Wow, where has the time gone? I feel like the popular commercial - I've fallen into a show hole. Unfortunately, there is no "show" just a "no show" in the studio. Welcome to winter with an unheated studio..... Every year I think: I will take this time away from the studio to study, to work on my drawing skills, to work on small projects in the house, where it is warm. And, in my defense, I always start out strong. Then Christmas arrives, and the house is full of people, and my schedule and routine are interrupted, and the dog days of winter arrive, bearing no sunshine and no warmth, and I struggle to return my focus to the art at hand when what I yearn for is to immerse myself in mud up to my elbows, the dog running in and out, the birds singing, and the sound of the wind in the trees.
This year I have worked some. Not much, but some. I'm trying to sketch every day, make it a part of my personal daily pyramid. You know, the nutrition pyramid, but for my life. At the foundation, the meat and potatoes of my day, is yoga, devotional time spent in prayer and reflection, and art. Once the weather grows warm again, walking meditation outside in nature will return to the pyramid. No, work IS NOT part of my daily pyramid; while it may put physical food on my table, it does not feed me spiritually, emotionally, or most days even intellectually. Yes, in a way it keeps me alive, but it doesn't make me ALIVE! so it is not part of my daily pyramid. But I digress. This winter I've worked on commission pieces (not part of the pyramid) and I am also working on a sculptural piece that is certainly part of the pyramid.
Last fall, as part of a class I audited, I sculpted the head of an old man. And, I fell madly, deeply, in love. I was giddy. Each time I picked him up to work on him I became dizzy with excitement. He made me breathless because he dwelt so far outside my comfort zone;.but I liked being out there, flirting with the edge. It was rather like the first time I zip lined, or when I drive a curvy road way too fast. My thoughts and my actions were one - the veil was lifted. The sheer thought of that head resting in the palm of my hand propelled me through the day. In November, at the wood firing that I last wrote about, I committed my grumpy old man to the magic of the kiln, and I was not disappointed.
When the bricked door was taken away, there he was, kissed by the ash, matured by the flames, and he was glorious! I was smitten. It felt an eternity, as the kiln divested her gifts, until I was able to step in and pick him up from his resting place. Oh, the joy! He was more than I had ever hoped for. In truth, I had only hoped that he did not explode and bring forth devastation and wrath. I felt more pride, that moment I first held him, than I did giving birth to my human children. His was a birth born of fire, and therefore more precious.
So this winter, when I saw an all white trophy wall display my cousin hung on her wall, I knew immediately that I wanted to make another sculpture. This time of porcelain, and of her husband, to be mounted and hung on her wall. I asked her to send me photographs, and I went to work. My fingers were swift and sure as I began, and deep satisfaction seeped into my soul as I worked on his square jaw (harder than I thought it would be) and built up his nose. I stumbled on his eyes, but thanks to a great teacher, I'm back on track. I have found, though, that I have slowed my work on him to a snail's pace, much like I do with a good book I am enjoying but don't want to end. I want the experience to last as long as possible.
It is that feeling, that desire for the moment to last forever, that will lead you when developing your own daily pyramid, populating it with the things that fill you and nourish your soul. I encourage you to begin building that pyramid today.