rediscoveries

I was reading through old scraps of paper I had written snippets of thoughts on over the past few years, just to gather all them together into one place, and a few really stood out to me.

“Rough bark biting into my back woke me up. The sound of waves lapping on Cranberry Lake (though I didn’t know that’s where I was at the time) was the first sound to meet my ears. Another day without bathing, it had been four weeks without shaving, I had a crick in my neck from sleeping on a stump, yet this was the best time I had ever had in my life! Ahead of me was a day of sitting alone, completely alone. It began fine and peaceful. A quiet stillness broken only by the rain pattering on the pathetically thin sheet of plastic protecting my head filled the woods.”

It took me a while to remember when I wrote that since I’ve backpacked through chunks of Adirondack State Park countless times, but when I did recall this particular excursion, I was thrilled. I wished I had finished writing, but I know that I had to get moving and get a fire started that morning. What a wonderful experience though. I would recommend that everyone at some point in their lives take two weeks off and just live off what you can fit in a medium size frame pack. Bathe in a creek if you can find one, canoe over a few beaver dams down a super windy river, and just live and breathe nature without running into another human being for days on end; it’s a glorious experience.


Another I ran across was from fairly recently from a conversation that I had with a friend who was struggling with feeling alive again. We all sort of lose ourselves in the weights of life sometimes, and in that our joy disappears until we proactively go out and claim it again, wake up with purposefulness (if that’s even a word) and delve back into living life to the fullest. (And please pardon my overuse of ellipsis, it happens when I’m just jotting during a conversation. I often think in fragments and spurts and end up writing the same way.)

“… I was like that [feeling dead] for a while, but I’m such a sensual tactile person… I just get so much life and energy from connection with the world around me. It makes me feel alive. I’m a super process oriented person. I like smoking for the whole act… the feeling… the effects. I like kissing for the same reason… for the human connection… the feeling of skin on skin… seeing the human body move. It’s beautiful to me. This is why I sculpt. I love body lines. Even the simplest things… meeting trees and getting to know their nooks and knotholes… the texture of the bark… talking to the tail-less squirrel who lives on my lawn… I just crave connections. I revel in the smells and sounds of outdoor markets… the sounds of foreign languages being spoken. I love the feeling of being greeting with a hand on my back or the fact that my dear friend J. kisses me every time we greet… its incredible… in that simple act of a platonic peck on the cheek/forehead/lips depending on the situation we can reaffirm how much we have been through over the past 4 years and that we are still here for each other at any time.
Maybe I’m wired differently than most, but is it not everyone’s desire to feel fulfilled and satisfied with the life they lead? Why not just dive in full force?! Yes I work, yes I get sucked into life’s burdens and worries, but I constantly remind myself that I can be a force of positive energy and that I need to pursue what brings be joy in order to do that. For me, that joy comes from connecting intimately with the world around me.”

process and craft

I am a process oriented person. I like seeing how things unfold in my life, in work, watching little kids grow up and start developing their own ideas and personalities; even the simplest things, meeting trees and getting to know the nooks and knotholes, the texture of bark fascinates me. I revel in the smells and sounds of outdoor markets, the sounds of foreign languages being spoken, the feeling of a hug in greeting a friend. The connections that form between the people and objects I come in contact with thrill me. I am an incredibly tactile person. I really love to enjoy using each sense. I just get so much life from connection with the world around me. It makes me feel alive.

Getting to know the materials I am working with really is what brings passion to my work and makes me want to indulge myself in each project. Each aspect of the process, the grog in the clay, the smell of the wool, knowing a piece is centered before the first even pull, the muscle memory of a bowl or rag rug… each part is beautiful to me.

Weaving especially takes so much concentration, so much understanding of each step that I feel as if I can spend my entire life honing this skill and learn something new everyday. That simply thrills me. I love the steadiness of my hand when I’m pulling fibers to spin, the rhythmic thump of the loom shafts opening and closing, the feel and soft scent of the remaining lanolin in wool even after its been washed, I even have come to appreciate the amount of time it takes to plan out a woven piece from the measuring to the warping all the way to the seemingly endless hours stringing each strand through the loom. It’s a beautiful process and I fall deeper in love every day.

Sometimes I struggle with the patience aspect of it all as well as having the dedication to follow through at the times I need to in order to keep a project running smoothly, but over all each step of the way intrigues me. I love that each detail is critical in the final outcome of a piece. This is why I love ceramics from the wedging, to the throwing, to the drying, firing, cooling, glazing; this is where I need to work on timing as well as persistence in following through. But I feel that it is more than worth my time and effort to hone my skills, my knowledge of my beloved craft, life is just more beautiful, more deliberate, more soulful and connected with them there. I couldn't imagine living without these almost forgotten crafts that I'm so passionate about.

quest for a home

I am on a quest. … and yes this is a larger quest than my smaller ones for the right pair of suspenders, another work table, or that perfect chocolate candle that smells like double chocolate fudge brownies when burned!
One of my life goals, and honestly the largest one I have, is to own my own home. All my life we have lived in small apartments with white walls and not much of a yard to speak of, enough is enough. I want to paint walls, plant a garden that won’t get ripped up by a landlord, have a place for children to run, possibly a goat or two. We have also been welcomed into people’s homes when we didn’t have one of our own and it’s about time that I pass that blessing on to others. I want to have a place to offer to those in need. I want to be able to say, “You need a filling meal and a warm bed? Well come stay with me as long as you need.” There’s no need to ask for anything in return, it all comes around in the long term. If someone is capable of providing a service in exchange, barter time for room and board, that is fantastic and a blessing in and of itself, but I will never outright ask for anything in return. This is something that has been placed on my heart to provide as a service, hopefully a blessing to someone else. I’m just repaying my debts.
People tell me I’m crazy for wanting to buy a house, they tell me that I’m too young and I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. Well, maybe I don’t, but never have I felt more strongly about something in my life, as short as it may be thus far. I’m also stubborn as a mule and if you tell me I can’t or shouldn’t do something I end up taking that as a challenge and push through anything you may throw my way.
So my biggest quest is for the right home. I’m looking for a place with a story, whether its been built in a unique way, or its an old farmhouse full of memories and past stories, births and deaths, its up to God to lead me to the right place, with the right amount of land… small children require trees to climb and grass to stain their knees, mud to track into the kitchen, and dandelions to pick.

I’m just looking for home.

teapots

I'm the questing type.
Lately I've been looking for a new teapot. My old one bit the dust this summer and I'm having a really difficult time finding a new one to replace it.
There's just something so personal about owning the right teapot. For me there has to be a sort of story, a vintage feel about it. I think it's because its so personal, so communal, so interactive, so calming.
... or... maybe I'm just super particular about my teapots.

The Long Forgotten

long forgotten are the trees that hold our secrets
quietly they stand in stoic silence
no one cares to hear their stories
and if we bothered to ask, would they even tell?

long forgotten are the barns which once held grain
weathered beaten by the storms
old red paint now chipped away
no animal takes shelter here
how much protection could these skeletons even provide?

long forgotten are the rivers once centers of travel and trade
now just an obstacle for the roads
geological feats of wonder
beds deep in the earths crust
where has that water been? where will it go?

long forgotten are the fields now overgrown with weeds
once bountiful with harvest
a staple of life no longer revered
central to life but no one cares
does anyone know where our food comes from now?

long forgotten are the ancestors finally laid to rest
who worked with love blood sweat and tears to build the world we know
disregarded is their wisdom and the lessons learned
just weathered stones with faint etching barely discernable
a last testament standing to mark their bones
who will remember their stories? who has taken the time?

Trail of Memories

I started out, no destination set in mind, and let the trail take me where it would.
I traveled roads I never even heard of and saw sights I never could have dreamed.

Full Moon

Stop
and listen to the quiet speak
of the milky opalescent moon

her gentle murmer
imparts wisdom and comfort

Women! Stop this ridiculousness!

Women, you are earth! You are strong! You are beautiful! Why do you tear each other down? Draw your strength from the each other. Muster up and bond together.

No wonder men have the upper hand! We cannot stand in a united front if we cannot set aside our pride and our own insecurities. Break those walls between us. Speak up against how we are portrayed in the media, objectified by men, we must speak our thoughts and show we have minds not only breasts. I watch as we let the opinions of society and the media corrupt us and infiltrate our own self image… this leads so quickly to the judgment of others rather than the encouragement of a healthy mindset as well as body. Curves are beautiful. You girls who think you’re bean poles are beautiful as well. Why must we all look alike? Why must we all be the cookie cutter woman, the boxed Barbie, a dime a dozen? NO! Rebel from that, be your own woman! You have your own ideas, passions, pet peeves, interests, etc. so explore them, talk about them, pursue them. To be comfortable in your own skin requires you to have more than just a focus on having your appearances in order, you must be a woman of substance, and we all can be, it just takes time to delve into yourself and discover who you can be, the talents and passions that you have, as well as what trips you up in life. Take the time to get to know yourself and your place in the world around you… then you will thrive and have something to add to your environment, to you relationships, wisdom to pass on. You can make an impact!

But how do we stand united when we are so quick to rip each other down, to criticize, to call demeaning names, to bicker… Stop the cattiness. Find harmony. Raise our girls with beauty, grace, and love; be an encouragement rather than a hindrance. Go out and purposefully live to lift others up, find the beauty in each other, and be a blessing rather than a thorn.

Fantasy... for my Lissa

I
Like every girl
Wants that fairy tale romance
The man
Who can’t against all reason
Help but kiss me
Hold me in his arms
And sweep me off my feet
Just the thought
Running through every girls mind
Of that day
Of that man
Of that kiss
I’ve been waiting
But haven’t we all
Thinking that maybe
It will finally come true
I thought myself so unique
An individual
But I share a dream
A fantasy perhaps
With every girl
And every woman
All united
In one way
The desire to love
And to be loved
Unconditionally
And forever

Sabattis

As I walk this lonely rail road
I think of those gone before
Of those who were looking forward
Of those who were running away
Hopes and dreams
Both anticipated and shattered
What did this path mean for them?
Pieces of coal, the power of the past
Rusty spikes and crumbling wood ties
Reminiscent of the steam age glory
No longer here, just pondered upon
I walk over memories
Tread upon tears of loved ones leaving
Hugs of joyous reunions
And the moss covered, rust eaten dreams
Of a new life
Beyond the railroad

This Is Who I Am - my artist statement

So I had to finally sit and rewrite my artist statement for a gallery exhibit I'll have work displayed in May... it's still sort of in the works, but this is what I'm comfortable with thus far.

My art is craft. My craft is relationships.

Craft is intimate, it’s a conversation. It’s the passing of energy, time, reflection, fear and hope from one person to another. Craft requires time and patience, a knowledge and understanding of the materials one chooses to work with; a relationship must be created.

Facilitating relationships is my ultimate goal. A bowl is just a bowl, but a handmade bowl filled with food to be shared amongst a family takes on a whole new significance. It’s communal. A mug’s just a mug until it’s used for coffee with a dear friend.

That process - being the middle woman between raw materials and the lives they can touch – is what gets me out of bed in the morning.

avoidance

I think we get distracted
Fired then we step into the water
The flame goes out
We forget what just happened
What started the fire in the first place

We’re dull
We cut away at so much in our lives
Lose so much in the process
We need to hone in
On what is really real what we need

We need to be burning bright
In this world of lost hope
A sharpened sword
To fight the battle for you
We’ve lost our drive our fight our flame

dug from an old notebook... belief in dreams

I believe in the dreams of children
The most beautiful
The most perfect innocent and pure
Many have told me to let them go
Never have I, and never will I
Simplicity and beauty are powerful things
Not to be trifled with by any man

You can call me a free spirit
Call me whatever you wish
But I know I shall be a dream
Never to be touched
For I live in the place of love
Not the love of a man
But the love of dirt and trees

My dreams are those of gardens with barefoot children
Soil beneath my fingers and hay flecks in my hair
Laundry hanging on the line on a warm summer day
Not of men, for men appear for a time and leave
Rough hands from hard labor appeal to me
These are a woman’s hands, my hands
To do things on my own and know that I can accomplish what is needed

Only once has a man ever dared enter this dream
To come for a time then promptly leave
As men are quite apt to do
Leaving behind an old pair of slippers
A newspaper, the smell of soap
And a certain smile on my face
That which disappears once again

Never have dreams mixed blended or fused
Tell me to let go and I shall hold on tighter
Try and crush my spirit and leave me empty
And I shall fight back all the harder
I fought for what I wanted and lost it
A fearsome fight never to be duplicated
Never will I let something so precious slip away

You believed, or made yourself believe, that you had me
Held me in your hand and watched me dance
Didn’t you know that a spirit cannot be captured, but so easily crushed?
Who were you to try and take that from me?
I shall not be captured, not be touched
I extend my hand to you in friendship
No man enters my dream.

Re-sung Hymn

We no longer have an attachment, relationship, or understanding of the origins of the objects we use on a daily basis. We don’t have to make them so we take their creation, their parts, their elements, and their process for granted. With that connection lost, meaning and appreciation is lost.
The best example of this horrible shame is the image repeated constantly throughout the entire Bible of God as the potter and humans as simple moldable clay.
How to we sing the words, “You are the potter, I am the clay. Mold me and make me, this is what I pray.” without understanding fully the implication of these words? When that Biblical illustration was first used, the people of the era knew what claywork and pottery required. They were close to it, they experienced the process. They could relate, unfortunately we cannot.
“Claywork is not easy. It is not immediate; it requires a series of processes that are hard to control. Only at the end, after the firing, can one see the finished work.” – The craft and art of clay
This is calling us to endure a crucible – a trial by fire.
The steps leading up to firing aren’t easy either. The process begins with wedging, a kneading motion that aligns the very make-up of the clay (tiny tiny platelets) and releases air pockets caught inside. This is much like making small changes in life, letting go of those bad habits/air pockets that could later explode (as air pockets are apt to do under high heat).
Slammed down on the wheel, the clay is then centered and spun; beginning with the formation of the inside working out, a rhythm of building up, stretching out, and pressing back down slowly forms a beautiful vessel that still in its beginning stage is raw and unstable, but holds much potential.
First firing is experienced. Some don’t hold up under the intense heat and crack, or even worse, explode and shatter affecting the vessels in the making around them. Finally, sanding, glazing, and the final firing under even higher temperatures completes the process.
What was once mere dust and dirt is now a masterpiece; a work of art, favored in the eye of the craftsperson, and ready to be used and serve its purpose.
With knowing that… can that song ever be sung the same? Or can we break out of the monotonous dry way it’s often sung and really commit to the words?