My last show is done for the year and perhaps indefinitely. I am relieved to return to my ceramics studio without the stress of deadlines. It’s playtime!
There is so much value in play. I’m talking about for children as well as adults. Taking time to play in an art form gives that other part of our brain a rest that worries and analyzes so our spirits can be released. Unfortunately, our culture undervalues play in favor of productivity. As our schools have stripped the
arts from their curriculums in favor of core subjects, the population is becoming culturally illiterate, more plugged in, and more isolated.
Clay is one medium that immediately can turn adults into kids again and turn kids into kids again. It’s tactile, versatile, and gives immediate satisfaction. If you need more play in your life, consider taking a ceramics class. Enjoy the satisfaction of playing in mud again. I wish everyone had access to clay. The world would be a better place.
Hands in Clay
When my hands touch clay
I lose myself
Deep in the soft, smooth sensation of mud
Sliding between my fingers
When my hands touch clay
I am a child at play
With infinite possibilities
When my hands touch clay
I become the earth
When my hands touch clay
I am Navaho, Pueblo, African, Asian, Aborigine
And of the ancient ones
Sharing the spirit of creation
Hidden in the clay
Waiting to be born
nksgiving is my favorite holiday in the U.S. For the most part, it has escaped the commercialization of the other holidays. We gather, share a feast, and give thanks. What’s not to like? It’s been a tenuous year in our country and abroad, but tomorrow, let’s just forget about it and enjoy the day. All the best to you and yours.
Dougan was adopted into our household when he was 8 months old. He was a hyper golden retriever – too much dog for a professional woman and her 10-year-old daughter that owned him before. There was no fenced yard at their house so he spent his days in a travel kennel waiting for his people to return from work and school.
and can never get enough attention and affection. I know because I have had them before. They live good lives out in my fenced yard in the country with plenty of attention. He has been kept company by Bandit, an adorable 9 year old Red Heeler that also has had a questionable past. We are kindred spirits as I too had some rough years in my youth.
Dougie is now over 12, old for a golden retriever. A few weeks ago I thought he was failing as he was refusing food and limping badly. I thought it was the end. Luckily the vet just pulled a few bad teeth and gave him meds his joints and for an injured ligament. We are happy he is back being his silly self. I see myself mirrored in him as I age.
from their pen or brush. For me, anytime I have attached profit to my creative endeavors, the business of it all can suck the very joy out of the process. In my experience, it takes at least as much effort to market and sell my work than making it. Now in my 60s and retired from teaching for over 2 years I am asking myself “How do I really want to be spending my remaining precious time on this Earth?
show of the season. Yes, I walked away with a few hundred dollars in my pocket but was it all worth it? I could have made that money easily with some substitute teaching (which I don’t mind) and been far less exhausted. By the time I crunch my time in my studio, schlep my stuff to the venue, sit and sell (hoping for good attendance), make my booth fee, schlep home and unpack, ask myself “Where is the joy in all this?”
Thinking about profit sabotages both my spontaneity and my passion, like a relationship gone stale. I have one more show and then that will be it. My Etsy shop will remain up. It will generate a few sales and act as a portfolio of sorts. After the first of the year, I will be selling my big kiln as there will be no need for it. If someone wants to buy my work, great, otherwise I will enjoy donating it to others and make just for the joy of making.
When I was in Juneau, Alaska last summer I had the opportunity to visit a wonderful exhibit of native masks in the Sealaska Native Corporation Gallery. As I perused this captivating collection, I stopped and read an informational plaque on the wall. I was struck while reading it that the SE Alaskan native cultures do not have the word “art” in their language.
By Alanna Pass 
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