Why I Make Pretty Things

Sunflowers Vase

I read a blog post by another ceramicist a little over a year ago entitled "The Problem With Pretty". If I get her permission I'll link to it, but for now I'll just summarize. The basic idea is that pretty is too easy. That it doesn't really say enough. Now this woman makes beautiful things and lots of people like them. They've brought her success from what I can tell, and rightfully so. But I can see what she's saying. In a world where so much is going on all the time, pretty can seem flat, depth-less, shallow. I had additional thoughts on the subject and I had considered leaving a comment on her post. 


But she's big time. And I'm chicken. So I'll just blog about it now.


I followed an art curriculum in college. And instead of writing some big paper as seniors, our thesis was to create a body of work to exhibit at the end of the year. This is kind of a big deal. In previous years we'd been producing work for specific assignments. Now we were given free creative reign.  But this can be tricky with ceramics. 


Here you've been making cups and bowls, cups and bowls, bowls and cups and you're just starting to feel like you maybe know what you're doing. Now you've got this show looming over you and there's this incredible urge to say something important. Several of your teachers have waisted time in class discussing all of that Art vs. Craft garbage and you have said to yourself "I am not a craftsman, I am a fucking artist". So you stop thinking about cups and bowls, bowls and cups -even though you just started getting good at them -and you start thinking about something to say.


Oooooh, but I was ready. Because as a matter of fact, I had a lot to say. And I started filling my sketchbook  full of ideas about child abuse, domestic violence, religion, patriarchal societies -every kind of injustice- hurt, pain, rage, all cleverly expressed through the quiet domesticity of the teapot. I was armed and I was eager, and at the end of the year I was gonna bitch-slap the status quo. Meanwhile, as I continued to develop my indignation on paper I kept myself busy in the studio making cups and bowls, bowls and cups, vases, piling them up on my shelves. 


And a friend and teacher of mine came by. And commented on how much joy there was in my work. Joy? Huh. Well......wait a minute here. Joy?

Dragonfly Bowl

And there was plenty of reason for there to be joy in my work. I had just gotten married the summer before to the most amazing man. I had started working a job that I really liked doing, for a person who's company I enjoyed equally well. And in a year I was going to graduate with a degree in a field that I was excited about. Why shouldn't there be joy in my work? And then it struck me.


Joy is fucking important.


Bliss is important. Beauty is important. Comfort is important. Wonder, love, and discovery are important. Pretty is important. And if all of this Joy was present in my life, why in hell would I want to focus on anything else?


Now I'm not saying that these other things don't need our attention. They do. Art can be a powerful vehicle for both bringing attention to those things that need it and processing something yourself. One of the women in my class that year changed everything she was doing when her father fell ill. By the end of the year she had produced a show of beautiful paintings centered around her family. And there are endless examples of artists helping to bring about social change with their work. But I don't need to be one of them.


Because life, in the end, is all about where your focus is. And in order to make art about atrocity, you have to focus on atrocity. In order to make art about grief and pain, you have to focus on grief and pain. And that's not what I want my life to be about. I want to celebrate.


And there's just so much out there to celebrate.

On Sibling Rivalry

Owl Brook Oinkers

I've been thinking about starting a blog for quite some time. I've even known what I wanted it to be called. My thoughts have  started to arrange themselves into neat little posts during my morning walks and I have a small stock pile of budding blog ideas. But I hadn't really found the right motivation to move forward. 

Until now.

You see, I'm in the habit of over-thinking things. Continuously. For everything. And before I started a blog, I wanted there to be a good reason behind it. Why? Well, I'm a little self-righteous. And whenever possible, I like to do things in support of some noble purpose. You know, if I was educating the masses, say, or ending world hunger, or at least forwarding some really enlightening philosophy, then starting a blog would be justified.

Obviously, people start blogs all the time with no justification whatsoever. On a whim even. A friend of mine just did this in fact. While I'm sitting here trying to figure out how a post on remodeling my kitchen could somehow free us from dependence on foreign oil, he nonchalantly mentions on facebook that he is now blogging. I assume for no other reason than the fact that other people blog, and he thought he might try it. Initially my reaction to this was something like Waddaya mean you just started a blog?!?!! You can't just start blogs!! You have to have a reason! It did get me thinking, though. If he could just start one, (or three, you over-achiever) then maybe I could too. But still, this wasn't quite enough for me. But it turns out it didn't have to be, because I now have the greatest motivator of all.

Sibling Rivalry.

I grew up in a family of seven children. People hear this and tend to imagine that it must have been great. Think of all that familial love! Like we were the Waltons or something, building people pyramids on the front lawn and posing for kooky pictures. Quietly offering each other well-aimed advice, sitcom style, and lending a hand when the going got rough. In reality though, we were more of a scratch and claw bunch. We locked each other in closets. We called each other names. We got into spitting fights. At the beginning of each new school year I would write long essays about how my little sister ruined my summer vacation just by breathing. I can't be sure, but I might have even convinced her at one point that she was adopted. And you can imagine how this kind of thing escalated when we reached high school and found ourselves liking the same boys.

As I've gotten older though, this rivalry has started working to my advantage. Just after I finished high school I made one of those false starts at college. I took a semester or two and then just stopped for a couple of years. My little sister starting school and the very real possibility that she might graduate before me was just the kick in the pants I needed to go seriously pursue a degree. I didn't actually get going with Etsy until somebody else looked into it first. And now, just recently, one of them launched an entire website. And released an album. Pretty much simultaneously. 

Now I make art too, but handing somebody a bowl with a flower on it to see if they think it's pretty just isn't the same thing as creating music, writing lyrics, putting it all together on a platter, handing it and yourself over to the general public and then waiting to see if they want to stab you with forks. It's just not. So I figure if she can do all of this and be so f-ing awesome, then the least I should be able to do is get this little blog together. I'll just have to figure out how to bring peace and love to the planet another time.

And so here I am.

But clearly I'm in trouble. Because she's just one of six, remember. And every last one of them is a smart, talented motherfucker. Some of them have even threatened to write books.

I may have to become President. 

A Disclaimer

Many things in my life begin with a disclaimer.


It's become second nature whenever anyone comes through my door: "Sorry, the house is a big disgusting mess" or when anyone has a question about the farm: "well...they're not really our cows, you see". I've gone as far as to include one with an application to jury into a local artist cooperative: "I've attached some pictures of what my work looks like now, but who's to say what direction it'll take tomorrow?". And my mother sometimes even uses one by way of introduction: "This is my daughter Mary," she'll say, "She's very honest. She'll tell you exactly what she's thinking".


And she's right. I do. And so the need for the disclaimer.


So here's the deal- this blog will cover my thoughts. That's it. It could include topics like self-reliance, or my ideas on marriage, or rural New Hampshire. It will probably mention things about clay, 'cause that's what I'm currently doing with a lot of my time, and most likely there will be stuff about this great big farmhouse (okay, it's not really that big) because that's where I'm doing it. But it might not include anything about any of those things. The point here is that I make no promises. I don't promise that I will be insightful, or witty, or that I will even stay on topic. I certainly don't promise wisdom. I don't promise that my posts will follow a linear path, or even that my opinions from one day to the next will possess any trace of congruence. I especially don't promise congruence. The world is a complex place, and if you can look at everything in it and continue to express the same, parallel thoughts and opinions that you've always held, then you're either very narrow minded, or you're just not paying attention. Oh, and I don't really even promise to include anything that I really think. 'Cause sometimes I just like to make shit up. And grammar, I don't promise grammar. Or spelling.


I guess mostly what I want to be clear about is that I don't pretend any level of expertise. On anything. I just think a lot, sometimes about things that I think are important and sometimes about things of no consequence whatsoever. I pick up an idea and try it on for size. Sometimes it fits and I'll wear it for a while. And sometimes I'll discard it pretty quickly. But I find that even some of my favorites get a little ragged, a little worn, and with enough time some of them just stop fitting. So I'll pick up a new one. And so it goes. It doesn't mean that what I'm thinking about now is any more or less valid than what I thought about yesterday. And just because I express a particular idea doesn't mean that I think it should fit you. 'Cause it might not. And that's okay. That's the fun part actually.


And so that's it. At least I think it is for now.
But don't hold me to it.