As artists, we express ourselves through our work. Our fears, our triumphs, our anxiety, even our calm all show up at some point in the things we make. This pandemic has cast a heavy blanket over us all.
As I worked through my last series playing with multiple edges and borders, I started playing with the long linear slabs I was rolling out, creating “ribbons”. For awhile these ribbons were stacked and enjoyed on their own, finally ending up inside of a shallow bowl. Once placed inside these bowls I realized I was trying to “contain” them. Trying to keep a slippery, soft, moving thing inside of something else. Bowls exist to contain something - soup, salad, pasta… here they are attempting to contain the uncontainable.
I recently discovered this deep brown clay and immediately fell for its silky smooth texture and dark color. The depths of tone reached with simply no glaze and the interplay of light on the surface of this material suggests a burnished finish although it was not applied.
The forms are inspired by shell forms found on any number of beaches I have visited, most prominently from the beaches surrounding Waiheke Island off the coast of New Zealand. Having spent two summers there exploring the beaches at low tide I often found myself enthralled by the variety and shapes found along the shore.
Having long been fascinated with the soft to hard, moldable to permanent nature of clay, some of these forms reflect the soft, fabric-like quality of the raw material.
These sometimes quiet, sometimes loud vases came about after an exploration of the verticality of clay. Clay is heavy, it wants to sag, droop, lay down. I am challenging the material to hold steady, not warp, not fall. The idea that something could be so tall, so illogical to hold a big bouquet with a potentially tippy small base is intriguing. I have always adored the sculptural work of Gaston Lachaise — bounteous, full bodies standing up tall on the tiniest of toes.
I suspect as well that part of this interest comes as I remember my graduate school professor telling me at some point — Julie, the vase should complement the flowers in it, not compete.
Oh yeah? Says you.
These wee little sculptures spring from the memories of growing up on the shores of Lake Erie. Each summer I spent on the western basin of this heavily migratory lake allowed me to watch and understand the habits of the birds that travelled through. The elegant great blues, the terns, the occasional bald eagle were stunning to behold but it was the funny staccato sandpipers chasing the tiny invertebrates that grabbed my attention more than any.
There are times when one must simply make. No function, no use other than to serve as an interesting form or a grouping of interesting forms. The idea that these first stone-like forms could be monumental in scale is appealing.
The white abstracted female shapes are from a series I created when re-joining the dating scene after the ending of a 27-year marriage. I call them The Three Graces — figures made up of three parts representing the head, the heart and the body. Every woman knows that it is only when all three are present does the relationship work.
Having never concentrated on surface design, this series, which includes covered jars and shell forms, came as a surprise to me.
The overall covering brings to mind that description horror vacui or fear of empty space. The difficulty in handling the razor-thin sheets of gold leaf and applying them to the surface, piece by tiny piece, was mind-numbingly repetitive, yet oddly satisfying.
While I do not consider myself a true functional potter there are occasions when I feel the need to make something that works. The never-ending search for glaze combinations that are pleasing keeps me experimenting in the lab and my interest in the perfect silhouette keeps the forms pure. Occasionally my sense of humor overrides all.
