“All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.”
–Federico Fellini
So, there’s this: A ceramic incinerator sculpture that I ended up calling “Homefire 1957.” Other than perhaps a bomb shelter sculpture to exorcise my childhood’s deep fear of being annihilated in a nuclear war, nothing else quite portrays what was happening in my domestic and cosmic home at that time more than this piece. Yeah, it’s autobiographical.
When we last spoke, I was becoming curious about the workings of My Creative Block, hoping to at least ease the resistance and struggle, daring to think it could even be perverse fun. You don’t have to read that piece to understand this one, but it might illuminate. Anyhow, it was curiosity that led me to pick apart the components of the Creative Process to see if and how Blocks fit in. That’s what I’m gonna talk about here.Read More >
All my Creative Blocks are the same: Blocky. Un-Fun. Worrisome. Here’s a rant from inside my current one.
Why for sanity’s sake would a professional ceramic artist take a Graphic Design class? As the semester winds down and I see what I have – and sadly have not – learned for my time and angst, I am asking myself that. My desired takeaway – design layout skills which I could translate to the surface decoration of my cans – seemed straightforward enough, but I was woefully blindsided by my cluelessness of what would be involved to get there.Read More >
Here we have Part Two of the Up-Close and Personal Virtual Studio Tour. (Read Part One, if you like.) We take a look at the East Wall and its groaning shelves, tubs and binders. During my Santa Cruz Open Studios Art Tour weekends, visitors can peek into my studio, but not enter it. From the doorway (on the left in this photo) they really cannot see this workhorse of a wall. So here it is, from my daily vantage point.
Here begins a four-part virtual Studio Tour of my ceramic-making digs. We’re starting with the North Wall and will continue in the coming weeks to the other compass points. Expect sidetracks into the crannies of my small, semi-efficient working space. I’m sharing my studio up close and personal as a way to augment my Artist Number 207 2015 Santa Cruz County Open Studio Art Tour. During that Tour, visitors can peek in, but not enter this space. Even if they could go in, they would not get this in-depth description. Besides, it’s all cleaned up then, but you’re seeing it un-staged and in use.
It’s been a hard-workin’ nonstop year. After a seven month stretch of incessant production and showing, my clay buddies tell me it’s normal to feel a bit cranky and whomped.
Thing is, my case of whomp seems to have settled in. The flavor is out of the chewing gum and I can no longer get myself to happily go in the studio, much less work on stuff waiting there.
Dare I call it Burnout? Existential Ennui? Depression? Fear? Creative Blockage?
Maybe…