Just in time for Valentine's Day! Give your sweetie a unique gift this year: A handmade stoneware sake set by the easternmost potter in the United States! Better yet, include a bottle of Sake and a gift certificate to his or her favorite Japanese restaurant.
Production work has begun after a six week hiatus.
Bouli is my sidekick when I am working in the pottery cave.
When not asleep in the pottery cave, Bouli is a handful on the main floor: climbing, jumping, exploring, and breaking things!!! This past week I had to tape all the kitchen cupboards shut.
Things are humming along here. It's a good thing, too. I might have gotten used to that leisurely pace of only teaching and MFA work to contend with. I went back into the "cave" for pottery production a couple days ago and am starting to ready for the season ahead. I have some fairly hefty goals and want to be prepared so that I don't feel the usual "running around like a chicken with my head cut off" for opening of the shop.
The house is kind of upside-down right now. There is a slew of paperwork strewn atop the tables as I analyze previous business decisions and set intentions for the next year or so. The "cave", which was cleaned better than it had been in two years, is now splattered with slip muck and tools while mounds of plaster-infused clay that had been used for mold-making covets nearly every inch of workspace. Greenware pots are lining the shelves and sculpture is scattered here or there drying and waiting for the next step.
The living room has been turned into weaving central with skeins of lushly-dyed yarn calling to the warp. A tapestry in the beginning stages is tempting me away from some of my other chores. I know that I should first take care of the most urgently deadlined work, but on a winter's day it is hard to say no to the warmth of a nearby stove and view of swirling snow outside the window.
January and February used to be my "down time". Living in Lubec in winter the first seven or eight years could been likened to hibernation of an entire town. Everything was shut-down by 6:00 and nary a soul was to be found on the streets. The town has been experiencing a renaissance the past couple years and now there is always something happening between music, theater, and the arts in general. The new restaurants have bravely kept their doors open for winter folk, and for that the town is appreciative. It astounds me that I now have to, here in little Lubec, Maine, set aside specific time (as I did last weekend) to cut myself off from the hubbub. I think most artists understand me when I say that time alone, with your own thoughts, is crucial to manifesting artistic ideas.
Winter, the kind with snow, finally began here on Friday. It was short-lived though. I shoveled steps, decks, ramps, and pathways blanketed by six inches of heavy white stuff until my arm muscles turned wobbly. My mittens were stuck frozen to the shovel, and despite the frigid temps, my head under hat was laden with sweat. I felt like I had just finished an exhaustive hour-long gym workout. But like I said, the gorgeous winter snow was short-lived. Rain soon swept in and reduced the mass to about an inch or so of undulating ice. I have yet to try the car on the long downhill rink we call the driveway. A walk to the mailbox yesterday revealed coyote tracks, emerging from the woods into our drive and across the road. Bello, my feline walking companion, curiously sniffed the tracks, looking about with caution. I suspect that the coyote had walked as we did only a short time previous.
I love Sundays. I love how the world slows down just a bit, for just a while. I am going to step away from the computer and the chores and head into the cave, which has become the warmest space in the house since the new insulation was installed. Bouli will no doubt rest nearby, my guardian cat. Bello will occasionally saunter in, mewing and asking to go outside, perhaps to explore, but most likely to take respite from Bouli, who can't seem to leave him be for long.
I am grateful for my life. Grateful to be an artist. Grateful to view the world through artist eyes.
Plaster poured into clay forms: 1) will be a hump mold 2) plaster will be the finished sculpture 3) will be a slump-type mold for clay or wax
Clay removed and voila! A hump mold, slump mold, and relief sculpture.
This morning I had breakfast with Buddha. Well, not in the literal sense. I mean, I woke up and laid in bed for eight hours reading the book "Breakfast with Buddha" by Roland Merullo. The timing was quite poignant. See, this past week I decided to take some time to "unplug" from the world: No news, TV, phone calls, email, facebook, etc. Just time to "be". My friend Diane does this sort of homestyle retreat at least once a year for several days. I feel consistently envious. My self-induced hectic life always has a to-do list a mile long with looming deadlines. Though a lover of reading, most of what I read is research oriented to learn something specific. Pleasure reading, like a really good fiction novel, falls low on the priority list. Sad, I know.
So I decided that I would do a 36-hour retreat. I would turn off the phone, talk to no one, read/watch no news (which always gets me riled up), set aside work issues, as well as things that I feel "need" to be done. I started to map out my two precious days of "just me" time. Then it dawned on me that if I were to actually make a plan with time slots for each thing I were to do, then that would be just like any other day. I decided to do something different. I decided to have no plan. I would do, merely, what I felt like doing, when I felt like doing it.
So, today I woke at 6:00 a.m. and reached for "Breakfast with Buddha." While reading, I had breakfast. And tea. And snack. And lunch. I laid in bed the entire time with Bouli and Bello devotedly at my feet, occasionally on my chest, purring loudly to let me know that they liked this new pace and the extra attention. We didn't leave the comforts of the warm silent space (except for food and bathroom) until I finished reading the entire book.
I loved this book. Not only because it was humorous, but because I could relate to the main character. I wish I could say it was Volya Rinpoche that I related to, an enlightened sort, rather, it was Otto, the skeptic who had much to learn.
The book made me ask myself questions like "Why do I find it so hard to meditate?" or "how much money does a person need?" or "when does a person consider themselves rich - materially or spiritually?" and "how much of our lives do we control versus what is fated for us?" "What are the most important things, and how would I live my life if I had no barriers?" All questions I've asked myself before, but since I had all these hours of "unplugged" time, I thought I might as well ponder the answers.
I have tried formal meditation many times, but never felt successful. My mind does not slow down. The most peaceful I get is when I am at the potter's wheel or weaving. I think back to one experience a few years ago when I was at a weekend retreat. I had chosen to attend an afternoon session facilitated by a man that was much like the character Volya Rinpoche. As a non -meditater, I was not prepared for what I was about to partake. It turned out that in this afternoon session we were to sit in silence and not move until we felt moved by something beyond our own thoughts....by something metaphysical, or spiritual; to be like a leaf, that has fallen on the ground. It does not move until a wind comes along and moves it.
Uh oh. Not my idea of fun.
For two hours I sat silent, cross-legged Indian style, not moving one bit, focused on a single nail in the wall. I never did feel moved by spirit to jump up and dance or perform some sort of "be a palm-tree" choreography, as a few others did. (and honestly, I thought they were bullshitting to look cool) Instead, I experienced my entire body falling asleep, except for my mind. My mind was just as active as ever, but when we were to each take a turn at describing our experience, I found that the words did not come out so easy. This was not because I could not think of anything - but instead, it was because even my lips and tongue had fallen asleep. My words came out, to my embarrassing surprise, slurred and nearly inaudible. Hell, what do I mean by nearly? I'm positive that no one understood what I said. I felt like a fool.
It was indeed a strange sensation, and an interesting experience. But I would be lying if I didn't say that I was happy to have the two hour "workshop" behind me. Kudos to those who practice formal meditation. It is harder than it looks!
That memory sparked another. I can say that once in my life I felt that my mind had emptied. It was the most incredible sensation. At another weekend healing arts retreat, I participated in a firewalking workshop. I had done this a few years previous, too, and still, met the current challenge with a certain level of anxiety. Preparation consists of hours of sharing feelings with a group, building a trust, and releasing negative thoughts and anger. To enter the coals with a less than pure heart could mean burnt feet. We were encouraged to think about our intentions and what we hoped to experience or learn. Knowing that my mind always felt cluttered, I focused on one request to the powers that be....that I experience a clear mind, to know what it feels to have no worries.
Despite hours of mental preparation and having walked coals before, I still felt my nerves rise a bit. But it was a magical late summer evening. As we began our walk, flames giving way to glowing orange coals, the lake came to life with the cries of loons. I walked the coals once. Silently. Reverently. Each person took their turn, some more than once. When all were done, silence was broken and those who shared the experience felt a new kinship with one another. Coals were raked until danger of fire subsided and everyone parted to return to their cabins for sleep.
I walked back to my cabin alone, down a tree-lined, heavily rooted path. As I walked, moonlight beaming the way, I felt a lightness - and an emptiness - that is impossible to fully describe. It was like I was walking consciously and knew my way, but my mind was clear. Everything around me became more intense: the moonlight was brighter, the trees greener, taller, the sounds of crickets louder. I could see, feel, hear, sense everything more intensely. I felt no thoughts in my mind except an awareness that I felt empty, peaceful, but incredibly sensitive to the life around me. It was an amazing feeling, floating above ground, like the huge burden of everyday mental ping pong had been lifted. I'll always remember that feeling because of its rareness.
After reading this morning's book, and recalling such intense experiences these two times in my life, I feel an urge to try to recapture these two sensations - one of my mind being alert and detached from my body, and the other sensation of sensing all fully with a mind that is completely cleared. And what of the two could be bridged somehow - would that be the total mind/body experience to the fullest extent?
I am now a mere thirteen hours into my thirty-six hours of unplugged retreat, and well, I kinda feel done with the silence for now. I know it sounds strange, but this taking it slow and easy kinda day has worn me out! After reading, I spent three hours in the cave sculpting and listening to music. I'm kinda missing talking to my husband. The cats look at me when I talk to them, but there is no reciprocation other than a blink or a yawn or a stretch for affection. I have (obviously) given in to the computer and broken my vow of temporary symbolic silence by writing this long blog which will then be posted and the link emailed. Other than that little break in the "plan" to have no plan and be unplugged, all feels good. It's supper time and I look forward to waking tomorrow to do...???? It's the great unknown. I will see what moves me.....like that leaf waiting for the wind to blow.
Below is a recent piece that I finished, a three dimensional model for an installation about military recruitment.
Let's Make a Deal Shanna Wheelock, 2011 3D model for installation, 36" x 24" x 12" Wood, ceramic, fabric, paper, acrylic paint, found object
Let's Make a Deal
(front side, view from top)
Let's Make a Deal: Curtain #1
Let's Make a Deal: Curtain #2
Let's Make a Deal: Curtain #3
Let's Make a Deal (backside, view from top)
This week marks the beginning of my fifth semester in the Heartwood College of Art MFA program. I have spent the past couple weeks working out some new ideas and soon I will be able to step into the studio to begin the physical manifestation of my visualizations. It's kinda funny how the process works. Two weeks ago I felt solid about my plan, but then my mentors chimed in with their thoughts and it gets me to rethinking everything. Ultimately, the decision becomes my own, but there's just enough of a curve ball to make me doubt, then eventually come to a space where I once again feel comfortable with my (sometimes altered) direction. The thing about direction, though, is that it can change in a flash. Sometimes we choose this way or that, and sometimes we are veered by another force. Much of life is a combination of both.
Joining the program at Heartwood has had profound effects on my thinking and actions as an artist, teacher, and human being. A program such as this is NOT your typical educational experience where you step into a classroom, listen to a lecture, take notes, then recall facts for an exam. It is unfortunate that much of education is that way. Instead, with the MFA program at Heartwood, we are forced to think and create our own path. We have mentors who guide us in the process, who provide an immense amount of feedback, and offer an objective eye. It's easy, as the artist, to be too attached to your work and idea that you can forget that other eyes see and interpret your work in different ways. Art is, after all, a powerful form of communication, and we all know how lines of communication can get tangled!
So, I am beginning a new semester and am eager to jump into the materials. I have two spaces in which I do most of my creating - one being the dark 'neath earth dingy, clay-dust clad cave where I sit at the wheel or sculpt with clay. The other space, in much contrast, is part of my home - a favorite nook with a futon where I can get warm and cozy while I sketch, research, and write. I hop between the various spaces depending on which part of the process is on tap for the moment. The past few days I have spent time reorganizing my spaces, clearing out the supply closet, and taking inventory, all the while allowing the art images to flow through my mind. I have a couple of sculptural goals this spring, one being to create an installation piece for an upcoming show in June, and the other to work with a specific color. Color. Such a simple concept, right? Well, color is what I would consider one of my personal areas of struggle. I am very much comfortable with form, which makes sense since I am a sculptor. It will be interesting to see the path my work takes this semester. It's always a surprise for me. No matter how attached I feel to a plan, inevitably, things change along the way.
I will still continue to hone my skills as a juggler in the circus of life. Yep. Multitasking at its finest. I am bumping up production with my pottery and setting new goals, balancing my sculptor and potter self with my teacher self, all the while continuing to teach art in public school.
One of the major pluses about the MFA program at Heartwood is that it is both part-time and low residency. It's not an online course even though I use email for some correspondence between campus meetings. Rather, it is a program where we meet on campus twice a semester for intensive seminar weekends and presentation critiques. The schedule was specifically created for people just like me, who might be teaching or working some other job. Luckily most students in my pod are teachers and we not only support each other in our teaching roles, but we work on a similar timeline. It's perfect for the self-motivated working artist who needs flexibility in scheduling. Two courses a semester is half a full time MFA program so it takes a bit longer to get my MFA, but I couldn't imagine trying to handle a full time program on top of my other work commitments.
Speaking of commitments, I am continuing my work with Lubec Arts Alive and we are getting ready to begin planning for this next summer's event. Some of our committee members (well, more than half!) are in other locations for the winter months so it will be a gentle re-entry into community planning mode until everyone is back in town and on board. Time to get the binder organized and go over last years event to see what goals should be set for future, and check in on the financials. I love community organizing - but absolutely hate fundraising. Luckily - our community has been very generous with supporting artistic endeavors - both financially and with volunteering. Thank you!!!!!
It's a quiet Sunday morning so far. Mom has been visiting us here downeast. We've enjoyed a relaxed schedule and time to talk. Meals have been a notch above the typical food prep in our kitchen, and that has been quite enjoyable. (see pic below). Today she heads back home to central Maine - where life moves at a different pace with lots of traffic, strip malls, hordes of people, and appointments. Winter in Lubec is a whole different experience. Hopefully she heads home feeling well-rested and rejuvenated. Me, I'll snuggle into that futon for a reading and sketch session then head down into my cave to see what kind of earthly mess I can get myself into.
Many years off and on as a vegetarian I have succumbed to culinary pleasures recently that include four legged, winged, and finned beings. The guilt was particularly piqued two nights ago when talking to the little lobster before she met her unfortunate demise. While I felt a certain degree of guilt before, during, and after consuming the sweet crustacean, Bouli did not exhibit one iota of remorse. Turns out she quite enjoys lobster and makes no apologies for it.
And - for you poetry buffs out there..some links about my husband's writing.....
Lastly, a link to an interview with Chris that was recorded and archived last summer by Jane Crown's Poetry Radio. Ecellent interview. takes about 15-20 minute before the conversation gets rolling with some excellent poetically philosophical banter...it's an hour long....but well worth the listen. http://www.janecrown.com/show_download_page.html
I recently finished this low-relief "model" - which turned out to have a completely different feel from the original sketch. I am still working out the kinks for an upcoming exhibit.
Chris has been hard at work in the pottery cave adding insulation to the ceiling. My studio is in complete disarray - but soon - I will be potting and sculpting in a much warmer space! This should make our energy usage much more efficient too - which is a definite positive!!!! The studio is getting a thorough cleaning as well - which my lungs will very much appreciate. I'm focusing on a healthy work environment for 2012.
New Years Eve I began a new tapestry. I haven't done any weaving since last May when I finished my "Grass for Sarah" piece. This tapestry will have a similar feel but on a much smaller scale. Ideas have been on hold for so long. It feels good to be weaving again!
I didn't manage to stay awake long enough to see the New Year begin. When younger, I would have stayed up well past midnight with loads of energy to boot. Chris and I have traditionally enjoyed a quiet evening at home, but this year we had made plans for a guest. Her long drive was deterred by messy early-day weather and as it turned out, Chris and I celebrated alone in our own unique way. It was an opportunity for some "free" time that we had not planned on. We had been working steadily the past few days on house projects and business tax prep. Sure, there are always lots of things that need to be done, but we saw last night as a window to do something "off-list." What did we do? Chris wrote and I began a tapestry. We were so into our projects that the pre-planned salmon dinner was sidelined for a quick take-out pizza. I wove for a good six hours straight before my eyes began to get droopy. It was evident by 10:00 p.m. that I would not see the New Year in, but it was a wonderful end to 2011 - to be entranced by the magic of colorful fine spun wools. The evening was peaceful and perfectly simple.
Looking back over the past year there were many accomplishments and high points. There were challenges as well, but they, fortunately, seem a bit more blurred at this point. In 2011, I was blessed....blessed to be an artist, to study for my MFA with an incredible pod and mentors, and to work on community art. I had the fate of 25,000 honey bees in my hands, was published in a major magazine, found my protester voice again, and learned that (contrary to past belief) that I love the rituals associated with production pottery. In 2011, Bouli joined our family and brought with her a lot of love and laughter, and our extended human family grew as well. The garden was better than last year, and the ones I love are all in relatively good health. Chris has had multiple successes with his writing and has found his groove within the academic world of online ethics. Our partnership is strong, supportive, spiritual, and creatively rich. The year ended on a good note, and we have much to look forward to in 2012.
The world itself has seen major upheaval and destruction in the past months, from nuclear disaster, to corrupt politics, to the oppression of many and the earth we share. As we move forward and celebrate all that is good, it is important that we keep compassion at the forefront of decisions. Chris and I will do our part to move toward justice and healing through our art and writing, but will also savor all the gifts and blessings that we have been fortunate enough to be granted. We are sincerely grateful to all who have helped us along our path. We know that our personal happiness and success has been greatly enhanced by the kindness and generosity of others.
I have goals for 2012, but I don't make an official "resolutions" list. Most of the resolutions that people make are probably things that they would or should normally be doing on a day to day basis anyway. The passion to follow-through ebbs and flows day to day but the drive to do better, or to be a better person, are qualities that should know no calendar boundaries. This first day of 2012 will be much like any other day of my life: a few chores, time for art, good food and company. Counting my blessings.
Happy New Year to all! I hope that today is a peaceful and content segue into the next chapter of your lives, and that you embrace hope and promise for a healthy and pleasurable existence, steeped in kindness, compassion, equality, and joyfulness.
Interior support structure for "American Dream" sculpture.
My messy studio with a nest of tables for various projects that were in progress.
Chris at the International Gingerbread Competition....appearing very serious with his judge's clipboard.
It's a lazy Sunday morning for me. A strange feeling indeed. I have been working nonstop for the past few months whilst juggling teaching, pottery production, and MFA work. I now have a small (very small!) window of time for holiday prep and festivical(yes, I made that word up) enjoyment. MFA presentations occurred last weekend, Christmas break is upon us, and pottery production just ended for 2011 as of Friday evening. This morning I did not hurry to rise from bed and am taking refuge in a small toasty warm room, still garmented in PJ's, to write my long overdue blog posting.
The past few weeks were the big push to finish up three sculptural projects. I finally finished them last week only to realize that none of them are 100% done. Maybe it's like this most artists? Even when nearing the finish line, I think of things that I would have done differently, or an addendum that could enhance the meaning of the piece. Conceptually, these projects were forming long ago, months in advance. The hands are usually happy to take over and start forming what is only a vision in mind's eye. This was perhaps the most challenging MFA semester for me so far in that my visual kept changing throughout the project. I would feel certain at one point about a specific color or composition, only to find my hands defying the mind when picking up a brush or tool. I literally changed direction several times without consciously planning to do so. Parr for the course I suppose. But it is wild that in a course of a few minutes, despite a months'-long plan to do something a certain way, changes in a flash without preconceived notion. And, more amazingly, I felt at peace with the final result despite the lack of brooding of commitment to a decision.
So, I have three unfinished "finished" sculptures in my studio waiting for the next steps. For now though, a couple weeks of resting the mind so that I can focus on time with family and friends.
Chris and I have been enjoying holiday celebrations and traditions. We had a blast as judges for the International Gingerbread Competition. (sounds hoitytoity, doesn't it?!) The annual newsletter has been typed and is making its way into cards long overdue in mailing. Friday night we watched with joy the students at school perform in "Midsummer Nights' Dream", and before I left school on Thursday afternoon, I set-up the art room for this coming Monday's Craft Day where kids will make candy cane reindeer and greeting cards. Today I continue with greeting cards (much later than usual!!!) and loading the kiln for the final pottery production of 2011. The house has been cleaned a bit deeper than usual, and soon traditional confections will be baked. A trip to the market is planned in the next couple days to purchase items for the German dish Rouladen, a most delicious recipe that I stole from childhood dinners with the Raymond family.
All is well at the Wheelock/Crittenden homestead. We are hoping for some snow but won't hold our breath. Enjoying the darkness but looking forward to Solstice with the returning light.
It is time for me to formally "wake-up", shower, open the shop, and get on with holiday prep.
I am signing off for the remainder of 2011 with a wish for everyone to enjoy a safe and joyous holiday season (Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, Christmas, New Year!!!!).
Blessings for Peace. A short song to inspire people of all backgrounds to find common ground this holiday season.
"I realized that being an artist is more about a lifestyle and attitude than producing some product." Ai Weiwei (Ai Weiwei Speaks, 2011, pg. 87)
PBS Documentary "Ai Weiwei: Without Fear or Favor"
As I type this, Occupy protesters all over the U.S. are facing eviction from parks where they have set-up camp. I listen to voices on both sides of the debate about whether or not what they are doing is futile or even justified. From my own personal perspective, I am proud of the commitment that they have exhibited and the inspiration and voice that they have provided for others. Whether or not someone agrees with what the Occupy protesters are fighting for, I think that most of us can agree on one thing: that freedom of expression is critical to our survival as a society.
Imagine if you will the opposite. Rather than being able to voice discontent, that our words and ideas were squashed, and even more frightening, that we were punished, sometimes to the point of death, for speaking out against what we feel must change.
Artists and writers have for centuries taken on the role of the dissident. It isn't an easy road for these philosophical warriors. They are often scorned for their honesty and outcasted from their communities. But without these movements, change and progress does not occur for the betterment of the whole.
Where would women be today if the suffrage movement was not successful? What if the Civil Rights Movement had not occurred? What conditions would workers be exposed to without the Labor Movement? Certainly, rational, caring beings would not condone such inhumane injustices and inequalities. Born in the latter part of the 20th century, the fights that others have fought is just a story in a history book. Without living through the situation, it is sometimes difficult to empathize or fathom a time when certain rights for people did not exist.
That I am able (or allowed) to write this blog is a right that I or many others take for granted. Other than a bit of self-censorship in the name of sensitivity, I know that I may freely voice my concerns and opinions without fear of major retribution. I know that I can make a statement about the shortcomings of our government or those in power and that other than a few disgruntled readers there will be no major backlash. At this point in my life, in this country, within this venue, I feel fairly confident that no one will force me to stop speaking my view.
This was not the case for Chinese artist Ai Weiwei. A child born shortly before China's Cultural Revolution, he grew up surrounded by censorship. His father, famous poet Ai Qing, was exiled to the far reaches of the remote Gobi Desert when Weiwei was only one year old. For sixteen years, Weiwei's studies consisted only of Chairman Mao propaganda and the occasional but hidden references to art and poetry. He was discouraged to learn to read, and books were nearly non-existent after they were all burned. To be a well-read, well-informed intellectual was to put the self at risk for imprisonment or worse. To us, this is a contradictory life - to be born to an artist and an intellectual - but to not be exposed to those riches of the mind.
Weiwei left China in 1981 and moved to New York City, a place he considered to be the center of the contemporary art movement. He had already begun schooling in Bejing, but did not complete his studies. In NYC, he studied art at Parsons School of Design, originally was a painter and drawer, but soon took to sculpture and photography. He was also a master Blackjack player frequenting the casinos of Atlantic City, and surrounded himself with poets and intellectuals. In the PBS video posted above, Weiwei speaks of the 1988 riots in Tompkins Square where liberals, artists, poets, musicians, homeless, and poor people congregated. Upon trying to impose a curfew for the park, a movement against government and police brutality commenced. Weiwei documented the event through photography and found inspiration in the uprising of the people, perhaps offering a glimmer of hope for his own oppressed home country.
Weiwei returned to Bejing in 1993. From 1994-1997, he worked on a series of three books called The Black Book, The White Book, and The Gray Book. The Black Book was purely written words by artists. He was concerned with ideas and concepts more so than actual visual images. The following books included images that were provocative in post-Cultural Revolution China. The books were picked up by a publisher in Hong Kong and considered to be illegal and "underground". This was perhaps the beginning of Weiwei discovering the power of his own voice within the oppression of his home country. Although China proclaimed to be a different place than it was in years previous, freedom of expression still did not, in Weiwei's eyes, exist.
In 2006, Weiwei was pretty much forced to begin a blog as China worked to improve its reputation, to prove that it was a more open and free society. Weiwei was nervous at first being that he did not consider himself a good writer. But soon he found this venue as his greatest form of self-expression. He wrote freely about government, culture, politics, art, and the human and social condition.
"The techniques of the Internet have become a major way of liberating humans from old values and systems, something that has never been possible until today" Ai Weiwei (Ai Weiwei Speaks, 2011, pg. 6)
This new found freedom was of utmost importance and provided immense satisfaction. Weiwei contemplated whether or not he would someday be able to give up everything else and only write blogs. He posted sometimes as many as 100 photos a day, and when his blog was shut-down by the government in 2009, he had written over 200 entries and accrued millions of readers.
The entries preceding the shut-down of his blog pertained to the 2008 Sichuan earthquake where several school buildings had collapsed killing thousands of students. Ironically, many of the surrounding buildings remained standing, eluding to shoddy construction of the educational structures. Weiwei accused that the government was shirking its responsibility and his political blog entries roused feathers of government officials. They did their best to silence him.
His sculptural and architectural works are steeped in political innuendo - an outcry against injustice. Influenced by the artist Marcel Duchamp and compared to German artist Joseph Beuys, Weiwei uses everyday objects that already carry with them personal familiarity to a wide population, and reconfigures or destroys them to make his statement. For instance, In reference to the Sichuan earthquake, Weiwei collected nine thousand children's backpacks to create an installation that spelled out the words of a grieving mother "She lived happily in this world for seven years." In other artworks, "Dropping the Urn" and "Colored Vases", Weiwei drops or dips in paint historical ceramic artifacts. To many, the act is a jaw-dropper, witnessing the destruction of something that is to the greater population considered highly valuable. Weiwei challenges our perception of value and how and why we make such judgments.
Weiwei's artistic popularity and esteem has earned him several awards and placement in various countries' biennials. Within his own home country of China, he was solicited to design the 2008 Summer Olympic stadium known as the "Bird's Nest". Later, Weiwei spoke out against the Olympic event and stated that the Chinese government used the event as propaganda to try to be seen in a positive light to the rest of the world, when in fact, it is a highly oppressive country where freedom of speech still does not exist. He refused to have photos of himself taken with the stadium.
The stadium is only one of many architectural projects by Ai Weiwei. His first inspiration was a book that he found in New York bookstore about a house that the philosopher Wittgenstein had built for his sister. He was taken with the intricate details of the structure and returned home determined to build a studio home for himself.
Weiwei discovered eventually that his artistic projects would require the hands of many. He had concepts but not enough time to see the ideas to fruition by himself. He once organized 100 architects to collaborate. Another time, for the Kassel, Germany biennial Documenta 12, he conceived and facilitated 1,001 Chinese tourists to visit the exhibit, providing them clothing, lodging, housing, and sightseeing opportunities in what he calls "Fairytale."
Perhaps one of his most widely recognized and recent works was at Tate Modern in London in 2010, titled "Sunflower Seeds."
Video of Ai Weiwei's Sunflower Seed project
In Sunflower Seeds, Weiwei solicited the help of 1,600 Jingdezhen residents to cast and paint 100 million porcelain sunflower seeds. Jingdezhen was once a bustling porcelain factory town but no longer exists as such with many out of work. Over the course of two years, the sunflower seeds were created and then installed at Tate Modern. The symbolism of the sunflower seeds is directly related to the Cultural Revolution and Chairman Mao, who saw himself as the sun and his followers as the sunflowers. But there is also a dual meaning. For Weiwei, sunflower seeds were shared and eaten amongst people - a symbol of nourishment, friendship and nostalgia.
The sunflower project is particularly interesting to me. On one level, I connect with it because I am a potter. I know the process and I can easily imagine the painstaking work involved to make so many intricate items. Interest was also piqued because of the number 1,600. Here in Lubec, that is our approximate summer population. I imagined the whole of our town being involved with one single project, one single goal. That led me to thoughts about the once thriving canning factory industry that employed so many people here, and the huge negative economic impact it had on the families when the factories closed. I understand that it was not just a loss of money, but also a loss of personal identity.
Weiwei's work moves me. Critics lean mostly in favor of his work, commending him for not only exquisite details and craftsmanship, but also for his social/political statements. These commendations come, perhaps, more so from critics outside China. Within China, there seems to be those who disdain his vocalizations and consider him more of a showman, or in some cases, a threat. I view it as an artist using his gifts to grab the attention of viewers so that he may educate and inspire. Would I ever go to such lengths? My own artwork is often political, but I have not given in, not yet anyway, to the idea of spending time in jail or putting my life on the line for my values. That's not to say that I have not contemplated civil disobedience, but for now, I prefer to do my work from outside a jail cell. I do, however, have the utmost respect and admiration for Weiwei's perseverance and passion. Having thought about my own role as an artist, the following quote resonated with me:
"If artists betray the social conscience and the basic principles of being human, where does art stand then? Ai Weiwei (Ai Weiwei Speaks, 2011, pg. 27)
Weiwei's discontent with the Chinese government has landed him in a quite precarious position. He has been beaten by police to the point of suffering a cerebral hemorrhage. His studio in Bejing was demolished by the government citing that he did not have proper permission to build. He was recently (April 2011) detained by authorities and held for two months without an official charge. When later released, it was announced that he owes nearly two million dollars in back taxes and fines, all of which Weiwei denies.
What draws me most to Weiwei is his smile. I think of all these obstacles that he faced and still faces, obstacles which would kill the spirit of most human beings, offering nothing more than a sense of defeat. Yet, I see interviews and photos of him...smiling.
There is a flood of articles and videos out there. He is an addictive sort to study, myself spending many hours perusing the Internet for anything Weiwei. I recommend starting with a google image search. Begin with the powerful images then move onto the reading. I thoroughly enjoyed the quick read "Ai Weiwei Speaks: with Hans Ulrich Obrist" (Penguin Books, 2011). The book was captivating for me because it was in Weiwei's own voice. Next on my list, the translated blogs. The PBS video "Ai Weiwei: Without Fear or Favor" is definitely worth a watch.
I leave you with one last quote - and perhaps a hope that you will think about the Occupy Movement here in our own country - not merely as a group of people whining about their conditions, but as a movement that by the very nature of being vocal is helping to protect all our rights and freedoms associated with personal expression.
"A nation that will not search for its own past and not be critical of it is a shameless nation." Ai Weiwei (Ai Weiwei Speaks, 2011, pg. 14)
Shanna Wheelock lives and Creates in downeast Maine, gathering inspiration from the rugged coastline and culture of the area in the easternmost town of United States, Lubec, Maine, bordering Canada When not sculpting, potting, painting, or running the gallery, Shanna participates in artist residencies, both local and international. She received her MFA fom Heartwood College of Art and spent several years teaching art in both public school and at university. She sees art as a way of healing and enjoys sharing her passion for all things creative.
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