Last night I did a wheel throwing lesson with a friend’s daughter. We worked at Clay Space in the Whiteaker. What an amazing public facility! I had such a good time getting muddy. Yes I am thrilled by fiber, endlessly excited by the vast and brilliant spectrum of recycled color, but clay is my first love. It will always call me. I will always answer.
Fantasy A
I hired myself a secretary last night. His name is Charlie, but I call him hun. He irons and cuts fabric into tiny perfect squares for me, answers emails and phone calls, gets me coffee, formulates innovative marketing strategies for me, builds my frames and my customer base, and compliments all my work endlessly. This is a photo of him. You can’t see his face because he’s drowning in a field of tasks.
running the thread
If my sewing machine had wheels, thus far today I’d have driven to Portland and back. In sharp contrast to the quiet meditation of laying down bits of colored cloth, my sewing work is pedal to the metal. I hunch at the machine, teeth gritted, brow sweating, as I tear around corners and work tight brodies across the cloth. I am a race car driver across a tiny padded track.
distortion
I listened to a RadioLab episode today (among my favorite things to do while I work) about self deception. In one study it was found that when shown a series of computer manipulated images of ourselves where the images diverge toward increasingly ugly or increasingly beautiful, (I am uncertain exactly what perimeters were used to determine beauty and ugliness) people consistently think the image that is 20% better looking than their actual photo is the original. In other words, we see ourselves as more beautiful than we are. This is a delicious piece of information for me. It gets me thinking about the work of the artist, absorbing and recording images, then filtering them back out through their own peculiar and of course distorted mental, visual, and tactile pathways. I think distortion is what makes art intriguing. In that rather small space between how I imagine or see something, and how you imagine or see it, there are infinite unanswered questions.
until the tide comes in...
There is something really beautiful about this kind of creative human effort done in the face of inevitable destruction. The creator is unattached. In my own work I often behave as if what I am making will last forever. This lends an exaggerated sense of importance and finality to my process, but of course, the real truth is that my work will eventually deteriorate somehow. This week I want to get more Lean-To as I work. I want to get messier and less attached.
Roots
Roots, I spend a considerable amount of time contemplating them, rendering them, speculating their unseen pathways underground. I like to imagine my own growing root system, a tangle of invisible threads connecting me to the people and places I love.
Meet Lena
My recent display of flagrant affection for my chop saw got me thinking about the tools of my trade; there are many, but (for me) none so precious as Lena, my sewing machine. She may be little, and yes, she’s yellow, but she is powerful. For those of you with tool amor, Lena is a Viking Husquavarna. She is among the final generation of her kind to be made in her native homeland, Sweden. When Lena and I are sewing together I often feel the arctic wind in my hair. So without further rambling: a Toast to Lena and all the fantastic tools that make our varied work lives possible!
