I'm hooked on this pottery thing. Today I learned how to glaze a bit and got a huge kick out of the mystery of which color would appear when the pieces come out of the kiln. I won't know for a week or two. I dipped my pots into vats of color (yellow-green, blue, maroon, clear, you name it) and then let the glaze dry and dipped again. Glazing will be about trusting the bit of knowledge I gleaned from the test tiles and from asking other folks in the studio ("should the clear be so thick?") and my own gut instincts about color (my hopes are high for the red-green) and learning from the results.


Come to think of it, that's much what painting is (or writing). The more sketchbooks I filled as a teen, then an art student, then a student, then a temp, then a you-name-it...the more I felt confident to draw, sketch, doodle, write and otherwise catch ideas in a net that is a small book brought with me daily. Somedays the images in the book are about looking (like those Oxalis) and somedays they are about processing experience.



I was talking to a stranger on the phone the other day and I suggested she try something simple, she sighed heavily and said "I'm so stressed!". I found a plan B for her and realized that the whole time, my calm and my strategy was helped by the little circles I drew on an index card. On a day of high stress for me I make messy pages in my book like the one below. Sure I might feel like I have to be all things to all people but then I can go glaze and be the beginner potter, the master dripper and spiller (yeah right) and the goofball giggling in the studio when the pot falls out of the tongs, drops to the bottom and has to be fished out.
Making art or making messes or making messes on the path and in the hope of making art may not be the path for all people, I would be willing to admit that. But it works for me. At least today.


Take care,

Rachael

OK, before I forget to respond to all the blog comments and emails and questions I'll sit here listening to the hum of the drier and report.

That Vitaly Komar talk the other night was really an eye opener. I had seen his work (promarily the collaborations with Alex Melamid as Komar and Melamid) for years (mostly in slide talks and art magazines and in bits and spurts.) It was slick, it was clever (buying souls, creating imaginary Russian artists, surveying America about her favorite and least favorite artworks). Really, I sat there laughing and scribbling and filling in the gaps on projects I'd heard of but really didn't know.
Hearing Vitaly Komar and Billy Collins in the same week, left me thinking about the people (mostly men I realize) I know who use humor as a way of working in the world, and thinking about how for every calm and casual, laughing and relaxed character there is usually a counterpoint: a worrywart, a nervous person, someone not so laughing, not so relaxed, and not so free. Komar said something really interesting near the end of his talk, as he showed his most personal, most vunerable drawings and collages (which weave his memories of his family with his spiritual belief and hopes for humanity). It's heavy stuff in these images but beautiful. Only not funny. As when Billy Collins is not funny. Or when William Wegman is not funny. Or when Saul Steinberg is not funny.

Because they are often so funny, the un-funny stings, resonates, and causes me to stop and think.

Also in the comments here lately, I've found an old friend (rather she's found me, hello Renee!) and been asked about the teen art camps I teach every summer. I'm headed back to Atlanta in a few weeks to teach another one and frankly the idea of drawing everyday with adolescents is a big kick. They are honest, obsessed, eager, hardworking, fascinated, and ready to try something new. It's funny (yeesh, I'm there again) how much I like that work.
It's cold here in upstate New York but my friend Deb sent me the info on this show in Buffalo she's included in. I'm entranced by the web images and the idea of an artshow in a conservatory. All of these images seem cold and warm to me. So very Buffalo. More art shows in non-art places, please! Anywhere, everywhere, not always, but often.
Take care,
Rachael

I left out about 6 dozen paintings I love from my list the other day. It's a game I'm not so good at. I'm much more interested in drawing and listening (Collins, Komar, and a bunch of other interesting folks this week) and working on that wheel nowadays.
Although this town practically reeks of lilacs, I'm still fascinated by Oxalis. Here's another page from the sketchbook.

Take care, Rachael

Talked tonight and showed his work. I'm thinking about it still and intrigued by the big bang work and his hopes for a Three Day Weekend. Those Russian artists are dreamers. It's inspiring how artists might try to tell their own stories through imagery that connects a bigger world. I have notes from this lecture, too, but am simply too tired to excerpt 'em or scan 'em or do anything but slip into a big sleep.
goodnight, Rachael

Tyler suggested art bloggers pick a favorite American Painting in an American collection (and any painting in an American collection) and truth be told, I can not be objective.

My favorites are those with personal connections, the paintings that I've stood in front of and have been changed by. This ain't no easy game for me but rather a good chance to turn folks on to paintings I love. I share them not to suggest they are the best but because you should go see them in person. Each image is a lot stronger than it appears digitally. To not swipe images, I'm linking not posting other museum's pictures. Just scraping the surface here and no more apologies but I suggest:

For the intensity of an honest, passionate portrait, Robert Henri's Portrait of an Art Student in Milwaukee.
For the glory of fall color and the spirit of the woods, Winslow Homer's Adirondack watercolors in the National Gallery and this one still in the Adirondacks.
For being such a quiet and powerfrul beauty, Charles Demuth's Zinnias in the National Gallery.
For being loud, dramatic and bold, this old favorite Feininger at MOMA.
For graphic simplicity, smart composition, and strong honest staying power, it's Jacob Lawrence's schoolgirls at MOMA and Ben Shahn's Sacco and Vanzetti at the Whitney.


Oh and I just recently stumbled onto the Walker Art Center's education and community programs blog.