Learning to Look: Jury and Crit Groups

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Crit Group: meeting to look, listen, and speak

Sometimes we are asked to come to the table not just with the work we are making in our studios, but with our eyes, our minds, and our hearts.  This past week, I was honored to take part in two jury sessions, one for the Over the Mountain Studio Tour, and the other for North Mountain Residency.

I adore these invitations.  As I work with other artists and makers to thoughtfully consider work that is often new to me, I find my mind expanding, considering new possibilities, other forms of expression, and am left a better person for it.

The Over the Mountain Studio Tour juries every February, and looks for local artists and makers who may be a good fit with existing members, from diversity of work to abilities to contribute to the putting-on-of-the-tour.  Applicants tend to be traditional, often craft related, but the word is out that we are encouraging new directions, contemporary work, and an open definition of what making in a studio may mean to new makers.

North Mountain Residency offers 12 individuals an opportunity to spend 3 weeks on a rural property that includes woodland and orchard, sharing a group house with private rooms and studios, and shared kitchen and living space.  Three-at-a-time, residents live and work together, focused on their individual projects, but also on intentionally building community.  Their values are exciting and progressive, and their applicants reflect their values.

Being exposed to this broad spectrum of creativity is an injection into the flow of creative juices, a call to action, a gallery visit.  Each and every applicant highlights their blooming practice, and I am humbled by their willingness to share their work and themselves.  I am changed.

To cap off the week, my regular crit group met. We are 5 artists who meet regularly, bringing new work to each meeting, and putting it out there for comment and contemplation.  While the process may be similar to the jury process, crit groups form a deep relationship. I know my group’s work more than any other artists in my community.  I see the challenges and changes, see work change from one session to another, and see themes carry through work. I also see new ideas and directions spring out of seemingly nowhere.  This I love, too.

Most intriguing to me is that while I may have comments for each of these groups that may or may not prove insightful or useful to the artist or organization, when I pay attention to my thoughts and comments about others’ work, I see that those reflections are important insights into where I am at this moment.  This paying attention is what moves my work forward, both in the studio, and in my communities.

 

 

Cleaning House:

While it may be windy and cold outside, the inside of the studio is getting warm again after a winter hiking hiatus.  Days spent with Black Vultures soaring over Antietam Battlefield hills, Muskrats dodging around the trunks of Box Elder trees and human detritus in Antietam Creek, and even the occasional passing pair of Mergansers coasting inches over the water, fade to inspiration as days transition back into the studio.

March 1, my traditional spring studio return date, was calm and sunny.  There were tasks awaiting, like firing off a hearty set of ceramic drawing pastel pencils made from mason stains and local materials, in hopes of adding the mark of my hand to my work in a new way.  These pastel pencils are hand-made, hand-rolled, and meant to capture gesture with a flair of color that is inspired by this winter’s wanderings, and encouraged by the many painters, botanical illustrators, and colored pencil artists that I am lucky to know and call friends.

Surprisingly, this year is my 10th year in this studio, this little woodland property here in WV.  To gently commemorate the year, I decided to clean and sort all of the tools, from the daily regulars to the deep-storage boxes under the working table. (Perhaps the first time in 10 years!) With an eye to handmade and unique pieces, and of course the regular work horses front-and-center, there is fresh energy and inspiration (and less clutter) awaiting next week’s foray into wet clay, again, as a true sign of spring.

And, of course, there are the gems of work already made that have caught my eye this winter, propelling me towards the next body of work to come out of the studio in 2018.  The turquoise ash glaze has been close all winter, and holds its own as we transition to warmer weather.  My mind is all over the place this year, from hand-fitting functional stoneware to riotous sculptures speaking to color and motion.  As usual, I can only imagine what will come of it all, what will become in the studio, and what will remain inspiration for the future.  It’s going to be a good year, and I look forward to sharing it with you….

 

Creating Containers: the process of wood firing kilns

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Wood firing crew at Joy Bridy Pottery, October 2017.

Twice a year, a small group of curious and hard working friends gather to fire my wood fired kiln for three days, round the clock.  It’s a holiday, retreat, vision quest, sacrament, ritual, work party…and quintessential process in the life of a wood firing ceramist.  We build these kilns that we can’t fire alone, and then we create a different kind of vessel.  Not a soup bowl or tea pitcher, but the more abstract and slippery container of community: the kiln firing crew.

Ursula Le Guin’s essay “The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction” has been on my mind lately.  In it, she describes the difference between the story of the hero (with a knife, sword, long spikey thing of choice) who tells the exciting story of winning, and the story of the container (gathering, holding, sharing) that tells the story of living.

  “If it is a human thing to do to put something you want, because it’s useful, edible, or beautiful, into a bag, or a basket, or a bit of rolled bark or leaf, or a net woven of your own hair, or what have you, and then take it home with you, home being another, larger kind of pouch or bag, a container for people, and then later on you take it out and eat it or share it or store it up for winter in a solider container or put it in the medicine bundle or the shrine or the museum, the holy place, the area that contains what is sacred, and then next day you probably do much the same again–if to do that is human, if that’s what it takes, then I am a human being after all. Fully, freely, gladly, for the first time.”  -Le Guin

Wood firing is a creative act in so many ways, and no aspect is more abstract than the creating of this vessel, this firing weekend, that holds all of the participants within, allowing for their moods and preferences, strengths and weaknesses, to be.  We all show up as we are, get to know each other a bit deeper, cherish each other and the process, take care of ourselves and each other, live in rhythm of food and sleep, finish with a flourish, close the gate behind us, and go back to our daily being.  Definitely a ‘carrier bag’ experience.

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As the kiln cools, rain falls, Nina Simone sings her things in my ear, my thoughts meander around the significance of creating this community vessel of a firing experience.  It’s an art form, an honor, and a continually evolving experience that I could never do by myself.  Thank you to the crew of October 2017 for filling the vessel, and all of the crews that I have had the honor and privilege to create the vessel with in the past.  May there be many more.

Impermanence: Sculptures of Native Clay and Weathered Trees

Could You House Your Being Here?

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Rivers Gallery, June 30-August 11

Artist Talk: June 30, 5:30pm

Opening Reception: June 30, 6-8pm

“Native clay, weathered trees, my fingers and thumbs, and a continually evolving sense of animal-ness bring these works into being, the slow concentration of time spent wandering the rivers and ridges of these Appalachian foothills, condensed from hours, days, weeks, months and years of living in this place.   Connecting with our natural environment on a daily basis, the subtle yet pervasive details of this ecosystem, the seasonal cycle of plants and animal life that continue, often as oblivious of us as we are of them, infiltrate my imagination, bringing to life what I imagine to be my own animal habits, patterns and marks, my indigenous touch.

Cutting down dying trees, picking out limbs that already have a whispering voice, a hollow interior space and edges that have healed over time, watching wood weather, waiting for the stage that is still solid, but leaning into the inevitable fact that we will all return to the earth.

Digging clay from among rocks and roots, separating out for the smooth and ochre rich fine particles, soaking it down in an old bathtub with rainwater, laying it out to stiffen up, and aging it in bags for 18 months until it is elastic and lively.

I invite you to consider these materials and their deeply natural footprint.  They are solid and real: stable as long as they are kept out of the elements, and impermanent, simply returning to the ground as clay and carbon when they are allowed to reintegrate with their natural, dynamic environment.  As are we all.”

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“Could you house your being in this space, or is this the body, where we keep our sensitive spirit and heart, our pulsing organs and wildly running mind? Explore through the senses of another creature, find a small spot on the internal rim to curl up, to find comfort.  Accept the challenge to be closer to nature, to embrace unprocessed, un-purchased materials, and to find aesthetic value in something natural.”

 

Controlled Burn: spring freshening

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As luck had it, after a brisk walk at Antietam with friends, there was the most exquisite comntrolled burn being conducted along a field and valley. Sure sign of spring.  The breeze was just right, rolling the fire quickly along dead grass, skipping right around trees, bringing rejuvenation to the prairie grass and wildflowers of summer.

Something about spring, from late winter through to early leaves, sets my mind to pruning, clearing, burning….getting rid of old stagnant growth to make room for the new year’s growth.  Many a conversation has followed the elaborate analogies of the cherry tree, pruned a bit harsh, but not too harsh, brings on the most perfect blooms, followed by a full swell of summer fruit.  Prune too hard, and the suckers grow too hard, reducing the yield, as the tree has to work harder to gather what it needs to sustain. Prune too light, and the fruit yield breaks the limbs, bending them down to the ground, snapping where there is just too much to hold.

Burns as rejuvenation are a strong pull, as a wood firing potter and wood stove enthusiast.  The controlled burn, with many hands each with their eyes and focus on their specific task, is a group pruning, a team with the focus of rejuvenation together.  Cousin to the wood firing by their relationship to controlling fire, I draw analogies of burning the old scrap wood from the property (albeit in a contained brick vessel), setting intention as a group, and coming out the other end with something lovely to sustain us into the future.  The successful containment of fire will always be a thrill.  But the controlled burn….the containment is accomplished with people and water on the edges, a keen eye and understanding of fire and fuel, and serious coordination.

A friendly chap among a large crew, none of whom minded an enthusiastic observer with a camera, described the various jobs among the workers, marked by the colors of their helmets.  (White helmets make the calls and know the whole picture.) He also said that the grass will grow quick, the trees will not be damaged, and the cycle continues.

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So here’s to rejuvenation by fire. May your version of spring pruning and controlled burning be refreshing, and may the prairie grasses sprout soon and strong…

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