There is a cyclical rhythm deeply rooted in the process of working with clay: Build, Dry, Bisque, Glaze, Fire.
Each cycle produces themes which link what came before to what will follow.
These themes emerge by what engages me. For example, I have always been fascinated by old iron objects and lately have been commingling them with clay. I also like to fool the viewer as to what is clay and what is not. That, in turn, ties into a sense of whimsy which often is integral to my work.
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I derive tremendous satisfaction from working with clay. It is directly connected to my innate captivation with archaeological shapes and the ancient ritual of transforming malleable earth into durable objects.
Thus, my artistic journey is a spiritual one linking not only my themes to one another but the archaic past to the present.
The process begins with cleaning my studio and getting it ready to work in. That, in itself, is an important catharsis. Even though I’m expanding on where I left off with the previous series, it feels like a renewal and a fresh start.
Soon, I’m overtaken by a feeling or an idea with out any detailed game plan.
Before long, I have several pieces in various stages of completion scattered throughout the studio. I rarely think about why I’m creating these pieces—only about the technical process. It’s a bit of a frenzy mixed with strong feelings, mostly joy.
I fire the work twice. The first is a low temperature bisque so I can handle the work for glazing and I fire everything again to cone 5.
Unloading the kiln and looking at the work is an emotionally racking part of the process. It’s very challenging to make a creative decision and have to wait 12 hours to see how it turns out. I’m filled with surprise, disappointment, delight, and doubt—often switching back and forth over the next few days. It’s a great lesson in not holding onto expectations and appreciating unintended results.
I clean the studio once more so I can set up what’s necessary to photograph the pieces. This is an introspective period as I still haven’t come to terms with how I feel about the work.
Lately, it is reflecting my feelings on the state of the world, with nature being the final arbiter.
There’s a sense of violence, honor, prayer and beauty in some of these pieces. For example, I am responding to the death of coral as demonstrated, in particular with the pitchforks spiking through 4 shapes—one of them representational bleached coral and the others ancient female symbols that appear to be made from the same substance. The pitchfork is both a raw pedestal and a violent piercing.
Another piece has a vertical column like shape and animal heads which suggests a totem.
There are a couple of others that began with thoughts on climate change and if we stay on the current path. I was in a depressive state at the onset of making these sculptures in which I imagined what Earth would look like exploding and hurtling through space. However, after a while I felt better, even peaceful. The planet and cosmos are neutral to the outcome.
While creating the pieces I don’t know why I make particular choices and decisions. All of this is held in a rather unconscious state.
Like dreams.
In the interim period between completing one series and beginning a new one I am filled with uncertainty about and appreciation for what I just made.
I had a dream: I am with Dylan and ask him if he likes the songs he writes. He seems puzzled and says “Like them? I don’t know, maybe. This is what I choose to do.”
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