Mr. Toad Moves In

As a special request from Humble Acres Nursery I have started designing and making toad houses. I have read up on what toads need and what the ideal habitat would be for them. Toads love shady, cool, and well-protected places to hang their hats.  They like to burrow down in the dirt so having a bottomless home is best. Toads seek respite during the day from the hot, dry sun and cold, windy nights which means the house needs a roof, entrance, and has to be big enough for them to maintain a comfortable temperature. Many houses are made strictly for ornamentation in the garden and are not large enough for a toad to even fit through the doorway! I want my toad houses to be used. The openings on these houses are approximately 4 inches wide, are 6-10 inches high, and have a diameter between 10-14 inches. Clay is the perfect material because it retains moisture in the soil underneath and is extremely durable. The glazes make the house weather-tight and add a bright cheeriness to them.

Why would you want a toad hanging around your place? First of all, toads are cute and funny to look at. For me that's enough, but they also consume thousands of insects and garden pests each summer. Instead of chemicals to kill the cucumber beetles in my vegetable garden, I plan on attracting all the toads in the neighborhood my way. The toad is gift in any yard, and those that have provided an attractive habitat for them will likely be awarded.

Yesterday my son found a toad in the backyard. We put him to the test in my new houses and watched him beam with pride! I was surprised how well he blended into the wood chips. I hope he decides to stay, and that he is the envy of all his friends, having been set up with the coolest abode this side of the tracks. 

Stepping On Tiles

finished garden tile

I have completed two of the garden tiles requested for the Happy Gardener Tour (only 40 to go)! All the steps necessary are turning this into quite the adventure for me. For anyone interested in this process, I'm going to give a play-by-play of the work involved.

First off, there was the design to consider. I picked up a pencil and paper and worked out some options. Many drawings later and a go ahead from the nurseries, this idea was shaped in clay. A few adjustments and three tiles later, I was finally happy with the results and ready to tackle the next step.

the sketch idea that won out

A carefully measured mixture of plaster and water was blended and poured onto the tile. Keeping my fingers crossed, I gave it time to set firm. I removed the framework from the mold and encouraged the master tile out. And because of the scale of this project, I poured another mold. Now I would be able to work two at a time. (For pictures and details of this affair, scroll down to the entry entitled Plaster Molds.) 

clay pressed into molds

I rolled out clay and pressed it into the molds, smoothing it flat with a rubber scraper. At this point I also stamped the backs with my studio logo and name. I gave them several hours, checking for shrinkage, which would allow them to more easily be removed. Once the clay began to pull away around the edges, I gently urged them out of the molds and left them to dry. 

different stages of drying

At this point the tiles were ready to be fired, which makes them easier to handle when glazing. This was the beginning of becoming a mini-factory, pressing more clay into the molds. This is where I will be for a while. As each pair of tiles finishes its job at one station, I move it onto the next.

I've learned it's best to test out my coloring scheme ideas before diving into it and simply hoping for a good result. I mocked up a few sample tiles, fired up the kiln a second time, and returned the following day to see the verdict. I was happy to see how the twilight blue combined with the french mustard. It was time for the final plunge.

just glazed and ready for the kiln

I painted the first set of tiles with my favorite blend of glazes. Months of thought and wonder about their final stage would reveal itself in 24 hours. And there they were. Two tiles shining back at me from within the kiln walls.

I couldn't wait to get them outside in the light. The sun brought out the iridescence in the blue and highlighted the texture. I rummaged up some steel wire, twisted it through the hanging holes and hung it up to evaluate. Voila! A tile now ready for the spring garden tour in the beautiful St. Croix Valley. And so the journey continues, one step at a time.

Honest to Goodness

Sharing the Fire's second all-day workshop took place last Friday. The demonstrations and presentations were given by master potter Linda Christianson and clay artist Jil Franke. I came home with a sense of admiration for the persistence and grace in their work, coupled with a feeling of deep gratitude for being given the gift of this day.

Both women shared their stories with such openness and eloquence. Linda's thoughtful explanations and responses to our questions impressed me deeply and drew me right in. Jil's experience as a teacher was clear in her demonstrations and a benefit to all in the room. 

Handles especially fascinate me. There is such a variety to them and each offers a different value. For me they, more than the form itself, make or break the pot. As I watched Linda pound, cut, shape and press handles onto her cups, I wondered about their evolution through the years. I asked her if she would mind explaining it a little. Not only did she thoroughly demonstrate the building of her handles, but she continued to check back in with me to make sure she was satisfying my question. Rarely is one afforded this sincere consideration.

Jil's hand-built work is delicate and exact. She brought out paper templates, an exacto knife and a ruler. I appreciate the precision in her pieces and enjoyed watching how she achieves it. Like her I have always been drawn to patterns in architecture and design. I happily followed the logic of clay slabs being treated like fabric. I was brought back to my costume shop days when we custom fit clothing with countless darts. Seeing her spend significant time and attention on each step reassured me that I am not alone in my fastidious geometric endeavors.

But even more than their skilled hands, it is the words that are sitting most with me now. Linda spoke of being able to see the honesty in work. She talked about self-critique and moving on from it. She explained why she believes "we become what we pay attention to." She generally keeps her head down, she said, when it comes to current trends in the ceramic world and instead focuses on medieval pots and antique farming equipment. She enjoys seeing the effects of time on things and takes care to note seams and joints. Maybe it's a strap on an old ski, the thread of a rusty machine screw, or a tin bucket that will inspire her. She compared pottery to jazz and how it is more of an interpretation within a well-defined structure than a new composition; that we are playing the standards when we make a pot.

These two women drew analogies that spoke directly to me and gave expression to how I tend to operate that I didn't see as clearly before. Their work is so very different from each other, but to each I could relate and could find common ground.

All this, thanks to the Folk Tradition Arts grant from the Minnesota State Arts Board. I am so grateful for this incredible opportunity. I look forward to the documentary and exhibition coming to the Northern Clay Center in March. Eight potters will be on display in the gallery including Richard Bresnahan, Steven Lemke, Robert Briscoe, Jason Trebs, Warren MacKenzie, Guillermo Cuellar, and of course Linda Christianson and Jil Franke too.

Plaster Molds

When it comes to clay, I compulsively fuss over it. I adjust and re-adjust until I am satisfied (or run out of time). I can easily spend hours on one piece. To any other potter, this is pure craziness. How can one make any money at all this way? Well, one can't hardly. But it is to the details and the precision that I am drawn most. Sculpting and carving are just begging to be applied to every thrown form.

The problem is, I have been commissioned to make over 40 handmade relief tiles for St. Croix Valley's Happy Gardener Tour this spring. This task would be simply insane to take on in my typical fashion. When I accepted this proposition, I knew I would need to venture into unfamiliar territory. This job would require the enlistment of pottery plaster and perhaps a canteen and compass.

I have avoided mold-making of any sorts, fearing that it would take some of the unique nature away from my work. It was a foreign matter that I felt best left to those interested in painting ceramic figurines.

But with the aid of the staff at Continental Clay and a few internet tutorials, I have taken my first steps on this new trail. Stumbling is only natural, right? My first experiment failed miserably. Even though the directions specifically said to use cold water, my left hand habitually cracked the faucet and voila - pure cement. I hastily diluted the mixture with more warm water and dumped the solidifying mess into my make-shift plastic container, covering my meticulously crafted master tile. The 20-minute curing time turned into a day and a half, whereby I accepted defeat, tossed it all out, and called in for help. A good reminder to test the water, so to speak.

I learned my lesson in following instructions. I made a sample tile and carefully measured the plaster to water ratio. I built a legitimate melamine frame. Now I was ready. I made my second master tile which is now happily nestling inside a curing framework of pottery plaster.

I have been dreaming about the possibilities of plaster in my future work. My love for sculpting can be economized with molds. I don't think of this as cheating anymore, instead I appreciate the value it can give. I am excited to watch these tiles take shape.

Patterns in My Past

16-year old me with a friend

lunch with friends

When I was sixteen, I packed a suitcase and moved to Granada, Spain. Under the guise of being a student, I spent six months wandering the streets and researching the local scene. It was an experience that transformed my life.

a set of my demitasse cups

a typical alley in Granada

Over twenty years later (and three other visits to Granada) I continue to love that city like no other. From bars to alleys there are patterns to be enjoyed that are rich with color and geometry; the narrow alleys with their carefully laid cobblestone and tiled majolica street signs bring style to even the most basic of places. Along the steep climb to La Alhambra or heading toward the Catedral are numerous small shops overflowing with masterfully crafted ceramic wares of blue and green. How could you not relish such a place?

entrance to La Alhambra

etching into leather-hard clay

The influence on my clay work is overt. I am drawn to the complex patterns the Moors brought to southern Spain. I study their intricacy and alter them to fit my pieces.

While the clay is "leather-hard" (hard enough to hold its shape but soft enough to be workable), I etch the design in it. After the first firing, I glaze each area separately. The process is tedious, but it is a way for me to connect to a place I adore. As a friend of mine likes to say, "I have Spain on the brain." Hopefully you can see and enjoy a touch of the beauty of Granada in some of my work.

close-up of one of my hand-built boxes

bartenders of El Leño 1988

All In Your Hands

When I picture my mom's hands, I see them rolling out dough. I see them patting a sugar cut-out onto her palm to loosen it. Tap tap. It falls gently into her hands, then she places it effortlessly onto a sheet. With my grandma's, they are squeezing a pastry bag, turning out a delicate rose. She knows just where to place it as she eyes the cake.

There is a strong tradition of baking and decorating in my family. My grandmother sold wedding and birthday cakes for most of her life. My mother just retired her Christmas Oven business, having baked over 500 dozen cookies every December for nearly 50 years. Every holiday and event in my life included beautiful cakes and themed cookies.

I spent countless hours with my mother in the kitchen, helping her with the constant baking projects. For more elaborate decorating, I headed over to my grandmother's house. I loved to watch her write on her cakes with such disciplined cursive. I aspired to become a great decorator just like her.

I carry on these traditions. I continue to bake and decorate, using all the knowledge and skill passed onto me. I have inherited many of their supplies and have put them to good use. And the next generation of family pastry chefs are eagerly being trained as well.

But as I turn pots in my studio, I also see how those same skills being tapped there. My hands roll, pinch and prod with that practiced amount of pressure. My tendency to add ornamentation to each piece draws from the traditions of pastry work. I envision the scalloped edges of my grandmother's cakes as I spin the banding wheel and apply my brush. I imagine the care that my mother gave each detail. I am grateful for all the hours in their kitchens. The art made by their hands will not be forgotten.

The Perfect Form

There is an obvious correlation that exists in my life, but I only just now became cognizant of it. I spend over ten hours every week at a Korean dojang, and have for over six years. I have also been working on a potter’s wheel for eighteen. My efforts in each discipline are not as separate as I had assumed.

In the martial arts there is something referred to as ‘forms’. They are a series of postures strung together in order to condition your body. There are five elements to consider while doing the forms that engage your whole self: hands, feet, eyes, stances, and mind. By concentrating on these principles, one continuously strives to improve and ultimately perfect his/her forms.

Initially I trained my body to become aware of it’s place in space. It is a surprisingly difficult and mechanical endeavor. Looking into a mirror revealed many uninformed components that needed improvement. My shoulders were tight, my neck unaligned, and my back swayed uncomfortably. I sought the right balance between too large and too underscored of a movement. Then, wanting it to flow harmoniously, I had to learn economy of movement.

At a pottery workshop I attended last week, Warren Mackenzie spoke of the right balance for a pot; knowing when to stop working while not short-changing your time spent on it. He said a piece needs a strong starting point and a strong finish, and that attention to each transition is key to making a pleasing form.

The similarities in word choice with that of my martial art training caught my attention. It dawned on me that the form of a hand-thrown pot follows the same logic as a martial art form. I am aware of a pot's placement in space by seeing the profile of the pot, the negative space between a handle and the body, the overall composition. I look at my pots from the side, from above, below and sometimes by a cross-section. The shape must be informed and intentional.

There is a movement to pots. They spiral up from the bottom. This movement can be loose or tight. It can be under-worked or over-worked. It can flow like a river or be dammed up by unrefined fingers. The body of a pot is perfect when the kicking feet are slow and controlled, the hands given it are fast and precise, and the mind working on it is calm and focused. Only then can the pot shine brightly.

A perfect form should communicate the mood and awareness its maker. It should be alive with each step that was taken to create it. The principles taught and understood by the masters of each discipline transcend their art forms. They have seeped subconsiously into my actions, one benefitting the other and making each stronger. Sometimes the most conspicuous is the hardest to see.

Minnesota Potters Share Their Fire

I was given an extraordinary gift on Wednesday. I spent the entire day alongside phenomenal talent. I am fortunate to be one of the lucky recipients of the MN State Arts Board grant bestowed on Anoka-Ramsey Community College to put together the incredible sharing the fire art series. The series highlights some of the greatest Minnesota potters working today.

demonstration pots by Warren & Guillermo

The first part of this series was a workshop hosting master potters Warren Mackenzie and Guillermo Cuellar. They worked side by side, sharing their stories and work with us. Their demonstrations included all sorts of affected pieces that radiated with unique beauty. Guillermo showed the group his method for making square bowls, oval ones, his style of handles and why, and some decorating techniques. Warren expounded on the importance of feet on his pots, the infinite possibilities of form, and his trademark fluting, faceting, and paddling.

Master Potters Mackenzie & Cuellar

What struck me as most beautiful was their charm and honesty. They tirelessly answered our many questions. Each provided insight into their philosophies and evolution of thought. It was a true honor to be in that room.

Warren’s philosophy has always been about bringing this art form to everyone. It is about making them affordable and having the process better understood. He spent much of his life teaching and demonstrating what it takes to make a fine pot with efficiency. Much of the enthusiasm for hand-thrown pots in Minnesota today can be attributed to his efforts.

We all, whether potters or not, can learn from these gentlemen. Their wisdom about simplicity, community, and art for everyone can be extended to many walks of life. I recommend finding their studios and seeking out their brilliant work. Thank you Minnesota State Arts Board and Mark Lambert for making this art series possible!

What's up on Etsy?

As the world becomes more inter-connected, selling artwork online has become commonplace. There are loads of creative people busting the seams of their minds, finding all the avenues the web can offer them. I sell my pottery on Etsy, a website set up for handmade arts. I find it to be not only a great place to find unique treasures for yourself or someone you care about, but also as a source of inspiration.

There are treasury lists that are themed up by color, idea, or even shape. The photographs of the items themselves add another level of artistry. Even the names given the treasury lists are well thought out. Etsy users create circles of friends or of sellers they admire. Each item listed can be tagged as a favorite and displayed on your own page. There are blogs being written and posted - (even about my work!) Custom orders can be requested and conversations are encouraged. The general feeling on Etsy is inclusive and supportive. Come see for yourself what is going on. 

My Wabi Sabi Cups

Wabi Sabi is a concept that I have understood without having had a name for it. Now I do. The Japanese, with their quest for simplicity, integrity, and asperity have a term that describes how I feel about material goods. I want them to be both beautiful and fulfill a need. I enjoy them more deeply when they have a story to tell. I want them to radiate with the spirit of the craftsmen who formed them.

In pottery, it is the throwing lines or the slight irregularity of its form that gives the holder a connection to the creating process. The simple truth that nothing in life is truly perfect or permanent is something to relate and ponder as you drink your tea in a hand-thrown cup.

I see Wabi Sabi in the barbed wire fence, where I visualize the hand twisting of each spike. I see it in the lathed leg of the chair, where I detect an inconsistency with the pressure applied with the chisel. I see Wabi Sabi in the accidental paint stroke on the shed’s window, brushed haphazardly as its trim was re-painted. I can connect easily to the human involved in each of these objects.

I see the transient nature of these things too: the rust, the chips, the wear. These are elements that are often thought of as defects, detracting from an object’s beauty. But the idea of Wabi Sabi is that these natural, inevitable occurrences instead enrich it. The object has become a visual example of life’s impermanence.

When I make a pot, I know it is not perfect. It is not meant to be. I hope others can experience the Wabi Sabi nature of my work and see the value in it.

Custom Orders

Another wonderful weekend spent hanging out in Lowertown St. Paul!

In addition to selling my pots at the Art Crawl, (and meeting a continuous flow of great people), I returned to my studio with a scattering of special requests. Do I make dinner plate sets? Yes. Can I make a bunch of tea cups in the twilight blue glaze? Yes. Will I personalize a set of mugs with specific designs for a wedding gift? Yes. There are countless ways to individualize a piece of pottery. All one has to do is ask. The more information I have on a specific shape, glaze or motif that grabs a person, the more sure I am the piece will be enjoyed. And that is what it is about.

Your pottery should fit nicely in your hand. It should hold your ideal amount of beverage or food. The overall shape and color should make you smile. The design elements should speak to you. I can not have every option already made, but crafting it is simply a matter of time. There is a deep pleasure in holding your very own customized pot. It is something worth pondering.

I have a kiln full of some of these orders. They will have to be glazed and then fired again. As long as each step goes as planned, I will have satisfied the requests. Then, onto others. It brings me joy to throw pots, and especially these, knowing the hands they will be placed into are anticipating these very pieces.

Fired Up for The Art Crawl

Only three more days until this year's St. Paul Art Crawl! Judging from the excellent weather forecast, I expect to see an unprecedented turnout of folks milling around Lowertown this year. 

The perfect weekend awaits with the brightly majestic leaves along the riverfront being reflected in the water, the earlier evenings displaying a full moon in the making, and a wide range of artists sharing their treasures around every corner. 

I know I am looking forward to the festivities. There is an energy at the Art Crawl that fires me right up. 

My friends in the Lowertown Loft Artist Cooperative (#4 on the map) have graciously accepted my presence in their studio again. Come find me on the top floor, Studio 505, and see what else there is to explore on the way up. 

The crawl goes from Friday to Sunday. It is a free event and is a great way to spend the day with the whole family. Inspire your children or get that spark back yourself. There is a whole world of ideas waiting to be considered. 

Sacred Vessels

It was not the pots I ever imagined crafting when I first decided to make pottery my path, but apparently it is par for my course. Even when starting out as an apprentice, I was commisioned to sculpt a pot for a woman who planned to use it for her own ashes.

This summer I found myself making two sacred vessels for members of my family. It was a painful experience to sit with my thoughts while maintaining focus with my hands. There was a sense of action though, of being able to do something tangible to help deal with the sorrow. It felt satisfying to have a purpose.

With the first, I wanted to convey my desire to wrap my arms around the pot. I wanted to have my love and need to protect become part of the piece. I sculpted my hands on the vessel. Throughout the throwing process, I couldn't help but feel that all of my efforts in learning this skill were for this one moment. I had a gift to offer.

The second vessel was harder. I wanted it to be perfect. That pressure caused me to tighten up, and so I needed to sit at the wheel all morning before I had one I was comfortable using. I wanted to add a touch of nature to this one; give it personality. I tried many ideas out in my mind, but people are complex and conveying who they are with one motif becomes an impossible challenge. In the end, I encircled the pot with a pumpkin vine. This one I glazed to give complexity to the pattern and more visual depth. Nothing is perfect, but I did the best I could with what I have. I hope that is enough.

Garden & Art Tour

I had a very hot weekend. The weather never let up. It fluctuated between a steamy 92 degrees with 85% humidity during the day to severe thunderstorms with pouring rain at night. Oh, the joy and excitement of outdoor activities in Wisconsin and Minnesota!

But also hot because I met all kinds of interesting and fun people. The customers were all gardeners with a mutual love of flowers. We oohed and aahed together over the dwarf hollyhocks, the papaya coneflowers, and the swirling colors of the lily buds. The extent of amazing flowers at Humble Acres is hugely impressive, and it soothed my spirit as I wandered through the many greenhouses there.

It was the company and talent of the other art vendors there, though, that made the weekend most special. Some original and colorful lawn art and metal work was displayed, awesome henna tattoos, oil paintings of beautiful gardens, well-designed recycled-cloth bags, and even piles of freshly-expelled worm castings for sale. What more could I ask for? I made some great trades, new friends, and came home with a deeper appreciation of henna (and a flower on my foot), wooden boxes, a metal bird, and some finely sewn, gorgeous bags.

This is what summer is all about.