Monday morning

The weekend was a mixed bag - with the balance tipping toward the positive.
It was windy in Palo Alto over the weekend, and Chris said that the windiness affected crowd attendance at the art show. So he won't be bringing home as many coins as usual..but that's the way it goes in this business . The good news is that a friend saw pics of the latest firing on Flickr, and inquired about one of the pieces...and voila'...she bought it! And we had some visitors to our area stop by the studio yesterday, and they loved what they saw and went home with two pieces of our pottery. So all is well. I'll be making more ware today for a show two weeks from now in Capitola. Hoping for good weather. Coming up this coming weekend is the Kings Mountain Art Fair, an annual event in Woodside over the Labor Day Weekend. Chris will be there.

There was an interesting outcome to Donna's sheep adventure. She had accidentally come across an auction of animals a few weeks ago and had promised to pay the owner of a family of sheep- a mother and her son and daughter - $100. if he'd hold them until she found homes for them. Saturday was the zero hour for her claiming the sheep family of 3. The two weeks was up. The owner said that if she didn't come to pick them up, they would be butchered.
She'd called everyone she knew who might be interested, but no takers. She didn't want them killed. It was a dilemma.
So, then came a knock on her door. It was her friend, Mike, and his son, who'd decided to drop in to say hi and to see how she was. He lives about 50 miles from her. Mike was a stranger who had to come to Ukiah, in the spring, for chemotherapy, and since she has a big house, she'd told the Cancer Society that she could accommodate a chemo patient who had to travel to undergo treatment - someone who needed a place to stay. She wouldn't charge anything for the room. So he stayed with her for a couple of months. She's a nurse-practitioner who practices a Buddhist philosophy.
When she told Mike about her sheep problem, he immediately said that he'd take them to his 15 acre farmette on the coast! He helped her load them up in his truck, took them to the coast, and the sheep will live out their lives there, happily, keeping the brush down.
Mike has people and animals on his land that he's helped. This was such a heart-warming ending to the sheep saga. Do I hear a "what goes around, comes around?" !
Donna is now running a wellness clinic in Ukiah.
I haven't yet mentioned my other children very much, I realize. Lynn is a drug abuse counselor, Paul is a Senior trainer for a computer software company, and Jon works in television. I have a grandson who is an actor and Jiu-Jitsu teacher, and a grandson who is a first-grader. I love my family.

August 28,2010

Chris left for the Palo Alto University Avenue art fair at 3:30 this morning with the van full of boxes of pottery, our canopy, shelving and pedestals. The Bay Area show is nearly 4 hours away, and his scheduled time to set up the booth is 7:30 a.m. I'm waiting to hear he's all set up and ready to exhibit our work. He's been working so hard to get ready for the next three weekends of shows! The last firing was unloaded just before he left! The firing was a big success, fortunately. Some lovely pieces. I'm staying home to be with all the fur persons in our family - we'd rather not leave Flora with a house sitter in her weak condition, The old girl is getting lots of special attention. I'll work in the studio making ware for the next firing in about two weeks.

I'm distracted temporarily by the sound of that buffoon, Glenn Beck, on the tube, speaking on the steps of the Washington Monument - noting that we've gone from the sublime thoughts of Dr. King, and the memory of the great President Lincoln, to the ridiculous, I Have a Scheme, Beck. Poor America that someone like him and Sarah Palin can rise to the top! The presumptuous co-optation of the 47th anniversary of King's I Have a Dream speech just galls me.

But - I'm happy that we had a good firing!!

Beginnings and Endings

I'm learning a lot from my daughter, Donna, a nurse-practitioner who has worked, for several years, in hospice.
Death is such a mystery to me. I've avoided thinking about it whenever possible. She, on the other hand, deals with it on a frequent basis, visiting the terminally ill in their homes, making sure they are comfortable and pain-free, and confirming their passing when the patient's relatives call to tell her the end has come. Some weeks several may die. Her calmness is remarkable, and she says that meditation has been a help. When we sat on the deck recently, next to Flora, our elderly Aussie dog, who has shown signs of coming to the end of her life, but who is improving, still weak, but getting some of her strength back, Donna softly chanted a Kuan Yin Compassion prayer, and it was like breathing in and out, so lovely and affecting.

Sometimes our teachers come to us - even in the form of our own children.

Jon's birthday

Youngest son is 37 today. He's been working in the television industry for about 15 years, down in Los Angeles. Life in the fast lane. Country boy in the Big City. So proud of him.

There are big distances between some towns in Mendocino County. Chris is off to Point Arena, an hour and a half away, where he is helping a friend get to a hospital appointment in Fort Bragg. Blood tests this morning, MRI this afternoon. Meanwhile, I've been working in the studio, sanding any rough edges from the bisqued pottery we'll be firing in the next couple of days. Waxing too.

And the Flora dog update is that she is showing signs of improvement! Eating, getting out of bed - all that good stuff. Trying my best to not get too optimistic, but I'm proud of her too.

August 21, 2010

Today I'll be working on a line of porcelains that are just mine. Chris is making his miniatures for the case at upcoming fairs. The jury accepted me into The Celebration of Craftswomen show at Fort Mason in San Francisco on the first weekend in December. It's a bit of a challenge doing a women-only fair at my age - Chris does most of the heavy lifting these days. I actually did the first of the Celebration of Craftswomen shows over 30 years ago - when it was a small exhibit in the Old Wives Tales Bookstore storefront. Now the show has grown in national recognition. I do like the idea of participating again and making new work of my own. (They'll let men help with the set-up and tear-down, thankfully.) I've got offers of help from daughters and women friends as well - an adventure!

Flora lives on! Every morning I'm prepared to find that she passed away in her sleep, but she endures, with a wag of her tail. The vet didn't have much hope for her. She's the equivalent of a 95 year old human. We offer her breakfast in bed, and she takes a few nibbles from her loving admirers. Blessings on Chris, who keeps her bedding clean.

Today, life is good.

Changes

I've changed my url here to janwaxclayblog.blogspot.com The Google search engine never could find A Clay Journal.

We worked in the studio today. Lots of shows coming up.

This is a picture of our dog Flora, an Australian Shepherd. Born here at the house nearly 14 years ago, she's been the sweetest dog in the world. We love you, Flora.

Last night

The world comes to AV. A beautiful evening in Yvonne and Bill's garden with their friends. Food from the loving hands of our hosts, art, wine, and a lingering image of gathering darkness, with a dozen candles around the table, the lighting like a Caravaggio, and listening to the ancient tones of Yuval's oud.

Like sheep

Eldest daughter called today with her latest adventure. She bought three sheep - One Freisian and two Freisian/Jacob mixes. Two females and a young male. First I have to say that I love her and all my offspring immoderately, and I accept as possible her Buddhist views that include reincarnation - so when she asked for my help in finding homes for the sheep, I was once again drawn in. Donna lives in a city house with an average-sized yard. She bought the trio to save them from the auction, which she accidentally saw from the road...all three for $100. Something about the little family made her want to save them. She doesn't care about the money...she's willing to give them to anyone who will promise not to kill them. Who will not eat them, to be precise. We have room for sheep, and Freisians are the best milking sheep in the world, I'm told, but I'm afraid my husband's head would explode if I asked him to include sheep in our menage. Even if I point out to him that it's a beautiful momma sheep and her offspring.

A successful firing!

We figured out why the previous kilnload oxidized. This recent firing was near-perfect, with brilliant reds, beautiful celadons.Whew! So glad.
We're getting ready for three juried art shows: Palo Alto University Ave show on Aug.28 & 29;
Kings Mt. in Woodside, CA Sept. 4-6; Capitola art show, Sept. 11 & 12. Need lots of stock.
Back to work!

Historic Clay Art

Shown here: Jomon period, Japan, vessel - Circa 2000 B.C.
Venus of Willendorf, Europe, Stone Age sculpture, circa 20,000 - 30,00 years ago

The Past

The kiln is almost loaded. Taking a break and walking through the garden with my camera. It's been a cool summer so far, but the fruits and vegetables are flourishing. I think the wet spring made them happy.
The kiln is firing now. Hoping for a good one. It's always a bit nerve-wracking.

Pottery has been around for thousands and thousands of years and I see what has survived as messages from the past. Museums can show us these remnants of antique civilizations simply because clay tends to last. Fired clay is durable and doesn't naturally disintegrate easily, and neither rusts, burns, nor melts, generally, and it doesn't tear, like paper or canvas, or cloth - so we can tell a lot about a civilization by looking at its pottery. We see the Greeks cavorting on their gorgeous amphorae as if they were living still. Little clay Venus statues of pregnant women from the European continent tell us something about their belief systems. Were they fertility figures? Were women thought to be goddesses in the Stone Age because they magically gave birth? Hundreds and hundreds of these little clay statues of women have been found. Natives of the Americas created clay pots of consummate beauty without a wheel and fired them in pits filled with dried manure, and some of these elegant pots have lasted until today....Of course, permanence is just an illusion, you may say, but, in spite of that, I feel a real connection between the potters from ancient cultures and myself. There is a line from them to me. I wonder what we might have had in common. They too felt the cool clay in their hands. They knew the moist smell of this malleable material. They could make a mark that had meaning on the surface of a pot. Creating sufficient heat to vitrify the clay was one of the problems these makers had to deal with. Just as today.
Shards containing the ancient finger marks of the long-dead humans who made them can make me shiver. What were they thinking about as they were creating? Could they too have asked themselves, why do humans make war?

work

Taking a break from glazing...about halfway done. We have to turn the kiln on tomorrow morning, early, so it will be
done firing by tomorrow night, and after cooling for 24 hours we can unload it late Wednesday or Thursday morning...just in time for the group of visitors scheduled to arrive around 10 a.m. - maybe they can see the unloading!

This is my tenth day of blogging and I'm liking the experience so far. Thanks to those who've visited. I welcome your comments. More later.


On my way back out to the studio, I decided to stop and water the potted lemon tree on the deck. I'm always surprised when one or another of the treefrogs that live in the watering can pop out to say howdy!

Sunday

Two peaches for breakfast, with some peach jam, made yesterday, on my toast. Jars full of peach jam on the shelf. This winter, we'll remember August and the fragrant peach bounty. The tree that produced them is a loved, little old skinny thing we planted when we first got here. It tells me you don't have to be beautiful or young to be productive!

A potter's life - an anachronism?

Yesterday I mixed glazes - not my favorite job. It requires complete concentration. If a recipe calls for 3000 grams of feldspar, and my gram scale can only handle a thousand grams at a time, it behooves me not to lose count of how many containersful I've dumped into the glaze bucket! All of the glaze components work together to create color, flux, and texture. But yesterday I did that job, and today I'll wax the bottoms of the pots and any lid rims to resist the glaze when they are dipped into the buckets.
People ask me if making pottery is a viable occupation in this modern world.
We ask ourselves that same thing from time to time! What I love most about making art for a living is staying home. All aspects of our life are integrated, whether it's growing a fair amount of our own food in the garden, or interacting with our animals, or cooking, or cutting firewood or just noticing what is happening on the land. And, of course, making ware, throwing pots and sculpting additions to the pots, doing it all from scratch and no molds,no short cuts, and then traveling to sell it at juried art fairs. Meeting customers who appreciate our work is a big plus. There was a time, more than 30 years ago, when I commuted every day from Livermore to Oakland for a teaching job. I'm glad I don't have to go off every day now and drive in traffic. However, someone looking at our business costs once said, partly in jest, "Jan, you and Chris could take minimum wage jobs and clear more than you're making now !"- but then, we'd miss the real pleasure of creating art. We sell everything we make. So, what do I tell young people who ask if making pottery is a viable occupation? I say, child, you've gotta love it.

Peachy

There's an old peach tree by the stairs to the pottery studio. We've been testing the peaches for ripeness every day. So have the jays! Yesterday Chris got on the ladder and picked them all.

Anderson Valley

When we first moved to the land - about 25 years ago - it was the quietest place you could imagine.
Just the wind in the trees, the watery sound of the creek, birds, frogs. Natural sounds. Chris and I and my daughter managed to scrape together enough money to buy some land on the Holmes Ranch, and with the help of local carpenters, built our house and pottery workshop. We've always loved this place, - the redwoods, the peacefulness. But it's changing.
Early this morning, like many other mornings lately, I woke to the industrial sounds of machinery. Some years ago, a winery from Napa bought 20 acres about a quarter to a half a mile from here, smack in the middle of the Holmes Ranch subdivision. They scraped the land clean of buildings and vegetation and then they planted grapes. Sound carries. They frost-protect in winter in the early morning hours, sometimes starting around 2 a.m. with a machine that sounds like a helicopter in the bedroom that ruins everyone's sleep.
They spray god knows what in the summer to kill anything that might threaten their investment. The sprayer is loud, disturbing the peace when most people are still in bed. I wonder and worry about how much toxic spray is getting into the creek. I've called the Ag Department about this, but never got very far.
Apples and pears used to be grown here in the valley, but the Grape is now King of Agriculture in this county - if you don't count the illegal crop. Everyone knows someone whose livelihood is connected to the wine industry, so it's a touchy subject. A few wineries, like Handley Cellars, are growing organically, bless'em. I hope more of the wineries do the same, giving some consideration to their neighbors. Find a way to protect the grapes from frost that is quiet. I'd appreciate less noise, please, and no poisons. Some of us get cranky when we haven't had enough sleep, but don't get me wrong. I like wine. Doesn't everyone?

Rest

Awoke this morning early, the light coming through these trees. I can see them from my open bedroom window.
This may sound a little morbid, but it's really a happy thought. When I move on to my eternal reward, I'd like my ashes dug in around the base of one of these redwoods, like compost. I like to think that my spirit would be carried up to the top of these magnificent beings that I love, to feel the wind, to be among the bird-life.


Started to throw vases a little after 9. Our local public radio station is such a godsend! I can listen while I work. Joy LeClaire
was interviewing the author of a new book about the importance of rest and sleep. I think one of my children would benefit from this book. I missed the title and the author's name! I think I'll find it online - yes. The Power of Rest: Why Sleep Alone Is Not Enough. A 30-Day Plan to Reset Your Body
By: Matthew Edlund

Then the early music programmer played Renaissance Sephardic songs, among others. A great start to my day. You can listen online at http://www.kzyx.org

The oldest written language?

Clay tablets, cuneiform, words in clay.

I usually work alone,  the pottery wheel humming and turning, - with my husband sculpting in the next room.  Except for the dogs, and the  occasional sound of a cumbia or a guajira gliding under the door between our separate studios, it's  usually quiet here and I  do love it. But after three days at the Writers Conference,(writing is my second love), my brain's been prodded and re-activated. So much creativity!  On the last day there were readings by visiting writers. Poet, Bob Stanley, read from his book, "Walt Whitman Orders a Cheeseburger", reading with a touch of sly humor and accompanied by a bass-playing friend. It worked.  Then I had to buy Alison Luterman's  "See How We Almost Fly" when I heard her read her poems. This morning, with my coffee, I enjoyed her  "A woman carries the world on her head." and copied it here for  friends to read.

   A woman carries the world on her head

                                                

in the form of a bag of rice,

a bucket of water,

a great load of thatch to roof a house,

Her spine is a sturdy deliverance

from evil, her arms are loose and purposeful,

her baby wrapped in bright cloth on her back,  
She can stop by the side of the road and talk                                        

for as long as it takes you to take her picture,

to fold a two hundred-kwatcha note

into her rough palms

which have never gripped a steering wheel

or a credit card, which have never held a latte in a paper cup

or maneuvered a dirt-sucking vacuum through all the rooms

of a carpeted house. You know her and you do not

know. You see her

walking, with a log the size of a man

laid lengthwise on top of her head,

a log which would crush

the small bones of your neck

to powder, and though it is not

in your power to change much 

if anything, here, you long to know more

watching her walk, without fanfare,

into the world,

goats, chickens, trees, sky -

her burden perfectly balanced,

the world on top of her head,

the world inside.

                                      Alison Luterman

I loved the novelist, Malin Alegria's, workshop.

Jan