A beautiful summer day here. Sun and a light breeze made everyone smile and sent many jumping into the ocean for a cooling dip.
Aimee Lee and Damon Thompson presented their work this evening in Gateway. Both are artists, certainly, but are also, and perhaps more importantly at this point, educators. Aimee has written a book, Hangi Unfurled: One Journey Into Korean Papermaking. She documents the history of a papermaking tradition that goes back centuries and is seemingly dying out in Korea. She is articulate and passionate about her mission. It was a joy to hear her speak so beautifully about a seemingly arcane subject.
Damon teaches jewelry at Towson University and showed his work, which is exquisitely crafted and engagingly designed, but also showed his students and the kinds of projects they do with the public. He is the kind of teacher who can make any subject come alive. He is also passionate about the intersection of the digital world and craft. He uses digital technology in his own work and includes it in his teaching in a meaningful and expansive way.
Our byword for the day was “Ask”. So often we are afraid to ask the question that might clarify where to go next or that might help avoid making trouble for ourselves. An short assignment this afternoon included instructions to consult with a buddy. The ten students broke into five pairs and became advisors and guides for each other. I loved listening in on the conversations, so kind and helpful and spot on. I could have left for the afternoon and they would have done just fine! They asked each other about possible ideas and strategies and regrouped again and again as questions came up. Tomorrow we will talk about the outcomes of the assignment.
Tonight I gave a presentation in Gateway along with Cassandra Straubing, a sculptor who works in glass. (Cassandra doesn’t have a website but you can see her work if you Google her.) It’s always a pleasure to share the ideas behind work and the events that shape a career with an interested audience. A long day in the studio with a fabulous class and an evening of “song and dance” has left me pretty tired. Please forgive me for begging off writing a post tonight. We’ll catch up tomorrow.
First morning in a class is always high-energy, getting to know expectations and experience levels, learning names, trying to understand the dynamics presented by these particular ten people. Within the first five minutes someone said, “It’s not a competition,” in a funny exchange. It became the byword for the day. It’s a good thing to remember in a class. It’s a good thing to remember in life, actually.
Tonight were presentations by Mo Kelman, a sculptor working with textiles and Elizabeth Spiers, poet and visiting writer. It is always inspiring to see how other artists work with materials, either tangible or abstract, to respond to the world. Another good byword comes to mind. “Don’t compare. Relate.” Our work is so different on first glance that it would be difficult to compare. On the other hand, our interest in materials, the limitations we put on ourselves, the physicality and scale of our work and the interest in words and ideas are evident in both. Though different, our work is related in many ways.
And now, in a dark landscape, with the lights of the studio shining through, I walk back to my cabin.
Think of rain on the roof. The smell of spruce and wet leaves. The intensity of the colors of wet lichen, moss and tree trunks. Think of silence giving way to footsteps on boardwalks and then the increasing occurrence of voices and laughter. All seemed an unfolding, a slow approach to the beginning of the session. Finally, ninety people gathered in Gateway this evening, the largest meeting space at Haystack, used for presentations and orientations for the welcome.
I don’t know if it’s because I have done this fairly often or because Haystack presents a sense of community that is immediate and strong, but as I looked around the room, I felt as if these people had been together in this place for days already. About half of this group has been here before, the other half first-timers. And yet all seemed comfortable and at home.
We were given the rules of citizenship…no alcohol in the studios, watch what you flush down the toilets, the location of the library, etc….and then were sent on to the studios to meet each other for the first time as groups. I am once again pleased and a little humbled by the people in my class, all interesting, lively, curious women from 20-something to 70-something in age.
I told them about a man I met yesterday morning as he was preparing to leave Haystack. He was sitting in his car, diligently looking at a map, moving his finger along a proposed path. I laughed and said that it seemed an old-fashioned thing to be doing. He laughed as well, picked up his iPhone and said that he was using GPS to get to his destination, but that he wanted to know where it was. I thought that it was an apt metaphor for what we are doing. I will be the GPS for a while in class, the woman’s voice that tells you where to turn and how far to go. But they will be looking at their own maps, determining where they are and coming up with their own destinations. Each will have a map of a different somewhere and a different landing place.
\Another trip to Haystack Mountain School of Crafts, this time to teach a two-week session in basketry. Not basketry per se, but more the idea of working with what comprises a basket: multiple elements, mechanically connected, to create (traditionally) a vessel. That leaves a lot of latitude for interpretation, and that’s the whole point.
Here is the description of the workshop as it appears in the summer 2016 Haystack catalogue:
Baskets are traditionally made with natural materials, using mechanical connections, creating vessel forms. We will extend the tradition by using unusual materials and non-traditional connections to make expressive vessel forms. After exploring the possibilities of many materials and ways of connecting them we will spend some time generating ideas and creating strategies for putting it all together to come up with individual work, which may be connected to your current work or completely new. Be ready to rip, stitch, twine, staple, rivet, fold, notch, paint, draw, laugh, think, succeed, fail and tune your own voice. All levels welcome
I’ll be writing each day to take you along on our journey in exploration. This is my favorite way to teach, being in a room of talented, eager people who are willing to take chances and to commit to their own inner visions. It’s not always easy but can be so rewarding.
It’s not often that one is called a master. My theory of the value of doing something adequately well for a long time holds true once again. An exhibition called Two Women Masters opens on July 1 at CRAFT Gallery in Rockland, Maine. I share the spotlight with longtime friend and wonderful artist, Jan Owen. Here is the news release from the gallery.
Two Women Masters: The work of Lissa Hunter and Jan Owen
CRAFT Gallery dedicates its new show, opening on July 1st, to two women masters of fine art and craft, Jan Owen and Lissa Hunter, and to their achievements and contributions to fine art and craft.
Both Maine artists pay special attention to detail, depth of thought, storytelling and metaphor. Each uses composition, design and craftsmanship to create works that honor their craft methods. Their work is recognized and collected by major art institutions as valued works of art. Among them are The National Museum of Women in the Arts, The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, The Museum of Arts and Design in New York, The Renwick Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution and The Library of Congress.
Calligraphic artist Jan Owen draws upon the art and methods of early medieval scribes and her love of color, music and poetry. Every stroke of the pen and brush on handmade paper and hollytex requires meditative deliberation and concentration. Her panels, scrolls and books use the power and beauty of words to take on a contemporary form.
Artist Lissa Hunter uses basketry, porcelain and drawing to tell stories, express emotions and ideas, often in metaphor and often incorporating all three disciplines in a single work. This show includes her charcoal drawings. porcelain vessels and wall mounted assemblages with niches holding coiled basketry. All are examples of Hunter’s dedication to exploring materials and forms.
With no gender bias intended, there are many other Maine women craft artists who deserve recognition and show their work at CRAFT: Autumn Cipala, Sara Hotchkiss, Hanako Nakazato, Christine Peters, Nisa Smiley, Amy Smith and Fiona Washburn.
Two Women Masters opens on July 1st during the Rockland First Friday Art Walk. There will be live music and refreshments in the courtyard during the evening. The show will continue ?until August 3rd. CRAFT Gallery is in the courtyard at ?12 Elm Street in Rockland, Maine. FMI call ?207 594 0167 and visit www.craftonelm.com
It would certainly be a pleasure to see you there.
Have you ever planned a big trip? I mean, A Really Big Trip? Let’s say, to Ghana or Nepal or Australia You spend months reading articles, asking friends what they know about traveling in the country you’re visiting, checking on weather conditions for the time you will be there, buying clothes, getting your passport updated, learning how to say please and thank you in a different language. Your energy and attention are focused on The Really Big Trip. But then, one day, you get on the airplane and after the passing of a relatively short period of time, you are there. Your attention shifts from getting there to being there.
The studio project has been like that but I had not gotten on the plane. There has been no division between getting there and being there. Once I realized that, I said, “Enough, already. Get on with it.” So now I am beginning to create new work patterns and to settle in. I hereby promise not to talk of The Studio, as if it were the only thing in my creative life. I’m moving on to other things. It’s time to use the beautiful space that has been created by Lynn Merrifield, the fantastic builder who made it happen. Seatback in the upright position, tray table up, ready for takeoff.
What’s new? New year. New blog format. New studio.
Taking them in order, let’s consider the new year. I must say that I am a sucker for it. Not the wild party, stay up until midnight, watch the ball drop kind. And I don’t make resolutions anymore because I am forced to look at my shortcomings and then to feel worse because I can’t stick to the resolutions to remedy them. But there is a time of reflection and anticipation in early January that is a good calibration point. Obviously we could decide to lose weight, put more money aside for retirement, join a drawing group, and all of the other things that we should do, at any time. There is nothing magical about January 1. But most days fly by without the time or inclination to assess and resolve. Gratitude seems to have been the consistent theme in the ruminations this year.
New blog format. As with most things internet related, I don’t really know quite what I’m doing with WordPress. It is a very powerful tool for creating attractive online content and I enjoy using it but I can only do a few things. Every once in a while I try something new and it either works or it doesn’t. In the spirit of the new year (see paragraph 1), I assessed my blog and thought it to be OK but resolved to try something different. After noodling around a bit among the many templates they provide, I clicked on one and managed to “publish” it without actually previewing it. It seems to be OK so we’ll stick with it for awhile.
And…drumroll, please…new studio. It is now functional. There is much to move back in, after having provided places for storage and access but what I need right now is here. From now on, no more complaints, announcements or updates about the studio. Now that’s a resolution that you can count on.
OK, physician life doesn’t always allow that, but the single iron is my default setting. A couple of months ago, I wrote about leaving my previous studio and beginning the building of a new space in our garage. My focus has been on that process and I have set aside other responsibilities, such as writing blog posts. You may (or may not) have noticed.
Ready for guests
This project has been much more time-consuming and complex than I had thought it would be. (Isn’t that always the way?) It has also been exhilarating, frustrating, immensely creative and budget-bending expensive. We’re nearing completion of the construction phase and are now deciding what goes where, planning to work over the winter before making final decisions for storage and built-ins. I am so ready to get back to work.
These images are of the upstairs part of the studio. The downstairs will have walls this week and should be ready for venting the kiln next week. I’ll be posting images of the downstairs space, the clay space, as it progresses. And with any luck, I’ll be changing irons in the fire, from construction to creation, sometime very soon.
I wonder how many endings we miss in our lives. I read an article years ago written by a man who, in his youth, thought it would be a great idea to use excavation equipment as furniture. He would have a large loft space and use the bucket of a front loader as a couch, the backhoe as a chair. I imagined that they would be upholstered and could be moved around at will. He obsessed about the idea and was committed to following through when he had the ability to do so. Years later, he remembered out of the blue that he had long ago decided to use excavation equipment as furniture but at that point considered it a silly idea. He didn’t remember ever making the decision not to do it. He didn’t remember when the commitment ended. A lot of things are like that.
Sometimes you can look back and recognize the moment when the ending happened. After the fourth season of Dancing With the Stars, it’s over. It doesn’t have the same excitement and after a couple of episodes of season five you decide not to watch anymore. End. You have always worn white shirts as your signature look and then one day, you pop on a blue sweater and you get complements all day. A couple of weeks later, the white shirts go to Goodwill. End. It takes a while to get there, but you can see where the end began.
And then sometimes the end walks up and smacks you in the face. You turn the corner to go to your favorite coffee place and it is closed…for good. End. Your best friend moves to Madagascar. End. Your studio building is sold. End. But wait. Maybe it’s not really an end. You can go to another coffee shop. You can stay in touch with your friend electronically and maybe even visit her. And you find another studio. In my case, you build another studio.
The garage at home is being transformed into a two story studio with the advantage of being a short walk from the back door in pajamas with a cup of coffee in hand. Sometimes the end is a beginning.