ScrapFest is over and this week I can finally focus on getting ready for the artist’s residency. Two weeks, a cabin, no running water or electricity, and an outhouse—all in exchange for two uninterrupted weeks of making art in one of the most beautiful wilderness areas in the state. Fair game.

Piles are piling up—clothes, food, art supplies, safety equipment (including every imaginable format of bug spray, bear, and people spray). Art supplies will trump all if I can’t fit it everything in my car. I’ve never been to summer camp, but this looks like it’s about right.

So, what’s the point of all of this? I’m honestly not sure yet. I’m hoping to really SEE the upper peninsula and capture some essence, larger or small. I’m hoping to sketch, write, paint, notate and just see where these processes lead. I’m hoping to crack through to some deeper level—one that really speaks about the area, but also to where I find my motivation, my true connection with art, my justification for the choices I’ve made my whole life in favor of a lifestyle and pursuit that feels genuine and, I’ve always hoped, valuable in some degree. Might be a lot to ask, but two weeks alone seems like a good way to start.

I am taking water-based oils, poetry books/notebooks, gouache, pencils of all sorts, and some clay, canvasses and sundry substrates. I have NO idea what I’ll be drawn to observe or record/interpret. I just can’t wait to get to work.

A lot of artists struggle with finding/recognizing/developing their style. Style is all well and good. It may help others differentiate one person’s work from another. But, in my humble opinion, style only goes so far. What transcends style is voice.

This has become clear to me as I’ve been working in clay of late. It’s still all relatively new to me, so I’m trying out lots of shaping techniques and surface treatments…and REALLY trying to concentrate on craftsman ship. It’s been really fun and interesting to find a good fit here and there. Like Cinderella’s slipper, when something fits, things get a bit magical.

I’ve found one stoneware clay that meets all my needs, so for now I’m not looking further. Working with this clay is not a constant battle, but rather a letting go to the medium—knowing what I can expect, naturally making my kinds of marks, and all with happy hands (that part is REALLY important…I hate greasy clays). To my own surprise, I’m not much interested in surface decorations that involve painterly techniques or lots of layering and sgraffitto. You’d think that as a painter I’d be all over that, but I just find it tedious and boring, even when the piece turns out nicely. What I prefer are finishes that enhance shape and surface. I have a really long way to go till I’m happy with what’s coming out, but I can check off a number of techniques as not-a-good-fit for having tried them. That’s progress in its own right.

Choosing materials and palettes, and making certain types of marks that come organically from preferences applied to work over time creates style. Voice is more about how  such choices support the story behind the work (this might be narrative, symbolic, or simply an expression of form).

What makes an artist get up and go to the studio over and over? It could be meditative, or escapism, or it might be to change the world. Whatever it is, when that motivation starts to drive the work itself, there’s voice. That’s the magic…when the materials, techniques, and story all resonate together.

Looking for that magic is a life-long quest. I’ll think I have it figured out, then might lose it again. This week I had a hint of it when I remembered to come back to trusting my hands and the clay to know what’s best for me. Suddenly the work changed. Now, please, let me hang on to that for at least a little while (dare I ask for longer?), not get sidetracked, and take it further, one piece at a time.

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I’m never going to be a production potter, but I’m taking a page out of that notebook to give me a stronger foundation for my work. It’s hard, but I can make myself do it..be methodical and linear…and I need to.

I realized recently that I’ve had WAY TOO MANY variables in my clay exploration, meaning it was hard to find patterns and retain what I’d learned so as to be able to do something I liked again.

In order to do a great ceramic piece the form and the finish have to work together and enhance one anther. I need to know what finishes work for my aesthetic so that I can create suitable forms.

I bought a number of glazes that in themselves aren’t much, but that in combinations can be quite wonderful (or ghastly). I’m doing test after test of combos and finding there are just a handful that I really like. Here are a few examples of those on test tiles.

I’m going to limit myself to bowls for awhile. I love bowls, so that part is easy. It’s just another way of minimizing the variables. Once I’m comfortable that I can predict (to at least some extent) some results, then maybe I’ll branch out. Or, I’ll revert one day to just making any damned shape I want and take my chances on the finish.

This afternoon I’m going to glaze up the latest bisque batch using what I learned from the last test run. Well see!

While teaching an encaustic workshop, I finally had an opportunity to try a technique I’d been thinking about for some time. I’d seen a portrait done in encaustic that felt a lot like a monoprint. The nature of the marks was appealing.

This is a first stab at an approach. I basically put down a smoothish layer of encaustic medium, then rubbed the surface with water-soluble oil paint followed by wiping to pull out color. Details were added with scraping and a bit of oil pastel.

I’d wait longer to let the wax cool next time, so the oil doesn’t get too deep into the surface, but all in all I do like the quality of the marks and that the flesh feels fleshy…something encaustic generally does not lend itself to well. There are other ways that may work better, so more experimentation lies ahead. Definitely want to keep playing with this, probably mixed with more traditional techniques. It’s just another tool in the box.

It makes me think of Isabelle Allende stories.

It’s almost time for me to head up to Interlochen for a week again this year. It’s such a surreal environment…peaceful (kids are home for the summer and summer camps will not yet have begun) but still oozing that something that is essentially an open door to creativity.

l love the students who come to the adult arts program. They are all there to learn, to expand, and to explore. They are all really interesting and fun to get to know. They are a joy to teach!

It looks like all of my classes are a go, which is great because I really like this mix. Three day’s of children’s book illustration, one day of marketing/branding, and two days of encaustic, so clean, dirty, and a mix of left and right brain efforts.

I work by brains out, then recoup in my little room with a snack and a book (reminder…get a couple of great books before going). I’ll be whipped by the end of the week, but in a perfect sort of way.

I’m incredibly grateful for the opportunity to do this sort of teaching. I can’t think of a better way to spend a week this summer. More classes for me in fall…woo hoo!

I think there’s still room in a couple of the classes. Click here for information and registration for their whole summer line-up.

I found out this morning that I’ve been accepted as a resident artist for the 2015 Porcupine Mountain State Park program. This means I’ll have 13 days in a rustic cabin (no water or electricity, but otherwise inviting) and the opportunity to create artwork about the environment around me. My intention is to take water-miscible oil paints and gouache for doing paintings, sketch paper, of course, a notebook for poetry writing, and some clay for making impressions of objects for future molds or imprints.

I want to look at the landscape from a distance, and then to move in for tiny details…a macro/micro approach.

As I drove to Petoskey and back yesterday, I was trying not to be too hopeful about the residency. I know people apply from all over the country. But, this state is so doggone beautiful and ideas were racing ahead of me and I could not help but hope I’d get it.

I was given my first choice on date, so will be there at the peak of summer.

Much to learn about it yet. I just know that this will be a unique and precious experience and I’m grateful the opportunity exists. I smile every time I think about it!

Here’s a link to the application area that talks a bit about the program.

This week has brought pleasant surprises.

With an exhibit coming up in February (at Katalyast in Old Town), I’ve been working at a pace to be ready on time. But, the red dress series, as I had originally envisioned it, was eluding me. It wasn’t that I disliked the work that was emerging, and I will probably include the pieces in the show, but I had begun the whole process with something else in mind…

simple, fresh, focusing on the power of gesture.

I wanted to explore a woman’s relationship with herself and the world around her through her simple interaction with a dress.

What goes through our heads as we stand in a dressing room—do we feel sexy or repugnant? As we don an item of clothing are we girding ourselves for battle, opening ourselves up to intimacy, or putting on a costume? What do others see that we don’t, won’t, or can’t?

In talking with another friend who is prepping for a show, I realized I wanted and needed to get back to the original plan. Suddenly sketches started pouring out. It was like they were just waiting for me to open the door. The finished art since then feels like I wanted it to feel at the outset.

I think I was trying too hard. Now I’m having fun just making the marks and I’m very excited to see this body of work all come together to tell its story.

I started work on the show with this piece. Since it’s about preparation for creation it seemed an apt image for a beginning. It’s entitled “The Best Laid Plans”. My relationship with sewing machines has traditionally been adversarial. When I used to sew clothes I would always put something in backwards and have to rip it out. Usually that was because I was pushing beyond exhaustion to finish something in a single sitting. I’ve rarely sewed as much as a seam without the bobbin clogging or running out of thread. It all seems so exciting at the beginning, but I’ve learned this is not my area of creation. Still, I wanted to acknowledge this process. I love the tools and the fabrics, searching for just the right pattern…and how patterns are constructed.

People often ask me how I know that I’ve finished a piece. Since I just completed this one today, it seems the right time to discuss it.

Usually, as I’m nearing the end and an image is coalescing, I take breaks from it, stepping away, checking to see what needs tweaking—brightening, toning down, blending, or a complete restructuring. I might take a walk or have a snack. When I get back I’ll just glance at the piece, then away, to see if any area stands out as off, somehow. If so, I’ll look away, then back at it a few times to let that area speak to me and tell me what’s wrong.

Sometimes I just know what to do. If not, I go back to academic rules of color or value or composition to jog my vision, then correct. The tiniest thing might throw the whole piece off…a secondary highlight that’s too bright, or an iris that doesn’t quite line up. Or, it could be a whole area where marks seem stale or color muddy.

Rinse brush and repeat.

As the end nears, each mark becomes critical. At some point I’ll pick up the brush or tool, then set it down. If this happens more than a few times, I’ll know I’m done.

That does not mean that I could not still change something. It just means that the piece feels complete with itself and that if I make any changes I’ll be starting the process of creating a different sort of piece.

It’s that simple.

This week I got the touch for how to hold and pace rods and hot glass. It took a lot of You-Tube and practice time. Suddenly seeing my hands do what needed to happen was hugely gratifying.

Here’s the progression through three sessions…getting more consistent, but also running the glass through as many techniques and color combinations as I can each time.

I’ve been researching a lot about glass types, techniques, annealing and equipment. I think for me the biggest obstacle is going to be scale. People generally talk in millimeters, which is why so many work with beads. I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to get to the scale I have in my head with the materials and equipment I’m willing to invest in. I enjoy experiencing glass, but do no see it as MY medium…just one more to explore.

I’ll keep playing and take things as far as I can continue to enjoy at this scale. Maybe

I saw some incredible glass beads at Grove Gallery. They are like little universes. The colors are intoxicating, as they blend from one to another. They were created with a torch in a system called lampwork. I still have to look up why.

My first surprise is the cost of embarking on this venture. Art supplies are crazy, but you can’t really start glass without some sort of kiln and easy gas sources are not bad in the short run, they’d add up quickly, yet a good torch system is flat out costly, too. Basic tools and safety equipment and a selection of glass is not bad. You just can’t really DO anything with it unless some dollars are expended.

So, I’m making expendable experiments, in order to learn, see if I like the medium, and see if it likes me. So far it’s hard on the eyes and I already know I need glasses that filter the light. I have to stand at the table I’m able to use, but that’s ok for short runs. I NEED ventilation, as just today I got the classic carbon monoxide headache etc.

After three sessions I think I’ve encountered almost all that can go wrong ( i could REALLY regret having written that, but it feels that way). That means I’ve learned a lot about what not to do which gets me closer, I hope, to what I DO want to do. I’m reading and watching videos like an addict and between trying and learning and trying I do have faith I’ll make progress, but it’s going to take more time than any medium has to date.

The hot glass is like hot caramel, so the feel is familiar. Only practice can tell me exactly where in the flame I need to be for various process, or how hot or cold things need to be to accomplish what.

I’m posting this photo of my first pieces…a blue bead (the first on that survived, as I had issues with a substance that’s SUPPOSED to hold it on the mandrel (rod). If you only knew what beautiful things I had in my head going in…unrecognizably different from what came out.

What I learned today:
Fine threads of glass can poke right into your finger and make it bleed.
Clear glass is harder than solid colors – or so it seems.
If you don’t warm glass up slowly, it can blow up.
If you don’t cool glass downs slowly, it can blow up.
Even when the glass does not seem molten, it can still be very sticky.
Imagining it, does not make it so.
Hotter is better/faster.
The blob should be bigger.
Don’t push too hard.
Don’t panic.