What’s Next?

 

Finishing things in the studio and around the house feels good, yet my mind races ahead to what’s next. The ongoing quest or question drives creation and maybe, drives me a little crazy? 

I wanted, and maybe needed, to do a relief sculpture of oak leaves. The face, like the others I’ve made, is a mystical goddess. With her eyes opening outward, a tribal like eyebrow and smiling lips, she feels to me like wisdom and love. 

So far I’ve made her the center of a sunflower, poppies, ginkgo leaves and now oak leaves. Am I celebrating the seasons as I would imagine she does? I don’t know. And that’s ok. 

That’s how art works for me, if I let myself listen without listening.  Be moved instead of moving. See without using my eyes, instead using my hands and heart. Act from my gut, my core, my intuition. 

The magic of making. 

I love to make things, so I’m always making things. That’s the good part. The ideas. The excitement of the beginning. The intense focus and joy of rolling and cutting and putting pieces in place one by one. I am always oblivious to the mess in the moment and while I delight in the idea, the process always takes much more time than I envision. 

That’s ok. Step by step the pieces come together. My only race is with my hands, the weather and time. Clay is a medium which needs cooler weather and humidity all within a certain window of time. Once it starts to dry out, the working window closes. Sometimes completely. Yes, there are ways to keep it moist and pick up where I left off but sometimes, life gets in the way.

Symbols of power. 

As a nation, we are fighting for our rights, our safety and our lives. So art seems a frivolous action. And yet, somewhere inside me feels it is a lifeline, our lifeline. Grounding to the earth, to the soul, to each other. It makes a connection that can’t be bought or paid or taken away. 

It is our common ground. It is a language beyond words. It is our souls reaching out for each other. Whispering in the night: “We are still here. We are all right. We are together.”

Oak trees and their leaves are symbols of strength, endurance, stability and longevity. Because they are big, powerful trees with a long life span, they also represent fertility and wisdom. Along with their acorns, they represent power, authority and victory. 

Perhaps I needed some Oak tree power this week, maybe you do too. 

Change

 

Looking out my window I see bursts of bright color: crimson red, golden yellow, purple and brown. The color change is beautiful. The crisp, cool air is refreshing. Fall is here. But I’ll admit, it’s never been my favorite season. 

Maybe it’s the weather going from warm to cold? Maybe it’s the echos of all those ‘back to school’ years? Maybe after all the beautiful colored leaves, the trees become stark skeletons? Maybe what’s really bothering me this Fall isn’t about Fall at all. 

Changing colors. 

I don’t like all the craziness swirling around us in this country. Red states vs Blue States. People being arrested for having an opinion someone else doesn’t like. People  beaten up for the color of their skin. And the women’s rights I fought for decades ago, being degraded and denied. 

These are not changes I want to see. This is not what I voted for. And I suspect we will find out that it’s not what the majority voted for either. Until then, I try to do what I can to help those in need, support what I want and believe in for everyone. 

Creative change.  

One way I can make positive changes in my community is with my hook. I’ve been busy crocheting Christmas Stockings for my neighborhood women and children center. They asked for 40 and I’m on number 31 now. My goal is to get them the stockings before Thanksgiving, or sooner. Finger’s crossed!

This weekend I joined knitters and crocheters in downtown Portland for the first ‘Knit In’. Put together by a group called ‘Common Cause’ it was a way to show our support for the rights of all people here in Portland and beyond. Despite the pouring down rain, the tents were filled with like-minded men and women coming together with yarn-in-hand to support freedom for all. 

Color experiments. 

Another new experience for me this week was taking an online class with artist, Jill Badonsky. It was a fun, interactive experience. I played along with others mixing watercolors and using gel pens to create fun, silly Autumn themed art. 

I used to paint all the time. But that was pushed aside for throwing and handbuilding clay cups, bowls and vases. Lately, I’ve been doing more sculpture and taking a more ‘painterly’ approach with clay. Experimenting with relief and color is a fun and challenging change. 

Change is life

Even if I’m not ready

The seasons change 

And so must I

Time to see the good falling all around me

 

Sanity Stockings

 

Stitching my way to peace.

It’s been almost a year since my major surgery. A surgery I didn’t know was coming, saved my life. I’m grateful. Before I got the surgery I was bounced from one Urgent Care to another with no diagnosis. I was even told by one doctor, “You remind of my mother. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

Yeah. After 9 months, a CT scan proved something was really wrong. I thank the surgeon and nurses who really helped me both physically and emotionally. (If you want the whole story, read my first Substack/blog “Easily Dismissed”.)

Crocheting comfort.

Recovery from major surgery is not easy for anyone. I’m not a very patient, patient. I had to have something to do. So I started crocheting hats and scarves. I’d made more than enough for family and friends, then I thought I’d donate some to a local shelter for women and children. When I dropped them off, they asked if I was part of a group because they’d really love some Christmas stockings. About 40. 

I said, I’d see what I could do.

Stocking up or down. 

I’ve never made a crochet Christmas stocking. So I searched the internet and found several patterns. I tried one that is crocheted from top down which means the heel and toe are done last. It was single crochet which is easy but boring. And I hated doing the heel and toe at the end.

Then I found a stocking pattern that went from the toe and heel up. It used a ribbing stitch I’d never done and gave me a new challenge. Plus I got the tricky bit done first and the rest was the fun ribbed stitch.

Recovering peace and connection. 

Months went by and I had happily stitched my way through most of my yarn stash making ribbed stockings. I picked up some great buys when a local yarn store closed but I started getting a little bored with red and white and teal green.  

I’d made quite a few stockings by this point, but I doubted I could make them all on my own. And I’d recovered enough to venture beyond my home turf. That’s when I found a new event at my local library: a fiber meet up! 

It was a lovely mixed group of fiber enthusiasts: a quilter, a weaver and, yes, knitters and crocheters! There was even a big bin of free/donated yarn! Colors like hot pink, blue, yellow and mixed. Oh my. 

Here’s a quote from Martha Beck that inspired me: “Like crazy quilting, “sanity quilting” involves stitching together a life out of things you love in order to stay peaceful, calm, inspired, and sane. “

Then I needed to stay calm

And recover my strength and spirit

Now I’m inspired and peaceful

And staying sane

One stocking at a time.

Bloom

Things are flowering in my studio. I don’t know why. I didn’t make sketches or take pictures or plan or conceptualize designs. 

I got out my clay. Rolled out a slab and set it aside.The next day, I rolled out some more clay and started cutting it up. Leaves appeared. Petals popped up. Why? 

Ok, I do love flowers. I don’t buy big bouquets. Instead, I splurge on one small bunch of flowers every week at Trader Joe’s. Whatever is in season: Sunflowers, Dahlias, Chrysanthemums, Gerbera Daisies. And I get an orchid plant to put behind my sink and baby it until it goes, then I get another one. 

Clay Blooms. 

It never occurred to me to make flowers in clay, but they’re here and they’re growing. I have to wonder again, why? Is there something going on around me I’m not aware of? Some plant or flower fairy waving her magic wand?

I did three in a row and stopped. I thought that was it and that’s fine. 

A clay circle. 

I went into the studio another day,  got out my clay and cut it into a circle. Soon the circle had a nose. Then eyes. And lips. Ok, so I made a face. Not in the way I’ve ever made faces or sculpted clay. But there it was on my board, so I propped it up on top of a yogurt container, covered it and left my studio. 

So, I made this round face. It was an experiment. I’d never made a face or sculpture like that before, so maybe it was just a new challenge. I had no idea beyond just making a more abstract, round face. 

Flowers again. 

The next morning, I was admiring the 4 sunflowers I’d bought at TJ’s that week. Later that day, the face became a Sunflower. Then a ladybug came to rest on the clay. 

Again, no planning, no drawing, no decision. It just happened. 

It was fun. 

Then another flower face or face flower appeared. And more ladybugs. 

My mind shouted: what are you doing? And why? 

I truly don’t know. And maybe I’m not meant to know. 

Maybe there is no why. There’s only what.

Maybe somewhere inside me there was a need. 

After all the doctors and drugs and surgery and pain.

Maybe it’s time for me to trust my body. 

And like a flower: Bloom.  

Alive and Free.

 

It’s taken me days to start writing this piece. Well, years or maybe decades, actually. As a woman, a grandmother, a mother, a spouse, I’ve had many roles dictated by society, by religion, by men. I have been seen and unseen. Loved and hated. Embraced and abused. And it started when I was so young, I had no words for it. No context. Even if I did, I would not have been heard. 

So you can understand why this weeks press conference on Capitol Hill by the women who as girls were captured and raped hit me hard. They are so brave and I wished I could have been so brave, too. I tried. I was unheard. So I did the best I could, I shielded my children. I refused to let them be alone with my family. When I had to appear, my husband and I made sure they were protected at all times. Push came to shove and I had to say, NO. Stop the abuse and bullying. Stop the threats. Instead of listening to me, my mother disinherited me. 

The bullies got the money. 

I got safety.

Am I angry. Yes. 

Is there grief and loss? Yes. 

But I am free. I am safe. 

So are my children and grandchildren. 

Art Therapy. 

I can see now, clearly, that much of my art tells the story. Without realizing it I wasn’t just telling the story of my past, but the story of my present. The story of rising. The story of the strength it took to stand up and step away. 

Now with that pedophile in the White House, I put my feelings and needs into clay. I thought I was just playing around with a new way of making a bust. But without realizing it, I created a few pieces with women as walls. Women as guardians and goddesses.

These pieces helped me see the truth. I may feel shaky, but I am healing. Physically from major surgery this year where, as an older woman, I was tossed from doctor to doctor for a year before getting the help I needed. Mentally from the shock of major surgery. Emotionally from the wounds of the past both emotional and physical. 

And as my sweet, strong, supportive husband keeps telling me: it takes time.

 

Time to slowly find myself again. 

Working with my hands and heart and clay.  

I now have Goddesses to remind me:

I protected my love, my babies, myself. 

Now, I am alive and free.