Studio Notes
Wednesday mornings I write about what's happening in the studio—whether I'm at the drawing table or the pottery wheel.
In spaces like this, you see how it all comes together. A jumble of subject matter. A landscape here, a portrait there, a favorite pet. While there's something to be said for a striking collection focused on a particular theme, collections built over time—the ones with a bit of chaos—feel more personal. They tell you more about the collector. This is the art that resonated with them, not the art they thought would look good as a cohesive whole. Art for oneself, not for the ‘gram.
Baltimore got two feet of snow in January, and I haven't been to the studio in nearly a month. One thing after another — ice, an injury, client revisions, a deadline. It's given me a lot of time to think about time. Specifically, how you price it, how you lose it, and how ceramics has a way of reminding you that efficiency only goes so far.
Friday night I sat in the handbuilding room at the Potters Guild with a sheet of price stickers and boxes of my ceramics. It was the night before the annual half price sale. Jen and Mack sat with me while I sorted through pieces I'd made over the years—many from before I became a member, when I was still figuring out how to work the clay. Heavy bottoms. Bowls that were more oval than round. A dish with a spec of kiln wash baked into the surface where it had fallen from the shelf above. Glaze that had dripped from someone else's piece onto mine mid-firing.