Inspiration in the Everyday
A gigantic thank you to all my wonderful customers at the Princeton Y Crafters Marketplace. I am happy to say that I had my best-selling show ever! It was lovely to chat with everyone and to send them home with some colorful pottery.
I’m a bit tired and nursing a cranky back, so not a lot of words today. Just a few photos to do the talking and offer a little color from the show. xo
The last thing I should be doing right now is write a blog post. But I always seem to do things when I’m not supposed to. Like cleaning out the fridge when I should fill out paperwork, or move my summer clothes upstairs when I should be trimming pots.
My tush should be at the wheel right now. Oh, I’ll head down there in 20 minutes, I promise, but I’m a little preoccupied at the moment. What’s happening? Well….as I said in the post before this one, I’ve been re-evaluating my direction, and I can’t stop thinking about where I want to go.
I love ceramics. There’s a physical response in my body for clay, which is unlike any I’ve had towards anything else. But I feel the need to stretch my muscles, to do some new things. I want to write more. My blog, a play, a book? And I want to push myself in claywork, to somewhere that feels new and maybe a little uncomfortable. I feel, dare I say it, ready to take on work that’s a little more…yikes…serious.
I’m a little torn. Over the last year and a half, I’ve been building up this little business, developing happy patterns and designs that I have repeated over and over again, because they seem to be loved and they sell well. And isn’t that why I started this whole Mudstar business in the first place? To see if I could make money from my art? I wanted to legitimize myself in that way. It seemed so important at the time.
The more I go to workshops, the more I read articles about other potters, the more I read their blogs and see their work, the more I sketch and the more I write, the more I realize how little I know and how much more I want to learn. I feel as if I have just completed my freshman year and now I’m a sophomore. I want to push myself in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. Or maybe that I’ve never felt. To take risks. To make work that might fail spectacularly.
Though I know I haven’t made my last little Tweet dish, or Hydrangea candle, I’m a little twinge-y about switching gears. But I think I have to think about it this way: there is NO WAY I could have taken a leap of faith in a new creative direction if I hadn’t gained confidence with my Mudstar. She’s made me braver. She’s made me deal with face-to-face criticism. She’s made me accept failure. She’s made me smile when I wrap up a sold-something that I made with my own two hands. When I sell to a stranger. She’s made me tougher and she’s made me ready for the next bit.
So what is next? For now, Mudstar is thinking ahead only as far as the holidays. So lucky to be close to home until then…. Get your little red Tweets while the getting is hot!! 
This holiday…
Shop local. Shop handmade. Shop special. Shop the little guy!!
Learning curves. Trying things out. Making mistakes. And more mistakes, and okay, pile a couple more on top there. (Try the left-hand side of pile. There’s a little space left…just chuck it on up there – it can handle it. Uh oh, it’s wobbling…)
This has been a busy fall. I’ve never churned out more work. My hair has never looked worse. I can just hear my poor son’s thoughts as I trudge over to school to pick him up: “Oh geez, there’s dusty Mom in her dirty clogs again. Hope my friends are already on their buses. Sigh….” I have not gone on the fall school trips, or baked any cakes. The kids have to go to the dryer and pray there are clean jeans in there. There has been a lot of pizza for dinner. I have missed my book club once, a fundraiser twice, and the mighty Toni Morrison reading at Princeton University. (It was free, too. Free!)
I get it: though new experiences are not exactly warm and fuzzy, they are necessary to keeping the blood flowing, the synapses firing and business moving. New this fall: three shows I’ve never done before, a trunk show, working with brand-new clay, (though to disastrous results.) And I said yes to a small collaboration with an interior designer, though that terrifies me to no end.
All good things, but I find myself pretty tired, truth be told. These days I’m feeling more like a factory than an artist. I’m not having any, dare I say it, fun? Something’s got to change. There is not a lot of balance in my current state of being.
So I am making myself a promise: 2013 will be the “Year of Working Smarter, Not Harder”. I have some new ideas and new sketches to work on after December. I’m giving myself a pass. A three-month pass to noodle. I’m giving myself three months to re-evaluate my business and my path. To decide where I want things to go. To find a way to create balance. To have time to brew, to sketch, to write. To let the new ideas rise to the top, like cream.
To tide me over, I am going to see Margaret Atwood read this Tuesday at McCosh Hall. 8 p.m. Come hell or high water or homework implosions or kiln explosions, come lack of milk in the fridge or clean laundry in drawers, come one bag of clay left or an unfortunate, though well-intended ceramic bead exploration.
Dear Margaret,
I will be the one with the bad hair in the third row, snoring on her neighbor’s shoulder. Love your work. Seminal to my early love of writing. I’m reaaalllyyy pooped.
Love,
Rae
But I. AM. GOING.
I’m drawn to all things imperfect. Wonky things. Crooked things. Things that have been broken and then repaired. I like the rusty, the leaning, the drippy, the patched. I love old things made useful again in a new way, things that show they’ve been loved well. I like old materials, modern lines.
Hell to the yeah, my work is imperfect. (As am I….) I’d be lying if I didn’t say that throwing a perfectly smooth, symmetrical, even piece didn’t feel great sometimes, but for the most part – showing fingerprints and glaze drips are what make my pieces feel real, and alive and tune them to that handmade wave that I love so much.
Thought I’d share some of the perfectly imperfect design that are currently ringing my bell:
This beautifully wrinkly linen apron from bookhau at home.
These drippy scallop wall stickers from Jim Houser at WhatisBlik.
My favorite book at the moment: Handcrafted Modern by Leslie Williamson
English Burl and Walnut Table by George Nakashima Masterful at highlighting the beauty of flaws. Oh, the joinery!!
Elephant Ceramics is the brainchild of Michelle Michael, a stylist who couldn’t find the earthy, drippy ceramics she wanted to prop her shoots, so she designed her own! I find them delightful.
Check out her beautifully-photographed website, including her blog, at www.elephantceramics.com
Tomorrow morning, (Sunday), early, early, we head out to Ardmore, Pennsylvania, as Booth #95 in the Clover Market. For those of you unfamiliar with the Clover’s fabulousness, I have re-posted the blog about my visit there in May, below. The vendors are super-high quality – I bought a LOT: silkscreen prints, earrings, cards, a little gift for my niece. Every booth was cuter than the next. And the folks were so professional and prepared. (She says, cringing a little, biting her nails and feeling a little highly-jiggly…)
Am I nervous? Um…yeah, a little. It’s my first time as a seller at the Market. It’s my first time using the new tent. And I vacillate between hoping I have enough inventory, and stressing that no one will buy anything. I hope Square won’t be temperamental. Will the other vendors in my area be nice? Since we’re a first-time vendor here, we have been assigned a spot that is not as highly-trafficked, and I worry about that, too.
But I gotta let that all go, dress pretty, and do my thing. Right? By this time on Monday, it’ll all be over and it will be what it will be, and I will sold what I have sold. And hopefully, I will feel like an old pro, and want to do it again in the spring. Wish me luck, butter beans!!
Here’s the groovy theme song for the day. Get ready to boogie in that seat of yours.
1) Learn Spanish. (Again.)
2) Read everything by the beloved Nora Ephron.
3) Write a full-length play.
4) Visit Austin, Texas.
5) Eat fresh feta cheese on a Greek isle.
6) Visit Copenhagen.
7) Learn how to make that elusive, acid yellow-green glaze I have in my head.
8) Bake a fresh, not canned, sour cherry pie.
9) Make a REALLY massive clay piece that has to be fired in stages and then assembled.
10) See Mudstar featured in a magazine/article.
11) Own a chalice by Beatrice Wood.
12) Take the kids to London.
13) Have my own hut.
14) Own the Crosby Library table from Dwell Studio.
15) Watch the film Norwegian Wood.
16) Live in a beach house all summer.
17) Build a house with Habitat for Humanity.
18) Visit the Vitra Museum in Germany.
19) Take a slipcasting class.
20) Make Easter bread like my Mom-Mom.
21) Visit Block Island.
22) Re-read A Swiftly Tilting Planet trilogy by Margaret L’Engle.
23) Kayak in the tidal pools on Martha’s Vineyard.
24) Watch Twelve Angry Men.
25) Learn how to make fresh mozzarella.
26) Do a walkathon for a good cause.
27) Learn to enamel.
28) Clean out the attic.
29) See the Gaudi mosaics.
30) Stop complaining about the size of my butt.
31) Mount a small show of my own.
32) Teach my boys how to cook.
33) See sculpture from Ann Hamilton and Anselm Keifer in person.
34) Bike from Washington’s Crossing to Frenchtown on the D&R Canal.
35) Write an anti-50 Shades romance novel, with a real woman as the protagonist.
36) Spend the day in the new Asbury Park taking photos.
37) Have a vacation, with just my husband, in a Caribbean sort of place.
38) Learn to drive stick.
39) Try Reiki.
40) Plant Allium.
My little fellow turns 10 tomorrow. Double digits. Colin’s first day on Earth began in exactly the same manner as he now greets every day: with vim and vigor, excited where the day will take him, and in a hurry. The doctor missed the birth because it took her too long to get from the parking garage. Seven minutes too long. I asked the young nurse at the bottom of the bed what her name was. She replied: “Heather.” I said, “Heather, you’re catching this baby.” I saw her looking at the empty doorway, praying the doctor would appear. ”Um…okay….” Two pushes and two minutes later, Colin came into the world.
Colin’s nickname, to all who love him, is: Conna-do, because when he was little, because: A) he couldn’t pronounce his “L”s very well, and B) wanted to do everything himself. ”No, Mommy, you NO do it. CONNA DO it!” So when Conna-do turns double digits, you sorta have to make it a sassy special day, which means a couple of best buddies, Six Flags Great Adventure, and a Minecraft Pig Cake. (Throwdown challenge from Conna-do: C’mon, Mom, I KNOW you can make it!!)
One very dirty apron, a sink full of dirty knives in all the wrong sizes, and my very pores smelling of sugary frosting (and by that time, not in a good way…) Voila! A Minecraft Pig Cake and the satisfaction of hearing a table full of cute boys saying: “WOW…”
I don’t mean to be dramatic, but I am intending to stage a revolution…of one. No small tweaks are going to get me out of this one. I need to shake this shizzle up.
I’ve been on the injured list for weeks now, unable to work. (Pinched nerve – most of my left hand is numb. I can safely say that I am NOT a wuss, but it HURTS like a MOFO.) Still, I drove my kids to doctors/dentist/camp/friends’ houses. I still got groceries/made breakfasts, lunches and dinners/cleaned/folded laundry/arranged swim lessons/ran errands/made playdates/told the neighbor I’d bring in her mail and newspapers for the week. I still helped at the schools/listened to friends’ troubles/was a shoulder to cry on. All the while going to the chiropractor, not putting my hands in clay, swallowing copious amounts of Advil and gritting my teeth to get through the sleepless days. And I have been down in the proverbial dumps. A pissed-off, grouchy, down-in-the-dumps mess. The days dragged on and I did not see an end in sight.
In a moment of serendipity, I was speaking on FB with Meekah Sage, a new creative friend, and her seemingly innocent comment sparked something in me. She said:
I wonder what would happen if all that I give and commit to others I actually did for myself……I wonder how things would shift….
LIGHTBULB. Or as Oprah would say, I had an “AHA MOMENT.” It’s kind of brilliant, Meekah. (BTW: she’s chronicling her road on her blog – find it here.) It’s the reverse of the Golden Rule. What if I did unto me, as I did unto others? What would happen? So, I decided to stage my version of a little revolution, and I’m going to chronicle it here, over the next couple of weeks.
I tell my children to spend their free time doing what they love best. I try to help them, when I can, to do their favorite things. I encourage my friends, too – try to be a cheerleader when they need one, when they’re a little afraid to try something new. But I don’t do this for myself. I need to do this for myself. Is it self-indulgent? I thought so for a little while, but then I thought: if I don’t think it’s self-indulgent for others, why would I think that for myself?
What was my first coup? It was little; but it was bold for me. Friday I spent the day packing and doing all the little niggly things that needed to be done before we set off for two weeks to Martha’s Vineyard, where we just renovated a lovely little house. (This is now my favorite building on the planet.) I was super-busy, sorta in pain, but happy to be packing beach towels and bathing suits and a little pile of books.
That night was an event at the “Club” – a family-friendly night of dinner, fireworks, steel drums, and a large group of well-dressed, well-intentioned folks that were happy to eat hamburgers and cupcakes in 96 degree heat. My husband and younger were already there, happily playing golf and eating said burgers, chatting with their buddies. My older son and I were to join them later, against my better instincts as both he and I were cool and content packing the bags and chatting, and the “Club” really isn’t our thing. I started to get tired, get a headache, rub my neck every couple of minutes at the thought of heading out to this big, hot shindig.
In my eyes, my husband is the best husband in the whole wide world, and as such, I want to make my him happy, because I love him so very much. So, with my head pounding, my neck prickling with pain, and numbness running down my arm, I took a shower, got dressed in an itchy dress and headed out into 96 degree heat for the next three hours. I made it 20 minutes, standing next to my husband, gulping down cold water, unable to identify 90% of the crowd, before I turned to him and said: “I don’t think I can stay here. I’m sorry that I promised you I’d come. I’m going to go home.”
AND I DID. I felt guilty on the ride home, but then I felt relieved. My older son said: “I’m so glad we’re going home, Mom. I really didn’t want to be there for three hours.” I said: “You know what? Neither did I!” And we laughed. (Know what else: hubby was sweet and understanding, to boot. Win/Win.) I realized that I should not do what does not make me happy. And more importantly, I should not feel guilty about it. Feeling guilty is a WASTE OF MY TIME. Life is precious, and short and should be honored. AHA!!
p.s. My back is starting to feel better…hmmm…why would that be? Maybe because something’s “off my shoulders”?
Took my first-born to Hershey Park for his birthday (THIRTEEN!) and I knew HE’D love it….(C’mon: copious amounts of chocolate, rides on the Comet, the Claw, the Trailblazer ’til you’d almost hurl, and what’s in this hotel room drawer? Heaven for boys and teenaged boys.) But I was a little leery. Sometimes the summer masses at a theme park ain’t pretty.
But surprisingly, what I found was a clean playground with mature plantings, friendly folks, and yes, copious amounts of chocolate. I also surprised myself: though there were crowds, crying toddlers, and way too many rides on the Pirate, I was able to see some of the beauty of the place.
