Working with pottery requires living with trial and error, embracing happenstance, seeking discovery, while making art from the earth. Curiosity draws me into this process and, while seemingly repeated, the search provides endless possibilities from what the earth provides.
I’m a grandmother, a mother, and a teacher; I’ve been a nurse, a volunteer, and a student (graduate courses for most of my adult life). The psychology of human interaction intrigues me, maybe because throughout my life there’s been so much interaction. I have life-long friends since childhood who keep me grounded, and I have more contemporary friendships that keep me fresh and informed (Below right: my niece working in the studio with company, of course).
I’ve been an artist since I was a little girl, sending my original drawings of my visual musings and storytelling to my grandparents in Vermont. My mother was an artist, gifted and intimidating in her ability and scope; she was my first art teacher. Over the years I’ve developed her eye, if not her hand. Artwork spilled out everywhere as I slouched through my teenage years, except in traditional art classes. Since I’d been creating in my own think-tank experiential happening, I couldn’t relate to the traditional -everyone draws/paints the same thing -experience. Throughout my adult life art has always been there, defined through a curious but predictable balance of outrageous flashes of thought and creativity with indifferent withdrawing from courageous making. But the process was always there.
Today the process is as strong as ever and those flashes of thought are quickly harvested into field notes. Grandmothers get interrupted a lot.