Monday, September 13, 2010
Mostly It Happens Here
Mostly it happens here; my ceramic work that is, here at my work table. (For the life of me I couldn't get that white flash out of the photo. How in the heck am I going to apply for shows using Zapp? Microsoft digital editing was much easier than Paint Shop Pro. I guess I'll worry about that tomorrow). Anyway, I get a clean bucket of water and cut off a slab of clay. Sometimes I know what I'll make, like yesterday when I made the trays. Today I didn't know, so I looked out the window.
I knew I had a small amount of black clay left in the bag. I set the clay down rolled it out and looked out the window some more. I thought about the hard life a farmer must have, being at the mercy of the elements.
So I made this a farmer's field near the mountains in winter with the fields plowed and a tree without leaves. I noticed the tree looks a bit like a hand reaching up, interesting. The fields are waiting for Spring when the farmer will grow food for the world again.
I've been filling up these bookcases I had from my last studio with my recently finished work. The shelves are removable and the bookcases still weigh a ton.We were going to sell these bookcases since they're so heavy to move. But they're real handy for storing my finished ceramics so we thought better of it. We just put them out on the lanai this week.
The insides are birch plywood, but the sides are a melamine. The sides were scratched in the move so I need to paint the sides. Gary said I should put grass cloth on the sides. I thought about painting the bookcases with one color but that's a lot of work and I hate to cover up the natural wood.
Meanwhile now that the outside of the house is painted and the tile floors are finished I'm unpacking my previous ceramic work along with linens, lamps and miscellaneous items. I'm tired of painting and unpacking. I just want to make ceramics. Seems like the work I don't want to do is never done, especially since I have fresh clay again. Comments and suggestions are welcome.