Things I'm Afraid to Tell You

The blog world lends itself to putting our best feet forward. Our lives are curated and polished and styled, lit in flattering light.  All those flaws are hidden safely away.  But lately there has been a "revolt" of sorts, among some smart blogs, like Creature Comforts, and Make Under My Life.  "Concerned / frustrated / flummoxed about the vast cavern between true reality and the presentation of "reality" on blogs," a group of these bloggers have lately been writing posts about those rumblings that never make it to the page, thoughts that are too embarrassing or ugly to get air time, or things that are, well, real.

I, too, sometimes feel the pressure of always needing to inspire or to be creative here.  I feel a certain responsibility toward my followers and honestly, toward myself.  I want to keep this place pure and inspiring and a chronicle of all that is good and beautiful in my (and our) lives.  But I thought these writers had a good and valid point, and I wanted to join the chorus of those who are interested in transparency and honesty.  So here goes:

I hate Instagram. I feel as if it's cheating to get a good photo, so I refuse to use it, but since everyone I know uses it, I feel like I am being a big fat snob.  It just seems to me to be the photographic equivalent of that recording software Britney Spears uses to get her voice on key.

Sometimes I eat cookies for lunch.  JUST cookies.

I bought a fish to teach my 9 year old about responsibility.  It's not working.  I hold out as long as I can, but I always end up feeding our beta fish, Buddha, (who I believe, after he swallows those little fishy-smelling pellets, looks up at me with pitiful gratitude.)

Summertime makes me sad, and I feel as if I am missing something wonderful, because everyone seems so happy, but I don't get it.  It's hot.  It's humid.  My hair cannot be contained. Weeds multiply. The kids need to be occupied.  I work less because the aforementioned kids need to be occupied.  Bathing suits and I are not friends. My husband and GOLF.  And did I mention it's hot?

I haven't mopped the studio floor in almost 6 months. No excuse and Yuck.

I don't think I have ever, EVER, gone without yelling at least once a day at my kids.  That being said, I have never, EVER loved any two beings more than my children.  Sometimes it frightens me how much I love them.

I get along pretty great with one sister and pretty rotten with the other.  It's a constant source of aggita.

I still wear shoes and jeans from college, which was TWENTY years ago, and I have no business wearing either of them.  This brings me to the thought that I am not really that good at being a girl, which sometimes gets me sort of down.  I hate clothes shopping, spa days, bling, chatting on the phone. What else is girly?  See?  I don't even know. What redeems this thought is that I secretly love a good piece of gossip and interior design, baking, keeping my toes polished, and vintage handbags.  So maybe there is hope for me yet?

I am afraid that I will wake up tomorrow morning and I won't have one, single, solitary idea.

Now, step back.  This blog posting will self-destruct in 30 seconds.

Mudstar Is One Year Old!!!

It's official!  Mudstar Ceramics is one year old.

Like most toddlers, Mudstar has been at once fussy, temperamental, giggly, and delicious.  She's contributed to a lack of sleep and many happy days.  She's been a test of patience and a source of pride.

Today is the Spring Shoppes at Johnson Park School, and last year at this time, I was stressing over my table coverings, a logo, how to run credit cards, how to set up shop.  It took me untold hours to get ready for this one day event that benefits my boys' school. Though I'd been selling on Etsy and completing commissions for a while, it was my first time where my face would be right next to my work.  I was so nervous!

Now I have several shows under my belt, some of them juried, some of them with thousands in attendance.  I have had people turn up their noses at my prices, wax rhapsodic over my lamps, buy multiple pieces, take cards that turned into wedding jobs and also that turned into nothing.

I am proud to say that today was easy.  Packing was easy.  The set-up a breeze.  Ran credit cards on my Square like a pro.  Though the Shoppes is a smaller scale show, it will always have a place in my heart for what it represents.  Right now, I'm selling my art down the hallway from where my little third grader is reading a story, with confidence, to his old first grade class.  And we're both happy.

Five Creative Finds to Make You Happy

1. Nicolas Burrows's light-hearted designs.

2. Stripe-y pots from Esther Studios.

3. Kinfolk Magazine's poetic journal about creative gatherings.

4. Post Punk Kitchen's Peanut Butter Blondies, O.M.G!!!

5. Anything from fabric artiste, Alabama Chanin, but particularly this wedding dress.

The See-saw of Finding Balance

BALANCE!!!

I see a playground-variety see-saw in my mind. For it to work properly, both sides need to be equal, and even then, balance is precarious at best.  But, if both sides are NOT an even match, they have to work extra hard going up and down, and up and down, pushing and kicking, to have any kind of fun.  It's tiring work, and it's easy to give up.

Lately, this is how I feel:

And, to add insult to injury, I'm not exactly sure which guy I am.  Both?  (Though currently, the state of my jeans is causing me to lean a certain way...)

If you're an artist, chances are you're probably a little crazy when you give over to your inspiration.  Yes?And it can be exhilarating and exhausting.  

I came across this quote the other day:

"...it's the nature of art to yield.  When you're an artist, you possess a drive, you clear yourself of it, you relinquish the outcome."

I love the idea that the act of making the art, is clearing yourself of it.  I always feel better when I've made something and it vaguely resembles the idea in my head.  I can get quite single-minded when I'm in that state.  Is that drive?  Maybe.  But more often than not, I think it's just called dogged.  (I love that word, dogged.)  

dog·ged  (dôgd, dgd)

adj.

Stubbornly persevering; tenacious. See Synonyms at obstinate.

I am definitely in the right line of work for dogged.  (Okay, and maybe obstinate...) Glaze mishaps, crappy firings, cracks when you least expect them, even the amount of time needed to bring a piece to its proper fruition can be infuriating.  Dogged implies not giving up, and stubbornness.  Check, and check.

I have not written a post in three weeks.  Three weeks!!  I love writing my blog because it marks a place in my timeline: what was inspiring me, frustrating me, making me happy.  Be assured, I haven't been napping.  (Could someone define nap for me?) I have finished so many big, big projects over the last month.  (And I promise to share next time...with pics!)  But for now, even though I have lots to do, I need to make sure I at least TRY to find some balance.  

I will doggedly TRY. Woof.

Touch it: Taste It: See It: Tactile Inspirations

Dutch paper artist, Peter Gentenaar.

Pantone Colors done in raspberries and kumquats...

...and in cookie form ala Kim Neill.

Acid-etched photographs from Wolfagang Ganter.

Clay and cake (with pretty, sugary, petal-y frosting like this,) are my constant obsessions.
Check out the tasty blog: Call Me Cupcake.

Gertrud Vasegaard: Dynamic Rest

Gertrud Vasegaard (1913-2007) is pretty much as steeped in Danish ceramics tradition as you can get.  A third-generation potter and little known outside of Denmark, she lived, by all accounts, a monk-like existence, living and breathing ceramics until her death at 94.  (Why do all the lady potters live so long and in good health?  There should be some kind of medical study...Is it the clay - nature's facial? Is it the kiln- are they just well-baked? Hmmmm...)

Vasegaard's simple, modernist sensibility is as present in her work as is her integrity.  Her pots are useful, domestic, but they still have a kind of nobility about them - a strength, and a sense of serenity.  The viewer can feel the quiet, meditative joy that her work gave her, while still being awed by her masterful technique and restraint.  And amazingly, though some of these designs were created 40, 50, even 60 years ago, they could very easily be made today and still be considered modern.

I am so glad I ran across her work - the repetition, the lines, the dynamic simplicity really spoke to me. Remarkably, there has been only a single exhibit of her work outside of Denmark, in the UK in 2011.  Here, a reviewer showed beautiful insight into Vasegaard's designs: "No loudness is to be registered, only dynamic rest."

Trust Yourself. You Know More Than You Think You Do.

Trust is not really considered a good business plan.  You hear about it all the time: how people get screwed because they are too trusting: ponzi schemes, little old ladies robbed of their nest eggs, nasty critters like Madoff.  So they create more laws, tighten more controls, stack up more paperwork, presumably to save us from the Big Bad Wolves out there.

I propose differently.

I propose that we need to be aware of the Big Bad Wolves, including that idea that sometimes the Big Bad Wolves are ourselves.  (Maybe we even keep a golf club under the bed, just in case.)  But at some point, in order to grow and learn and be, in order to really get anyplace worth mentioning, we need to relinquish control and trust the Universe that it will all work out.  F'real.

Is that Pollyanna of me?  I used to think so.  And then I somehow trusted that I was an artist, started this whole Mudstar Ceramics nonsense; and I find myself allowing trust to play a much bigger role than I ever thought I could manage.

I trust my process to come up with ideas.  I trust my education and experience to know how to build the ideas.  I trust myself to finish them.  Then there is the trust I have with my customers: I trust their checks will clear, that when they tell me they want the lamp base to be 18 inches, they actually mean 18 inches, that when I ship something that took hours to make, they will appreciate it when they open the box.  

I trust that trying out new things: new selling venues or a new class, or interviewing a new someone I admire, will lead to other good things, which will cause me to grow.  I trust the opinions of people I love.  I trust that most of my mistakes will lead to my learning something.  I trust the energy I am sending out there will come back to me somehow.

And it will.  I'm sure of it.