finally

Upon my return from California, I found that only four of my ten large boxes survived the bisque firing. It was really a blessing in disguise since I landed at 2 am and the final glaze firing was set for 11 am. After catching a few hours of sleep, I spend the rest of the morning glazing my boxes. For the large ones, I designed and cut out a stencil to make the process faster, then used a black under-glaze to paint in the penciled areas. After adding a clear glaze and deciding just to dip all of my little boxes in some sort of blue (I honestly had no idea how it would turn out), I loaded the last kiln of the quarter and hoped for the best. And somehow, the best happened.

hooray!

Apparently the black under-glaze is composed of some cobalt, so the design turned blue in firing—perfectly complimenting my little boxes, which fired brilliantly! I guess I completely lost control of my project—of all the details I wanted to go just perfectly. I thought I failed, not literally like an F in the class, but just failed to fulfill my specifications and failed at a medium of art. Which, yes, compared to my original plans the finals fails to fulfill those expectations, but hello…welcome to ceramics. Today, I was pleasantly surprised—no, more like ecstatic—when I saw my pieces. I’m actually excited to hang them and look at them frequently, thankful to consider this quarter both extremely frustrating and surprisingly successful.

I'm considering hanging them above my bed...or maybe in the kitchen....or my bathroom.
I have a lot of undecorated wall space.

glazed coil pots

I'd say they fit in the kitchen nicely

artist statement

In my art experience, I rarely experienced the harsh reality of failure and dissatisfaction with a piece of work. Questionable beginnings always worked themselves out into provocative endings. I controlled the aperture; I directed the acrylics; I commanded the pen and ink; and yet, I succumb to the clay body. I never before battled with a medium as I have with clay over the past quarter. In consideration of my projects, each one fails to embody the grandiose blueprints I mentally composed.

Relatively unimpressed, I observed the critique of my peers’ pinch pots on my first day of the class (note to someone: adding the class over a week late in the middle of a collegiate soccer season puts you behind more than a few paces). My lack of admiration for my classmates’ pinch pots quickly melted as I attempted to handle the clay in preparation for the coil pot. My unjustified, preconceived confidence quickly vanished, and I can tell you it is a humbling experience to come to tears over wet dirt…I may have questioned my sanity once or twice.

In conjunction with this assignment, however, I also considered the existential reasoning behind art, which initiated an embrace of imperfections. In my mind, the coil pots needed to show the process to achieve the finished piece. Successfully, each work embodied a compilation of transition, not simply from one coil to the next, but also from a need for perfection to a freedom in raw, unrestricted expression. After the bisque firing, I glazed two of the coil vessels reflecting the theme of imperfection and emphasizing the “hand-made” quality—still hoping for impeccable results, however. Humbled again, I glumly evaluated the glaze that obstinately covered the attempted wax relief. My anticipated triumph disintegrated at the ceramic reality in my hands.

After a time of unrefined engagement with the clay, I transitioned back to straight lines and right angles with the template process in slab construction. Making boxes, at first posed a difficult challenge, but with time and repetition it became second nature. This type-A artist could handle tarpaper and slab rollers all day. With newfound confidence, I developed a great plan for a beautiful clock made out of slab vessels—I seem to quickly forget I am not a professional at this whole ceramics gig. Needless to say, the clock solely exists in templates and conceptions.

With relative apprehension, I committed to slab construction as my technique for the final projects. My frustration peaked at the realization that my strengths would not include towards creative expression, but rather a formulated method. This approach requires precision, which I achieved by cutting slab after slab and constructing box after box. Yet, when I received the text message (from a peer who unloaded my work from the kiln) that read, “bad news,” my hopes for one final project to end in success shattered. Apparently there are structural cracks in some of the large boxes—enough of them that my design will be incomplete without significant alterations.

So, here I am, flying home from California (my soccer team lost to Stanford today), with an overwhelming sense of failure—artistically, athletically, academically inadequate. Yet, in reflection of other artists and people who inspire me, the source of inspiration stems not from any one final, but rather the innumerable transitions that contribute to the shaping and molding of the process. I sit in frustration and angst (particularly for what I will make of my surviving boxes), but hope that somehow this transitory period will yield greater refinement of myself.

and I happened upon Andy Goldsworthy

As the usual procrastinator that I am, I left for the second and third rounds of NCAA at Stanford last Wednesday, without having completed my final cultural event. But thankfully, California is robust in the arts. I asked my mom (number one fan!) to join me in my cultural endeavors and we wandered to the Cantor Arts Center at Stanford University. Little did I know that outside of the building stood the work of my inspiration, Andy Goldsworthy. Now, I rarely freak out, but I was overwhelmingly excited. If you have never watched his documentary, “Rivers and Tides,” watch it on a rainy afternoon, snuggling on your couch, sipping a hot beverage and preparing for your life to be changed.

So, you can understand my elation when we happened upon one of his structures outside the gallery. Dedicated to the President of Stanford and erected from the rubble left in the 1906 and 1989 earthquakes, “Stone River” epitomizes his philosophy and inspiration to utilize nature to create fleeting works within its natural state.

Me being SUPER excited and my mom's shadow

"Stone River" -- Andy Goldsworthy

“At its most successful, my ‘touch’ looks into the heart of nature; most days I don’t even get close. These things are all part of the transient process that I cannot understand unless my touch is also transient—only in this way can the cycle remain unbroken and the process complete” – Andy Goldsworthy

The wonder comes not as much from this winding wall built from stone—there are many of those—but just from the idea behind it, this lifestyle of intentionality and creativity that finds so much beauty and potential in the smallest places.

Maybe it was from my already exceeded expectations, or maybe because a large, almost blank canvas was hung as art, but the gallery itself was rather disappointing. I took pictures because I couldn’t actually believe the work was displayed…Apologies for any copyrights I am abridging. 

This is what I call "Shit! My final project is due tomorrow"

"Fade to White"

The Artwork Network gallery on Santa Fe is currently showing the work of Gus Harper, a collection entitled “Fade to White.” In contrast to much of his previous colorful pieces, Harper paints in different shades of white in this collection. In his artist’s statement, he references Michelangelo's Slaves as his inspiration. Like the human figures held in the white marble, Harper mimics this idea as the canvases hold the faces and bodies he paints and describes his work as an ultimate “celebration of the human condition.”

My two favorite pieces from the exhibit are entitled “Looking Out” and “Suspended Moment.”

“Looking Out” depicts a nude woman curled up in a ball, yet the background surface is obscure as the pale colors fade into the white canvas. A systematic design resembling a lacey veil overlies the figure, as if the viewer is peering through a frosted window on a woman inside. At first, the image looks serene and beautiful, but in contrast with the white colors and soft angles is the stark eye Harper includes that glares at the viewer. Not immediately noticeable, the stare of the figure conveys an expression of fearful apprehension rather than peaceful rest. The longer I stood in front of the image, the more the woman seemed to be drawing away, trying to hide in the safety of the monochromatic background. The colors that Harper does include are darker than the other pieces in the exhibit and highlight the sharp contrast between the shadows and the figure. Throughout the entire work, Harper successfully holds tension between lightness and darkness, rest and angst, knowledge and secrecy, safety and fear.

Harper, again, utilizes the lacey ‘screen’ in his work “Suspended Moment,” a painting of two mouths poised before a kiss. In my mind, it is the moment after an initial kiss, taking a breath and delighting in the serene intimacy before another. The tension of space, augmented by the shadows behind the profiles, evokes a desire for completion. Since this piece only illuminates their mouths, noses and chins as the rest of the face fades to white, the viewer can interject what exactly this completion entails. As opposed to his other piece “The Kiss,” which shows the entire profiles of both people, the ambiguity of this piece induces a deeper emotional lure. 

construction for days

preview

some of the small boxes for the 4x4.

slab construction

So, after finishing slab construction, I am pretty sure that I will not return to it for the following:

a. because it is so frustrating

b. I'm not good with scissors and this needs precision, people

c. because my vessel that was going to be a clock became in epic fail

d. I feel restricted by a necessity for perfection

four by four design

The Start to a Statement

I interviewed a classmate in order to practice writing an artist statement...this is written from the perspective of Dixon about his work.

Structure is my inspiration. I create focused on functionality. If a piece of work exists simply for staring pleasure and contemplation, then it is nothing more than a pile of clay.

Structure is essential. I spent much of my time during high school in the studio. Second to ceramics, I focused on black and white photography, inspired by the structure in nature. I avoided people at all costs—too much emotion and inconsistency. My muse was outside, functional structure and existence for survival. Soon this mindset permeated all aspects of my art, and especially ceramics.

As I entered college, my schedule was functional. I decided to study economics and structured my classes as a means to an end. EARN A DEGREE. Realizing now that the end is imminent, I find myself back in the studio, slab in hand, searching for structure. Processing each method, slabs are the key to construction. Plan. Template. Cut. Slab. Assemble. Smooth. Dry. Fire. Glaze. Fire. Use. If the planned functionality fails, redo.

Aesthetic design evades my concern. I am a minimalist. Clean lines and smooth surfaces—every detail contributing to functionality. 

"Fire! Colorado Under Siege" Denver Photo Art Gallery

            At the Denver Photo Art Gallery, the current exhibit, entitled “Fire! Colorado Under Siege,” depicts photographs from several artists as a benefit for the Colorado Fallen Firefighters Foundation. Photographers Aaron Ontiveroz, Richard Saxon, Steve Smith and John Wark successfully capture the emotional devastation resulting from the fires that swept Colorado. The collection of photographs details the sheer magnitude of force to the cultural impact to the heroic actions involved in combating the Colorado inferno.

            Three photos in particular create stark juxtaposition between the enormity of nature and the frailty of the human condition. Some people experience this realization in the mountains, sleeping outside, seeing the innumerable stars for the first time outside of a city and realizing just how little space the individual occupies. I experience the humbling reality at the top of a fourteener, looking across the Colorado landscape and acknowledging just how small I am. Others may find the notion at the bottom of a redwood tree or at the edge of the ocean. Regardless of the details, the contrast between one small individual and the whole of creation is a sobering and grounding reminder. In moments of solace and serenity, the notion fails to evoke the same sense of gratitude as in moments of catastrophe. When vast forces confront the existence of life, I realize I am ephemeral. I say this not to brew anxiety or create a morbid tone, but to depict how this truth evokes a deep, inexplicable gratefulness for life. Ultimately, nothing fully evokes this emotion except for the actual experience; however, Aaron Ontiveroz, Steve Smith and John Wark capture this moment of insight to the greatest capability of a lens.

             Ontiveroz captures an anonymous boy staring up as the smoke envelopes the Poudre Canyon outside of Fort Collins this past June. Smith depicts a frame of smoke, billowing into the sky, interjected at the bottom of the image with two small firefighters lingering on a ledge. Wark, looking down on a forest of evergreens, finds a helicopter spiraling through endless acres of smoke, attempting to restrain the uncontrollable force. The child, the firefighters and the helicopter pilots remain intentionally anonymous so that the audience is present; I’m his babysitter; I’m their coworker; I’m his copilot. The flames are incinerating my neighborhood, the ash is suffocating my lungs, the smoke is blinding my view. Capturing the natural calamity, each artist conveys a sobering reminder of this transitory life.

            Although the body of work centers on images of smoke, the remainder of the photographs augment the three pieces previously addressed by illuminating various impacts of the fire. Yes, the subject material is consistent and at times repetitive, but the emotional kindling evoked throughout the exhibit results in a posture of cathartic reflection on exiting the gallery. 

Mezclada (artist/designer)

The more I reflect on my intentions and purposes, the more I realize that I am a creation of multiple dimensions. Not in a schizophrenic, multiple personality sort of way, but rather I crave different avenues of expression.

Until recently, I confined myself into the Design Side. My type-A personality squeezed my free spirit into a pigeonhole of right angles and typewriter handwriting.

Disclaimer: I blame my Design Side for a lot—like spending several hours folding laundry because the toe side of the sock must be concave and the heel side of the sock must be convex so all the socks together form a unit. Scary, I know. And that was just the sock pile. Any sarcasm directed toward the “designer” is simply a reflection of my terribly boring and psychotic past—not because designers are all boring and/or psychotic…not saying you’re not, though.

Continuing on, I innately possess an eye for design. Some consider it a gift; I consider it the ability to produce by hand something my Mac could replicate ten times faster. I utilize my design side. And by utilize I mean my family and friends really enjoy the gifts that come their way because of the exploitation of DESIGNS BY LU. Stationary, house warming presents, bedroom décor, you name it…it’ll be wrapped with a bow for your birthday, the next holiday or some random time that I feel especially love-y. My designs are clean cut, minimalist, systematic. Classroom doodles turned brilliant—or crumpled up paper in the trash. The Design Side frequently annoys me because it is a reminder of the days when Perfectionism harassed my every waking second. The tedious replication that often pervades my projects causes waves of irritability that only subside upon completion, replaced with an overwhelming satisfaction—because of course, the end result MUST BE PERFECT.  Sarcasm aside, I truly am thankful for Design…mostly because the decorations that cost $176 at Cost Plus World Market hang on my wall, personalized, and the $176 is still in my bank account (or would be if I had that much to drop on décor).

Side note: I really do make gifts for people. If you need something made, talk to me.

Thankfully, my life changed. I mean big time turn of events, of which this is not the time or the place to share. If you’re actually interested, come say to me, “So Laura, I hear you’re an artist now,” and I’ll probably be really confused, then understand what you’re asking and finally proceed to be an emotional peanut allergy providing way too much detail about the transformation. CAUTION: this is an emotionally charged lady. But from a year ago when my friends continually counseled me to “feel my feelings” because I was a numb psycho confined in DESIGN SIDE, we have made significant progress, people!

I digress.

Raw. Shocking. Layers. Beliefs. Thoughts. Change. Time. Soul. Freedom: ART SIDE commence. Words fail to fully embody the magnitude of catharsis I experienced when I finally discovered the freedom of expression that evaded me for years. I craved to reveal the reality inside my mind, but feared it. Everything about it. Through the life change, Art became a safe haven. I didn’t have to edit or erase, simply express. I love mediums that change; that I can readdress; that are experimental; that depict my flow of consciousness. A canvas is my mute counselor and the residence of my free spirit.

I have recently dreamed of living in a studio, similar to the lair in Phantom of the Opera—the Hollywood version with Gerard Butler, Emmy Rossum and Patrick Wilson. (If you haven’t seen it, let’s have a movie night because it is simply pure genius). I love that the Phantom’s “studio” holds nothing back. He creates and destroys and restructures and develops all thoughts and emotions into art. There is nothing clean-cut and minimalist about it. It is raw, and it is true.

I pursue truth on the ART SIDE. Not that DESIGN SIDE is a lie, but truth, even when ugly and painful, is imperative to my freedom in ART.

"The young man knows the rules, but the old man knows the exceptions"

Oliver Windell Holmes Jr

freedom in imperfection (coil building)

the inevitability of imperfection lends to a freedom of expression. dig in. stir it up. leave a mark.

"there is no passion to be found in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living."

--Nelson Mandela 

a compound in glaze

In nature, copper carbonate is found as the emerald green mineral malachite and the sky blue mineral azurite. Copper carbonate was the first compound to be broken down into several, separate elements in 1794 by the French Chemist, Proust. The basic copper carbonate used in ceramics for glazes is developed through chemical reaction to be converted into malachite. The color can vary from blue to green because of a mixture of copper carbonate and basic copper carbonate and the result of different degrees of hydration. Copper carbonate is used in pyrotechnics, animal and poultry feeds, paint pigments and seed fungicide. It is dangerous if ingested or inhaled, and skin or eye contact will cause irritation and potential burns if prolonged exposure occurs. There are different grades of carbon carbonate in terms of pricing, but it seems to be rather expensive…$30/500g…although there doesn’t seem to be much needed for a large batch of glaze.

the light(ness) in work

            In spite of absolutist clichés, light, or its absence, permeates all aspects of existence. Life, for one, fails to exist without its physical, cyclical presence and absence. We, being the majority of the human population, utilize daylight to carry on life’s functions (except for those who labor during graveyard shifts, for whom I revere with the upmost respect considering my craving for sleep sets with the sun); therefore, it cannot be ignored. In previous years, I tried my best to fight this natural constant by sleeping through all hours of the day (not that I cut any short at night), drawing the shades tight, wearing sunglasses even past dusk…the attempts continue. And so this unalterable daily occurrence compels reflection for its influence beyond our physical dependence.

            So enters art in the conversation of light. As aforementioned, the creation process requires both its presence and its absence, yet the tangible manipulation of light, the conflict of illumination, the want of internal luminosity all interject in the compilation of art. Recognizing the state of internal light is of utmost importance, not just for making art, but also for living life. Without acknowledging and reflecting on the light and darkness in our minds, our disposition, our attitudes, our souls, our intangible elements of existence, how can anything else be effectively communicated through physical representation?

In essence, light is impossible to fabricate devoid of internal sourcing. Of course, the feat may be attempted; the work itself, however, evokes a stronger response if it is the expression and elucidation of our internal state.

The majority of my past work probably concerned my close friends because they knew the darkness inspiring the pieces, but to me, it was brilliance. Not in a narcissistic way by any means, but I finally looked at a final project and knew I created a piece for more than a class assignment. It was as if I materialized my soul in the dark room, or stroked my suffering on a canvas, or stippled agony in the ink.

I existed through my art.

At some level, I hope every artist (i.e. every person) may experience the reality of darkness. Not that I wish suffering on people, but it is through suffering (I call it my dark time) one will fumble through dark recesses and experience a reality too raw to further elude authenticity in life.  The grappling to find one’s internal luminosity creates a canvas for masterpieces.

Once constructed, the display of such pieces must reflect the inspiration of the artist. Dismissing the origin shelves its reasoning, process, thought, purpose, etc.—in essence art would simply exist as material at which to glance in passing.

Sharing the process exercised to create the piece enables the artist to meet critics in their respectively lit or dim recesses, and to relate through much more than a physical piece. Art—authentic art—should never be produced without intention; it should never be a futile piece, briefly triggering interest without provoking further thought and response. Whether it evokes repulsion, appreciation, confusion, etc. depends on the luminosity inside the viewer.

The question arises; do they, in turn, know what light (or darkness) pervades them?

inspired by suffering

suffering is a component of life. in fact, this world we live in constantly groans from the veracity and ubiquity of its presence. one cannot simply pick up and say, "i've had enough," and find a life devoid of it. sure, one can find death but who's to say suffering ceases? sure, one is physically freed--in non-existence--but what is this 'freedom' if a soul is still entrapped in suffering?

of course, then, you must agree that we are spiritual beings. if you don't, you must at least consider the notion. why do we crave worship? irrespective of religious belief, look at some tendencies; our world worships power, affluence, fame, beauty, self, ___you name it___ . simply existing, consuming physical space, fails to fulfill our human longings. and where do these longings birth but in the soul, aiming at a target in worship. i'd go so far to argue we not only crave worship but are designed to worship.

so, what of suffering?

my words cycle around it and through it--a dangerously enticing idea, intriguing but never a deep longing for its resurgence (unless, of course, for narcissistic, self-depricating pity...in which case, i suggest, one simply muddles in existence if through desiring suffering anticipates pity). the craving for  and development, maturation, rectification, etc. directly conflicts with the worship of self-preservation.

picture clay--used clay but no longer of use, tossed aside. but by the unnumbered days of monotony in the recycling bin and the unanticipated reparation through the pug mill, the clay is again molded and formed. i do not know what technically happens in the pug mill, yet, i know the clay is not designed for the purpose of experiencing the pug mill. the process, however, enables the fulfillment of its purpose.

i submit, then, to suffer lends to worship.

i am the clay [molded. formed. dried. broken. renewed.]