of an almost-opening, a tiny conical peak at their very top to remind that these were, indeed, created in the same methods as utilitarian vessels. They are meant to be part of a landscape, I think, though when grouped together, they are a landscape.
There is nothing showy about them, but Takaezu's forms satisfy something so powerful within me that I seek them out wherever they are on display. One of the forms was a garden seat. It is just a sort of short, voluminous round stalk that flares out as it proceeds upward from the ground, terminating in a very slightly convex top that can be used as a seat. It is easy to visualize it set in grass or sand, a perch from which to absorb the smell of earth, sound of birds, feel of wind.
The garden seat form is symbolic to me. Sometimes I am reminded of what it is to just be quiet and observe the life around us. Eventually, I find, it likes to spill over into my work.
Toshiko is in her 80s now. Long life to her!
http://www.clevelandartsprize.org/awardees/toshiko_takaezu.html
Honor Mug
I only know of 3 people who have signed up for RSS or have other means of automatic notification of new posts, so you 3 have a 33.3% shot at a new mug in March! Excellent odds so far, I'd say. I still don't know how to tell who else subscribed, so if you are someone who has done so and I don't know about it, tell me. We are on the honor system.
It gives me a kick to be on the honor system. It's like taking a half-bushel of tomatoes from the unmanned roadside stand, and leaving your money in the little basket with the note on it that reads, "Pay here".
It gives me a kick to be on the honor system. It's like taking a half-bushel of tomatoes from the unmanned roadside stand, and leaving your money in the little basket with the note on it that reads, "Pay here".
lottery to break the doldrums
Sometimes there's not much going on inside the studio.
Sometimes it's web site work that day, or other office stuff, or a trip for supplies.
Sometimes it's time to mix up new buckets of glaze from my dry materials and recipe list. Measure, measure, measure, mix, sieve, sieve again. This is very boring.
Sometimes the matzah plate made to match the seder plate from last week warps, and sends me back to the design stage. RATS. (That was this week.)
Sometimes other things need taking care of that have nothing to do with clay. Now happens to be the right time to delve into family history, for which I took a trip to my aunt and cousin in Long Island yesterday. Never got into the studio at all.
Those times, there's not much to blog about. So let me thank you for continuing to read even on days when it's more of a bog than a blog.
To reward you for your diligence, I am going to make you an offer. If you sign up for an RSS feed of the blog, I will put your name in a lottery. On March 17, 2010, nine weeks hence, I will do a drawing for a mug. This is either a blue and green mug with white interior, or a cream and chocolate colored mug. Either one holds at least 10 ounces. If you win it, and are in the US or Canada I will ship it, or hand it over if you're local. If you are in Israel, I will eventually send it via someone making the trip. (Other countries- sorry, guys. You just get a note saying thanks.)
How, you ask, do you find out about RSS feeds? Go to the URL box at the top of your monitor, where you have typed in the web address of this blog (URL). Right next to the URL box is a little blue square symbol. Click on it and follow through the sign-up process via RSS. It's not bad at all- I've done it, and I'm no tech wiz. Then, when I put up a new post, you will get notified automatically. You won't have to remember to check for something new.
Good luck!
Mimi
Sometimes it's web site work that day, or other office stuff, or a trip for supplies.
Sometimes it's time to mix up new buckets of glaze from my dry materials and recipe list. Measure, measure, measure, mix, sieve, sieve again. This is very boring.
Sometimes the matzah plate made to match the seder plate from last week warps, and sends me back to the design stage. RATS. (That was this week.)
Sometimes other things need taking care of that have nothing to do with clay. Now happens to be the right time to delve into family history, for which I took a trip to my aunt and cousin in Long Island yesterday. Never got into the studio at all.
Those times, there's not much to blog about. So let me thank you for continuing to read even on days when it's more of a bog than a blog.
To reward you for your diligence, I am going to make you an offer. If you sign up for an RSS feed of the blog, I will put your name in a lottery. On March 17, 2010, nine weeks hence, I will do a drawing for a mug. This is either a blue and green mug with white interior, or a cream and chocolate colored mug. Either one holds at least 10 ounces. If you win it, and are in the US or Canada I will ship it, or hand it over if you're local. If you are in Israel, I will eventually send it via someone making the trip. (Other countries- sorry, guys. You just get a note saying thanks.)
How, you ask, do you find out about RSS feeds? Go to the URL box at the top of your monitor, where you have typed in the web address of this blog (URL). Right next to the URL box is a little blue square symbol. Click on it and follow through the sign-up process via RSS. It's not bad at all- I've done it, and I'm no tech wiz. Then, when I put up a new post, you will get notified automatically. You won't have to remember to check for something new.
Good luck!
Mimi
Rocks and Feathers, Function and Art
A machine-made pot is a more perfect pot, light and absolutely regular in form. Everyone’s place setting is exactly the same. We humans crave some order and balance. Machine made dishes also stack better in the cabinets, as my first college ceramics teacher, Dave W. Jones, pointed out. (He was a very fine potter, trained at that interesting juncture when Danish modern design and Peter Voulkos met with a bang and a slash in the 50s.) Dave was a realist about functionality. All the same, he pursued the art and craft of making pottery by hand, and so do I, because there is no real spirit in a machine made pot.
Yesterday I made a seder plate; not my first by any means. The seder plate has been an evolutionary item in my studio for at least 20 years. Its function defines it, like any item of Judaica. It is meant to sit in the middle of the table at the Passover seder and contain symbolic portions of the special foods of the meal. The first started out long ago on my wheel, too small and heavy, the design somehow never becoming “right” through modifications, until I took some time to plan it. I drew some 6-petaled flowers and abstracted the forms till I had one I liked. I made paper and upholstery foam templates and other tools to accommodate production. I make the plates from slabs now, instead of on the wheel. They are lighter, larger and I can make similar multiples. Making seder plates over the years is symptomatic of all of my journeys in clay, a very slow and sort of steady trip.
When you think of "accidents" of art, here is an analogous hypothetical situation to ponder:
Someone gives you a nice little box, and says, Fill this box. Do not overfill or underfill it. Fill it so that it remains a container, but make it more by virtue of what is in it, how well it contains, how it closes and opens, what it looks like. Go!
You fill it with rocks. The rocks are from the coast of Maine, all rounded and smooth blues and whites and grays, and so beautiful. They fit in the box just so. You admire the contents of the box and close it. Later, when you pick up the box to put it away, you stagger and the box bends a little under the weight. They look good in it, but rocks are the wrong load for this box.
You start again. You take the rocks out of the box, fill it carefully with your collection of hat feathers and cover it, and when you lift it, it is light. You open the box and a draft lifts feathers and settles them all over your sofa. The remaining feathers are all meshed together and you can’t sort out individuals by eye. Feathers are better in something other than this box.
So you say, the heck with this experiment, and the heck with the guy who gave you the box. You fit your jars and tubes of paint and pigments into the box. You needed to neaten up your easel area anyway. You have now used the box in a non-decorative way. You expect nothing more than a utilitarian arrangement, and you go have dinner.
Tomorrow you return. You open the box and you are surprised. The paint tube labels and the pigments in their clear jars are an explosion of color. The box smells interestingly of linseed oil. You find each item at a glance. This is a utilitarian arrangement, but also- Yow!- a still life. Now the box is part of a functional composition. Art! Your five year old could do it... couldn't she? Maybe- up to this point. Maybe not once canvas and brushes get involved.
You- hey, you with the box- already had an artistic spirit and a creative eye, which were working unconsciously as you gave up and accepted the box as a component of a life situation. Function balanced with- and this is the crux of the thing- the unnameable force from your arty ole head, and gave you your surprising still life.
This is really a clay story. Latent knowledge and conscious knowledge flow together as a potter works, aware of the functionality of each piece, our own voices coming through ever more strongly and even unexpectedly as we gain experience. Then just working through the everyday of clay and bringing one more challenge into the equation sometimes catalyzes into the Yow! moment.
Yesterday's seder plate is on a shelf in my kiln, drying. It's my best one yet, the most like my planned design but also with spontaneous elements. Don't want to move it while it dries, or I would take a better picture for you, but check out the raw pot in the picture. Who knows what the next one might have that this one doesn't.
Keep on doing whatever good thing it is you do!
Yesterday I made a seder plate; not my first by any means. The seder plate has been an evolutionary item in my studio for at least 20 years. Its function defines it, like any item of Judaica. It is meant to sit in the middle of the table at the Passover seder and contain symbolic portions of the special foods of the meal. The first started out long ago on my wheel, too small and heavy, the design somehow never becoming “right” through modifications, until I took some time to plan it. I drew some 6-petaled flowers and abstracted the forms till I had one I liked. I made paper and upholstery foam templates and other tools to accommodate production. I make the plates from slabs now, instead of on the wheel. They are lighter, larger and I can make similar multiples. Making seder plates over the years is symptomatic of all of my journeys in clay, a very slow and sort of steady trip.
When you think of "accidents" of art, here is an analogous hypothetical situation to ponder:
Someone gives you a nice little box, and says, Fill this box. Do not overfill or underfill it. Fill it so that it remains a container, but make it more by virtue of what is in it, how well it contains, how it closes and opens, what it looks like. Go!
You fill it with rocks. The rocks are from the coast of Maine, all rounded and smooth blues and whites and grays, and so beautiful. They fit in the box just so. You admire the contents of the box and close it. Later, when you pick up the box to put it away, you stagger and the box bends a little under the weight. They look good in it, but rocks are the wrong load for this box.
You start again. You take the rocks out of the box, fill it carefully with your collection of hat feathers and cover it, and when you lift it, it is light. You open the box and a draft lifts feathers and settles them all over your sofa. The remaining feathers are all meshed together and you can’t sort out individuals by eye. Feathers are better in something other than this box.
So you say, the heck with this experiment, and the heck with the guy who gave you the box. You fit your jars and tubes of paint and pigments into the box. You needed to neaten up your easel area anyway. You have now used the box in a non-decorative way. You expect nothing more than a utilitarian arrangement, and you go have dinner.
Tomorrow you return. You open the box and you are surprised. The paint tube labels and the pigments in their clear jars are an explosion of color. The box smells interestingly of linseed oil. You find each item at a glance. This is a utilitarian arrangement, but also- Yow!- a still life. Now the box is part of a functional composition. Art! Your five year old could do it... couldn't she? Maybe- up to this point. Maybe not once canvas and brushes get involved.
You- hey, you with the box- already had an artistic spirit and a creative eye, which were working unconsciously as you gave up and accepted the box as a component of a life situation. Function balanced with- and this is the crux of the thing- the unnameable force from your arty ole head, and gave you your surprising still life.
This is really a clay story. Latent knowledge and conscious knowledge flow together as a potter works, aware of the functionality of each piece, our own voices coming through ever more strongly and even unexpectedly as we gain experience. Then just working through the everyday of clay and bringing one more challenge into the equation sometimes catalyzes into the Yow! moment.
Yesterday's seder plate is on a shelf in my kiln, drying. It's my best one yet, the most like my planned design but also with spontaneous elements. Don't want to move it while it dries, or I would take a better picture for you, but check out the raw pot in the picture. Who knows what the next one might have that this one doesn't.
Keep on doing whatever good thing it is you do!
If You Build It
“If you build it, he will come.”
Remember Field of Dreams?
The main character, on a dream quest, realizes along his travels that he has to go home, plow under his cornfield and turn it into a ball field. One night after he is done, he turns on the floodlights over his bases and bleachers, and suddenly a long stream of headlights appear in the distance as people are drawn to it like an epicenter of meaning. It answers something elemental they long for.
I’ve got the pots.
Got the space to display it in a homespun physical gallery. The web site… you may be growing tired of hearing it is almost here. Once it is, though, then ads supporting it go up, and it can become my virtual gallery. It is something I dream. Making and then having a way to sell my stoneware vessels. If I build it, will they come?
I am paying attention as always to the lips of mugs, the curves of handles, the weight of lids, the lift of feet. I am fretting over the interplay of elusive colors, the sheen and texture of surfaces. Someone must find some satisfying thing in a pot that connects with them somehow. Otherwise there is no point in paying good money for it. The user completes the effort of the maker. The maker is incomplete without the user.
Friday someone told me she was thinking of my hobby. Of the kiln in my basement, how wonderful to have that. She didn't say, but she meant: the means to follow a dream. She is a cashier at a grocery store where I often shop. When she was in high school she came with her class for several sessions of clay work with me. Now she is a young married woman with a baby, and brings a bright spirit to an unsatisfying job. I see her, conscientious and capable, as the months go by. I cannot take offense that she thinks my work is a hobby. To her it is a fantasy. I cannot make her see how hard I try to make my work possess that something that- if I build it- will bring the people to it.
She is building her family.
We all want something. If we build it, it might happen.
Remember Field of Dreams?
The main character, on a dream quest, realizes along his travels that he has to go home, plow under his cornfield and turn it into a ball field. One night after he is done, he turns on the floodlights over his bases and bleachers, and suddenly a long stream of headlights appear in the distance as people are drawn to it like an epicenter of meaning. It answers something elemental they long for.
I’ve got the pots.
Got the space to display it in a homespun physical gallery. The web site… you may be growing tired of hearing it is almost here. Once it is, though, then ads supporting it go up, and it can become my virtual gallery. It is something I dream. Making and then having a way to sell my stoneware vessels. If I build it, will they come?
I am paying attention as always to the lips of mugs, the curves of handles, the weight of lids, the lift of feet. I am fretting over the interplay of elusive colors, the sheen and texture of surfaces. Someone must find some satisfying thing in a pot that connects with them somehow. Otherwise there is no point in paying good money for it. The user completes the effort of the maker. The maker is incomplete without the user.
Friday someone told me she was thinking of my hobby. Of the kiln in my basement, how wonderful to have that. She didn't say, but she meant: the means to follow a dream. She is a cashier at a grocery store where I often shop. When she was in high school she came with her class for several sessions of clay work with me. Now she is a young married woman with a baby, and brings a bright spirit to an unsatisfying job. I see her, conscientious and capable, as the months go by. I cannot take offense that she thinks my work is a hobby. To her it is a fantasy. I cannot make her see how hard I try to make my work possess that something that- if I build it- will bring the people to it.
She is building her family.
We all want something. If we build it, it might happen.
And the Seasons They Go Round and Round
Last week I noted this:
Studio shelves beginning to fill up. Do I need to buy more shelves?
Too many new stoneware trays for the available plate stands- where to buy?
Is it time to take more photos of pots for the web site?
After a week of being down with bronchitis I was ready to get back to work.
Made a list in preparation:
What is missing from inventory? (Components of havadalah sets. Seder plates. Plates in general.)
What can I make with my new slab roller? (Seder plates!)
Lists. We who make the list work by the list.
We who are highly distractible swear by the list.
So I glazed some more pots, fired another load in the kiln, cleaned up my gallery area of dust and detritus, put on carefully-thought-out price stickers. Shopped for shelves (Lowe's stopped carrying the ones I want) and plate stands (no luck at B, B & B). No photos; I put away my photo setup to make room for more pots. Looked longingly at the new slab roller, but one thing at a time. Next week, I assured myself, I will start making my seder plates from neatly rolled slabs.
Chanukah approaches. Christmas approaches. Where could I advertise quickly for the last minute gift-giving locals? I put a notice in the weekly synagogue e-mail bulletin. Does anyone read that thing but me? Will it bring anyone to the studio gallery? I put a mention on Facebook, but most of those people are family (-can anybody say discount? -love you anyway, guys) or aren’t local (can’t drop in and shop) and my new, improved retail web site is still almost up. My estimate of “within a week” a few weeks ago was the silly fantasy of a wishful potter.
Another missed sales season?
My salesperson hat is not fitting my head and it is giving me a headache.
Studio shelves beginning to fill up. Do I need to buy more shelves?
Too many new stoneware trays for the available plate stands- where to buy?
Is it time to take more photos of pots for the web site?
After a week of being down with bronchitis I was ready to get back to work.
Made a list in preparation:
What is missing from inventory? (Components of havadalah sets. Seder plates. Plates in general.)
What can I make with my new slab roller? (Seder plates!)
Lists. We who make the list work by the list.
We who are highly distractible swear by the list.
So I glazed some more pots, fired another load in the kiln, cleaned up my gallery area of dust and detritus, put on carefully-thought-out price stickers. Shopped for shelves (Lowe's stopped carrying the ones I want) and plate stands (no luck at B, B & B). No photos; I put away my photo setup to make room for more pots. Looked longingly at the new slab roller, but one thing at a time. Next week, I assured myself, I will start making my seder plates from neatly rolled slabs.
Chanukah approaches. Christmas approaches. Where could I advertise quickly for the last minute gift-giving locals? I put a notice in the weekly synagogue e-mail bulletin. Does anyone read that thing but me? Will it bring anyone to the studio gallery? I put a mention on Facebook, but most of those people are family (-can anybody say discount? -love you anyway, guys) or aren’t local (can’t drop in and shop) and my new, improved retail web site is still almost up. My estimate of “within a week” a few weeks ago was the silly fantasy of a wishful potter.
Another missed sales season?
My salesperson hat is not fitting my head and it is giving me a headache.
Metaphorical Hats
Many metaphorical hats are rotated on this potter's non-metaphorical head.
The John Deere-type cap: That's good for the heavy lifting and mixing parts. That's where I bring home the raw materials, mix the glazes from recipes acquired over time, plan the ware, make it from lumps of clay.
How quickly that last sentence was typed. How slowly the process occurs to get me there. "How long does it take you to make that?" "24 years so far, and 40 minutes."
A bandanna: Load the kiln. Bisque fire, unload, apply glaze, reload and glaze-fire the pottery. Time to glaze and load: over the course of a couple of days. Gradual heat up, slow cool down: about one day.
Factory hairnet: Sort good pots from seconds. Mostly they are decent pots, for which I am grateful.
Just a headband to keep my curls off my face: Photograph the pots for the web site. I have a pro photo setup now as I gradually learn the ropes with my digital camera settings, backdrop and lights.
Pith helmet: Edit photos in iPhoto or Photoshop to compensate for inexact lighting, crooked framing of the shot, dust on the backdrop, etc. Very cool. This is for allowing the pots to look as they really do, not for faking perfection. It's a jungle among the photo options.
Thinking cap: Selling a 3-D thing in a 2-D medium is a challenge. I have to compensate with words for the lack of touchability. So I write out descriptions & sizes for the web site visitors.
Old-time accountant's eyeshade: Price the pots- not too low to justify the time and cost of making them, not too high so as to discourage purchasers. Trial and error applies here wherever experience doesn't cover.
Mailman's hat (they really used to wear those): Send the photos to my web builder to upload to the web site, which is still developing.
Everything takes so long. People are asking to see the pottery and the site is not ready. Web-a-Deb and I are working on it. Hope the people will come back when it is ready.
Businesslike chic hat, think Audrey Hepburn, 1950's: Send photos to people requesting pottery. Thankfully, there are some of these people around.
Just a pen behind my ear, like an adman, which isn't really a hat, but an accoutrement nonetheless: Think how to promote the web site.
Creative, colorful kerchief with funky colors: Meanwhile, put pots on Etsy.com, under the categories of pottery, stoneware, ceramics (largely redundant), handmade, and Judaica, in the hope of cultivating a market.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/mimistadlerpottery
How many hats can I wear? Plenty!
Can I wear 'em all well? Not always. Juggling a little slowly the last few years, and it ain't because of middle age. It's that the constant changing of many hats wears me down. Now it's back to the glazing board and back on the wheel for the next making-cycle Monday. On with the John Deere tractor cap!
The John Deere-type cap: That's good for the heavy lifting and mixing parts. That's where I bring home the raw materials, mix the glazes from recipes acquired over time, plan the ware, make it from lumps of clay.
How quickly that last sentence was typed. How slowly the process occurs to get me there. "How long does it take you to make that?" "24 years so far, and 40 minutes."
A bandanna: Load the kiln. Bisque fire, unload, apply glaze, reload and glaze-fire the pottery. Time to glaze and load: over the course of a couple of days. Gradual heat up, slow cool down: about one day.
Factory hairnet: Sort good pots from seconds. Mostly they are decent pots, for which I am grateful.
Just a headband to keep my curls off my face: Photograph the pots for the web site. I have a pro photo setup now as I gradually learn the ropes with my digital camera settings, backdrop and lights.
Pith helmet: Edit photos in iPhoto or Photoshop to compensate for inexact lighting, crooked framing of the shot, dust on the backdrop, etc. Very cool. This is for allowing the pots to look as they really do, not for faking perfection. It's a jungle among the photo options.
Thinking cap: Selling a 3-D thing in a 2-D medium is a challenge. I have to compensate with words for the lack of touchability. So I write out descriptions & sizes for the web site visitors.
Old-time accountant's eyeshade: Price the pots- not too low to justify the time and cost of making them, not too high so as to discourage purchasers. Trial and error applies here wherever experience doesn't cover.
Mailman's hat (they really used to wear those): Send the photos to my web builder to upload to the web site, which is still developing.
Everything takes so long. People are asking to see the pottery and the site is not ready. Web-a-Deb and I are working on it. Hope the people will come back when it is ready.
Businesslike chic hat, think Audrey Hepburn, 1950's: Send photos to people requesting pottery. Thankfully, there are some of these people around.
Just a pen behind my ear, like an adman, which isn't really a hat, but an accoutrement nonetheless: Think how to promote the web site.
Creative, colorful kerchief with funky colors: Meanwhile, put pots on Etsy.com, under the categories of pottery, stoneware, ceramics (largely redundant), handmade, and Judaica, in the hope of cultivating a market.
http://www.etsy.com/shop/mimistadlerpottery
How many hats can I wear? Plenty!
Can I wear 'em all well? Not always. Juggling a little slowly the last few years, and it ain't because of middle age. It's that the constant changing of many hats wears me down. Now it's back to the glazing board and back on the wheel for the next making-cycle Monday. On with the John Deere tractor cap!