Sunday, September 19, 2010
It's all piled up, and I am anxious to get it out of my space. I was so thrilled with the delicious purge, I got my carving tools and sponges packed up, too. And then I immediately burst into huge, soul-wracking sobs.
Shane opened up his arms and held a messy, freaked out me, and talked me down. He told me if it was important, we'd keep it all. We talked through it and I decided that the kiln and clay can go- need to go, but my tools stay. A clay supply and studio opened up very close to us, and it makes much more sense to rent studio/kiln space than to try to make space to sculpt at home. I'm at peace with this resolution- I know because it made me stop crying- and packed my tools away for safekeeping.
I really didn't realize how much the idea of really retiring as a sculptor would affect me. It's really my medium, though. Building and smoothing and carving clay is the most right I've ever felt in my world- tied with nursing the baby. They speak to the same place in my- a deep, centered, physical primal part that nothing else has ever tapped. The contrast in my critiques in printmaking and ceramics is marked. Drawing is home, and my sketchbooks are a fixture always. But I think clay is my temple.
The image above is from a juried student show. Jamie Miller (now a beloved sistermamafriend) and I won best in show. It's my best piece and now lives with an aunt who bought it. I'm looking now at a later related version- it's wonky and I'm giving it away so I can stop rebuilding it in my head.
I'm happy I've had this little breakdown. I need to get my hands in some squishy sacred mud soon.