One Clump of Clay at a Time

From this.....

to this.

When my students are working on a project in class, and they start to grumble that something is taking too long, I explain to them that there is a reason that it is called "artWORK". Often, artists will trudge through tedious tasks to get to the final result. There may be disappointment, boredom, and disasters along the way, but maybe, just maybe....it is accurate to say that the harder we work for something, the sweeter the reward.

I am able to empathize with my students, more than they realize. I am currently working on a project that involves duplicating the same object twenty-six times. I was pleased to finally narrow my focus down to one object that I feel passionate about, and the sketches I rendered seemed like they could work for the final sculpture.

I was off and running.

What I didn't think about was the actual technical component of the sculpting and how I would meet that final goal. I could clearly see in my mind's eye the finished product....I just skipped over, well.....a few, important steps!

Now I find myself with a deadline and a brain that is working overtime all hours of the night (yes, when I should be sleeping) to hash out the finer details. Though at times it can be discouraging (and tiring!) I love that this is partly what being an artist is all about: solving problems in a creative and interesting manner.

It amazes me, this thought, that any piece of artwork, be it a song, painting, or poem, would never have existed, in this particular, exact, manner by anyone other than its creator.

We, as artists, bring something into this world that could never have existed without us.

It's sort of like birthing a child with its own unique set of genes.

So, I have this idea, and I think it is a good one. I haven't seen any other artist render it in such a way (or even close, though admittedly, there is a lot of artwork out there). Having a bit of a problem (obsession?) with perfectionism, but at the same time realizing that things just AREN'T perfect, I am working through the steps with moments of excitement, disappoinment, pride, frustration, relief, and that question that so many often ask themselves when it feels like all has gone awry...."what the hell was I thinking?!"

Each time I begin a new phase of this project, I thoroughly enjoy the process. Honest, I do! But after, say, five of the twenty-six objects are complete in a particular step, I am thinking...."twenty-one more to go.....twenty more to go....nineteen more to go....." You get the picture. Sort of like being stuck in the proverbial purgatory singing "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall."

Hours and hours of work go into each phase, preceeded, of course, by hours and hours of a mind-numbing cerebral workout.

For example, one morning I debated the best way to make twenty-six hollow, rounded shapes all the same. I could travel down, in my mind, a few different paths. I could ....

1) hand form each one, cut them in half, and hollow them out then piece back together (how accurate could this be?)

2) throw them on the wheel (after weighing each piece of clay on a cheap kitchen scale then measuring each one as it is thrown, and trimming them all the next day)

3) make a mold and slip cast (but have never done this before, lacked all materials needed, and knowledge! Plus, it would elimate my favorite reason for working with clay - the meditative sensation of the material in the hands)

or.....

4) create a plaster slump mold (which I have done before, AND, I could get my hands easily on - or so I thought - the necessary materials).

So, Plaster slump mold it was. The local hardware store would have dry plaster for me to mix. They are open on Saturdays. Excellent.

Now all I needed was a round form that was the size of a baseball. Not being the sporty type, per say, I had no baseballs in the house. I emailed a few local people that I thought, since they had dogs, might have a spare tennis ball, perhaps? No luck! Replies came to me "I have a ping pong ball....a raquet ball.....how about calling the gym teacher?"

Keep in mind, I live in a remote area where it is not as simple as driving to the local department store to purchase a tennis or baseball. Desperation. I debated borrowing a wooden croquet ball from my mother-in-laws antique set. Plastic saran wrap would protect it, right?

Panic started to set in. I had a deadline to meet and weekends with uninterrupted chunks of time are precious to me. I didn't want to waste a minute of this one.

After two hours of searching, calling and emailing, I decided to go to the harware store and just "wing-it". And you know what....it worked! I walked in, was greeted with a smile and a "can I help you?" My odd request for a baseball size/shape object from which I could dunk into plaster to make a mold produced, literally, a lightbulb moment! Cal suggested....a lightbulb.

It was the perfect shape/size! But just in case, I picked up a toilet floaty-bobbing-rubber ribbed thingy as back-up. And a few more items.....gloves, metal rings, buckets. Oh, I felt like a kid in a candy store. Eyes wide, scanning the shelves for unique contraptions, wanting to grab at anything and everything.

This is how artists' homes accumulate all kinds of what others deem useless and cluttery junk. We look at the strangest things and think "I can use that....someday."

Anyway, this is where I am at at this point. The mold was made and thirty (yes, more than twenty-six..just in case a few don't survive the firing process) bodies of the object have been formed. After about twenty-five factory-type repetetive hours, the forms are now drying slowly on shelves while my mind is doing another one of those workouts to figure the best way to make the next component, which will be, by far, the most complex part of the whole.

Or so I think.

For now, I'll just take it one clump of clay at a time.

Jack of All Trades

Dad working on the door he made to fit an odd-shaped opening upstairs.

He's finished the window trim in the main studio!

The gorgeous birch and maple yarn cabinet that dad made me for Christmas a few years ago.

He used birch and walnut (from a tree at my childhood home) for this bookcase which now houses my favorite art books.

Dad made Shaker-style clocks one year as Christmas gifts for me, Mom, Kristin, Jayson, Nana, and Aunt June.

Another door, made to fit a crawl-space cubby in the eaves of the house.

Some people are just gifted that way. They seem to have an aptitude for almost anything they try. My dad is one of those people. He is a carpenter, plumber, electrician, businessman, boatsman, mathematician, and builder.

I am, in a sense, one of those Jacks-of-all-trades, but in a different way than my father. I can organize, write, sculpt, teach, cook, and weave. But don't ask me to figure out how to cut the proper angles on a closet door so that it will fit perfectly. Don't trust me to connect wires into their appropriate spots on a ceiling light. And that leaky running-water sound on the toilet....well, it will remain that way until we hire-in someone who knows what to do with it. My brain, (and my poet-philosopher husband's brain) just doesn't work that way.

But dad, he just seems to know, intuitively, how to do all those things, and more. He says that he had to learn to do it, and did so by trial and error. He did have an electrical background due to training, he says, in the military and at Bath Iron Works. (We're talking back in the 60's and 70's!). Those experiences led him to Xerox, where he was a machine technician. From there, he became his own boss and has successfully run a business for over twenty-five years.

I must admit, it has been a luxury for us to have such a talented craftsman and tradesman in the family. Living in a 160+ year-old house, there is plenty that goes awry. And with the new studio space, he does amazing work to trim it out and install doors.

He is gifted with woodworking skills. If you praise him, he'll list a dozen things he thinks he could have done better. But in reality, this just isn't so. The furniture that he made for me over the years is some of my most prized possessions. I remember squealing with delight when I saw the gorgeous yarn cabinet he made made a few Christmases back. The Shaker-style clock is a centerpiece in our living room, and the bookcase, made in part with wood from the walnut tree I played under as child, houses my favorite books. All these beautiful, lovingly-made pieces of furniture grace our home in the most distinguished of spots.

In my parents' home, his mark is everywhere. He installed every bit of trim work and doors, made much of the furniture and the post and beam barn. It wasn't until recently that I found out that he actually built the house where my grandfather lived; the one I spent much of my childhood in and still to this day dream about often. (It is no longer in the family, but my sister and I hope that someday it will be again.)

As I write this blog entry, I am listening to the hammer do its work upstairs. Dad is trimming out the door that he made for us this past Christmas. It is more beautiful than I ever anticipated, to fit an odd shaped/sized opening into a small closet space upstairs.

We are so fortunate for him to offer his skills to help us finish off our dream project. He has driven over 400 miles round trip several times since last fall to trim the space and install doors. We are so blessed, and incredibly grateful.

Thanks, Dad!

Maine-Draw-A-Thon: Envisioning a Brighter Future

Artists at the Maine Draw-A-Thon in Bath, February 13, 2010. Robert Shetterly (center of photo) was one of the organizers of the event.

Organizers of the event work to document the drawings for a "zine" that will be handed out to legislators at the State House on Thursday. Left to right: Natasha Mayers, Lisa Savage of Code Pink, and Kenny Cole.

Here I am, tucked away in a corner, working on a drawing.

One of the drawings that I completed during the Draw-A-Thon.

This will be a memorable Valentine’s Weekend for sure. Not only did my husband take me out for a romantic brunch at my favorite Hallowell restaurant, Slates, but we also spent yesterday with kindred spirits united in effort to work toward a better world. We couldn’t feel more loved than we did around hordes of peace-loving activists whose depths of care for humanity are boundless.

The first ever “Maine Draw-A-Thon” kicked off at 9:30 a.m. at the United Church of Christ in Bath, Maine. Organized by artists Natasha Mayers, Kenny Cole, Robert Shetterly, and Lisa Savage of Code Pink, this event was community action art at its finest.

With the idea to “Bring our War $$ Home”, the 90-day campaign began with artists brainstorming ways that they felt would be humane and practical uses of our tax monies. Since 2001, Maine taxpayers have spent an estimated 2.5 billion dollars on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yesterday’s gathering of artists, musicians, and Poets rallied their imaginations to put down on paper, sing out in song, and recite in prose their visions for our state.

While artists drew, painted, and collaged, artwork was posted to the walls around us. Artists captured on paper the essence of a Maine with equality for all, healthcare reform, a clean environment, bio-fuels, affordable housing, childcare, and better educational opportunities.

Late in the afternoon, as artists packed up their supplies, a second round of community members began to congregate, carrying armfuls of delicious potluck foods. All settled in to a warm dinner followed by music and poetry. It was a powerful opening to the evening when performer Hannah Maris, accompanied by her son on djembe, walked around the tables chanting for peace. Natasha, Kenny, Robert, and Lisa all gave moving speeches about how the event came about and why it is so important that our voices be heard now.

Intermingled throughout the speeches, accomplished Maine poets, including Maine’s poet laureate Betsy Scholl, Henry Braun, and Jim Mello, read their works. Perhaps the most moving part of the evening for myself was the reading of a poem by an Iraq war veteran. She was introduced as having been deployed in 2003 at the beginning of the war, during the “shock and awe” phase, on a military ship made right there at Bath Iron Works. So young even now, she must have been in her early 20’s at most when deployed. Hands shaking, voice trembling, she read from a handwritten sheet of paper the words she had formed only earlier that day on a walk with her dog, in a moment of peace. She then said that those moments of walking with her dog are the only moments of peace that she feels, ever.

It was impossible to not sense her deep pain and fear as she recited the word darkness over and over in her poem about being on a ship, in the middle of the ocean, in the darkness, seeing a flash of light, hearing loud explosions, and “knowing what is out there”, but being in the darkness, and, not knowing.

The evening came to a close with my favorite North American poet, Chris Crittenden, reading two poems. Before his reading, he spoke about choices, in a very simple way. He said that he would read two poems, one being about something simple, beautiful, life affirming, and the other poem about something destructive, sad, horrific. He said that we have a choice, and we can choose to live in beauty, or we can choose the other. The two poems, “Apple” and “Monk with Gasoline” juxtaposed against each other made strongly his point.

Last night’s event continues on Thursday, February 18th, at the State House in Augusta at the “Draw-In” where Natasha, Kenny, Rob, Lisa, and Bruce Gagnon of will speak for a press conference. Artwork that was created at the “Draw-A-Thon” will be made into a booklet and handed out that day to legislators. Poets will again perform, musicians will sing.

The energy is infectious. I urge you to join in and let your voice be heard!

Arts and Healing a Catalyst for Small Town Renaissance

McGinley Jones, of Twilight Therapeutics, with one of her crystal bowls

McGinley surrounded by crystal bowls

Clay work in progress in the new studio.


Living in Lubec has been an experience like no other. It has presented some of the greatest challenges of my life, but also brought to me some of the most beautiful gifts.

The first few years that we lived here, I was eager to make the great escape. It wasn't at all like the Maine that I was accustomed to.

The word "downeast" conjures images of the idealistic coastal life. Tourists think of Bar Harbor and make the assumption that all of Maine's "beautiful rugged coast" is accompanied by an upper class arts-enriched culture. Even growing up in Maine, I thought no different.

It was a shock for us as the U-Haul passed Machias, rolling down Rte. 1, bringing into view deteriorated roads, dilapitated homes, and few businesses. We arrived to our new living space, never having been here before, sat on the worn and listing deck, watched a white coyote cross the road, and marveled at the gorgeous view, smell of salt air, and sounds of gulls.

If I could have kept myself in that moment of peace and beauty, perhaps it would not have been so difficult a transition. Nonetheless, it was culture shock. Working in the local school system, I came to know the families and their struggles of living in a once-thriving industrial mecca to what was currently a near ghost-town existence with dwindling populations and lack of jobs. Fate had dealt at times an ugly hand for those who had lived and worked here for generations.

As with many small towns that once relied on factories for their livelihood, there is a time of rock-bottom despair, followed by a renaissance.

Chris and I have lived here just over eight years now, and we have been watching the changes take place. It is bittersweet on many levels. We empathize with the people who fear and don't want change, but once that door is opened, there seems to be no going back.

For me, this renaissance feels hopeful. I see an infusion of pride returning as artists begin to bring their innovative touch. It is this insurgence of the arts that makes me feel like this is home. My first few years living in Lubec, I desperately longed for camaraderie with other artists, galleries, live music, and a general eclectic way of life. I also, very deeply, longed for a healing arts community.

Long before we moved here, Chris' grandfather would often say to us, "Lubec is a wonderful place for an artist and a writer." Wooed by that, we took the plunge and moved here on three weeks' notice. The first few years, I didn't fully acknowledge Gramp Richard's wisdom and insight. I never would have thought, eight, or even five, years ago that I would have this new understanding: that this IS the perfect place for an artist and a writer.

Hindsight, I do not think that Chris would have grown as he has with his writing, and I would not have become the artist that I am becoming. All those things I missed about my former home, they are now blooming here before my eyes. I have found an incredible artist community, am blessed with an inspiring new studio space, and am surrounded with miracles of nature every day. I smell the salt air in the summer, watch the eagles soar, fox frolic in the front yard, feel the extreme stillness of winter, and create like I have never before created in my life.

The final missing component for me was the healing arts community. Like with the artists here, the true gems are often tucked away. Slowly, the emergence is beginning. It is a new concept for those who have lived here for generations, but also, on some level, part of their innate knowing of how to heal with the land and spirit.

Eight years ago, a few days before we loaded our U-Haul to embark on our journey from Knoxville, Tennessee to Lubec, Maine, I found a pamphlet about Lubec. It listed a potter named McGinley Jones. I decided to phone her and ask questions about the arts community, and to hopefully make a connection with a fellow artist. It turned out that she was no longer practicing pottery, and as life got more and more hectic, we never found the time to get to know one another until recently.

This new friendship forging gives me another level of hope: that the healing arts community is growing here, or rather, finally coming into the light. For me, this is my own personal renaissance of my spiritual self, which has at times been dormant since moving here.

McGinley is a gifted massage therapist and reiki practitioner. In the past year, she added crystal bowl sessions to her repertoire. It is exciting for me to see this new level of the healing arts enter this area. A few nights ago, I was honored to play hostess for one of McGinley's session in the new studio, which I would like to add, has amazing acoustics!

We were a small group, sprawled out on the floor, resting as we listened to McGinley "play" the nine bowls, each one a different musical note. It is a gift for me, who is normally in such high gear, to be still for an hour and to just "experience" complete peace.

I am not an expert on exactly how these bowls affect us on a cellular or energetic level, but I know one thing...Bello the cat was profoundly affected! He rolled around, flirting and begging attention, giddy and cute as I have never seen him before. So, if it made Bello feel that good, I can only imagine how continued sessions of this sort can positively affect a person.

It has been quite a fulfilling week here for me: drawing group, clay sculpting, and crystal bowls with a phenomenal healing arts practitioner.

Who'da thunk it, right here in little ol' Lubec.



To read an older post about the arts in this region, refer to this link:
http://shannawheelock.blogspot.com/2009/07/arts-gorwing-in-lubec.html

Go Figure

Artists were intensely focused while drawing from the live model

A medley of my drawings from the two-hour session

The paloelithic era brought us voluptuous figurines such as Goddess of Willendorf. The Greeks offered up their version of the "ideal" body through exquisitely sculpted statues, and Botticelli painted us a modest, long-haired beauty in The Birth of Venus. Matisse collaged paper for Blue Nude, and where would the Sistine Chapel be without the genius figure renderings by Michaelangelo? Andrew Wyeth had his Helga, and Rubens had his Three Graces.

My students, when flipping through the pages of art history books, often ask me "why would an artist paint a naked person?" It's hard for their young minds, who only know the body as something that is required to be clothed in public, to understand why rendering the nude figure is considered an art. Their only knowing of a naked body is that it belongs in adult magazines or in R-Rated movies.

I try to explain that it requires great skill to be able to draw the figure, and that it has been drawn, painted, and sculpted for hundreds, even thousands, of years by many of the great master artists. I go on to say that for these artists, the body is seen as something beautiful, but also a challenge. Furthermore, it is required in art school that students draw from a live model, and that they learn how the body form connects, moves, and works as a whole. How would a fashion designer draw clothing if they didn't have a thorough understanding of proportion? And where would the medical field be without artists who illustrated the figure, inside and out, for textbooks.

I remember my first drawing class at USM with Professor David Schneider. At eighteen years old, I was not yet an art student, and had no inclination to be one at the time. I was merely required to take an arts-related course to fulfill the core requirement. I liked drawing well enough: still-lifes, landscapes, cute little cartoons. It never even crossed my mind, not once, that I would have to stare at a naked person for the duration of a three-hour class and attempt to render the structure of a human figure.

To my surprise, after the initial embarrassment wore off, I fell in love with the process. My drawings became more free, lines expressive. It wasn't about seeing an arm or a breast. It was about sensing hills, valleys, curves, and shadows. In much of my artwork I am calculating, methodical, careful. When drawing the figure, my arm comes to life and the lines emerge quickly, without thought.

That first college drawing course, where we drew and clay-sculpted the live model, set a foundation that still, twenty-two years later, impacts my work as an artist.

Yesterday I played hostess for a live model session. Eight artists from Lubec and Eastport areas gathered to draw and paint. After the initial frenzy of trying to find enough chairs and supply stands, folks settled-in. The focus was so intent that the only sound heard was the scratching of art materials against paper.

The model was fantastic, leading us through a series of two to twenty-minute poses. What was most impressive was that, with her beautifully-rounded seven-month pregnant belly, she was still able to contort into challenging positions that accentuated graceful lines and muscle tone. The drawing session cumulated into a one-hour pose that was reminiscent of Delacroix' Odalisque Reclining on Divan.

I felt a bit rusty at figure drawing since it had been perhaps three years since I last worked with a model. I made a mental note to self that I need to put-in some time with hands and feet. I patted myself on the back for doing an adequate job with the foreshortening, which I admit, I often avoided in the past. The hub bub of the day's activity began to subside as artists packed-up their easels and drove away. I finished returning the chairs and stands to their appropriate spots in the house and went back into the studio to photograph my sketches.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement. Camera still in hand, I lifted it up in time to snap a shot, though blurry and unfocused, of a fox in the front field. Moments later, a second fox emerged and the two playfully chased each other through the snow before winding off into the tree line.

What a gift that was, after an artistically fulfilling morning, to witness such playfulness and beauty in nature, even on a bitterly cold winter day.

Things Don't Always Go as Planned

Sketchbook entry, 01.22.10

First day working with clay in basement studio, 01.23.10

Story Loom warped and ready for weaving.

Have you ever noticed how no matter how much you plan something, work out the details in your mind, sketch it down on paper, that things never....NEVER....go as planned. Not precisely, anyway.

Sometimes the veering off-course brings about disaster, but sometimes (hopefully most times) it brings about new insight and interesting new directions.

Enthusiastically, I am a student again. I love to learn and had been waiting for an opportunity to present itself for me to return to school. When Heartwood College of Art came up with a low-residency MFA program that was feasible for me to do while still keeping my full-time teaching job, I jumped on-board. The official start-date of classes was January 18th. My mind has been working overtime for the past month mentally mapping out project ideas and physically pushing myself to the point of exhaustion to get the two studio spaces primed for production.

How this new program works is this:

The student artist moves at a pace of two "classes" per semester. A mentor/advisor is assigned who oversees the student. Before this current semester began, I submitted two "class" proposals. There were some basic guiding parameters which needed to be followed, but within those parameters, there was still plenty of room for my own interpretation and ideas. Other than self-directed work, we have weekend intensives on campus where we participate in critiques and workshops.

I designed two well-thought-out proposals. I knew the clay I would use, the way I would warp my loom, the surface treatments, the final presentation.

However, from day one working in the studio, things started to not go as smoothly as I imagined in my mind.

It threw me off for a bit. I had this set plan and finished product that I had sketched. I knew what I wanted. But...it wasn't going to happen.

Thankfully, I put the perfectionist in me to the side, and decided to try another route. Once I did that, I was on a roll, back on schedule, albeit with some re-designing.

(note: I had begun this blog entry only to be interrupted by unforeseen circumstances....what follows is the rest of my blog entry, written two and half hours later than when I originally started this morning. I am making a great case for the title of this blog entry!)

Until this morning.

I woke raring to go. I "stumbled" out of bed, literally. A bit of a dizzy spell. No biggie. Happens once in a while. This won't stop me - I have a "plan".

THE PLAN
1. 7:30 a.m., turn on heat in basement pottery studio
2. 7:40 a.m., feed cat, make cocoa, return to bed, blog, read a couple chapters in required book for MFA program.
3. 9:30 a.m., eat breakfast, put-on pot of chicken soup for quick lunch and supper
4. 10:00 a.m.,head into basement and put-in 5 hours with clay: pomegranate sculptures and test tiles, listen to some excellent tunes
5. 3:00 p.m., shower then spend a couple hours journaling or weaving

Well...that sounded like a wonderful plan. But....it is 11:00 a.m. and here I am trying to finish the blog I began at 7:45 a.m.

here is how it actually went down:

1. 7:30 a.m., turn on heat in basement pottery studio. (Check)
2. 7:40 a.m., make cocoa (check)

Now this is where it all goes off-course.....

7:45 a.m. - What the heck? Still dizzy? The floors are feeling a bit rounded to me today. Is the house off kilter? I mean, any more than usual? This place is over 150 years old. Hmmm

8:15 a.m. - I think I'll reposition myself in bed. Oops, dizzy again just trying to sit up.

8:30 a.m. - downstairs to take blood pressure. gee, that looks fine. Hmmm. floors still feel funny when I try to walk on them.

8:40 a.m. - back to warm bed, work on blog. Mind wanders. Yesterday was first full day in basement working on pottery - with the new propane heater in a tightly closed space. What if? Oh no. What if there is a carbon monoxide problem in the house? Hmmm....what do I do about this? I don't dare to drive an hour to Calais to buy a monitor, too dizzy. Not safe.

8:45 am. -put on clothes, begin to open doors and windows....just in case. Open the door by deck that is closest to propane tank, smell gas, hear hissing noise. Crap. This happened back in December. A leak again?

8:50 a.m. - put on boots, stand back up after tying laces, almost fall over. Wow, that was fun (not). Sit down in chair to rebalance self. Stand up slowly, head down to basement, turn off propane heater. Open cellar door, walk to tank, still hissing, stinky propane. Open cover. Tighten cap. Hissing stops.

9:00 a.m. - Call poison control and ask "who do I call if I need to have carbon monoxide levels checked in house?" Lots of questions...they tell me to call fire dept. Call fire department. More clarifying questions, tell me to call 911. Call 911, assuring them not an immediate emergency, but "just wondering how I can find out if leaky propane is an issue."

9:05 a.m. - sirens, firetrucks, ambulance, cars....people with monitors walking through house, checklists. My vitals are good, no carbon monoxide issues.

10:15 a.m. - totally embarrassed but grateful that folks came along to make sure that things are okay. Closed up windows and doors, warming up under electric blanket, eating breakfast, blogging. Feet up. Propane company has been called.

So, that brings me up until now, which is 11:30 a.m. I am finishing up my blog, have a full belly, and am awaiting the next visitor who will check the tank and probably remove it since this is the second time it has leaked. I am itching to get into basement and work with the clay. Taking things slowly though and keeping check of dizziness.

I think Bello would be content for me to stay put here in this chair. He seems quite comfy laying on my legs which are just underneath the warm electric blanket. Alas, there is work to be done downstairs, and I will, being careful to keep myself steady, make my way down there, turn up the tunes, and begin to wedge me a clump of clay.

Lubec Student Winter Art Show

Student artwork on exhibit at Lubec Memorial Library through January 2010

Bear, conte, grade 11

Sunflowers, tempera paint, grade 1

Collage drawing, conte, charcoal, pen, pencil, grade 11

Bike, watercolor, color pencil, acrylic paint, ink, grade 10

lighthouse, tempera paint, grade 1

Self-portrait, charcoal, grade 11

monet waterlily painting, grade K /Self-portrait grade K/ Self portrait, grade 4/ Self-portrait, grade 4/ Scarecrow, grade 3

Sunflower painting, grade Kindergarten

Mandalas by Grade 8

Giraffe, watercolor pencils, grade 5

Henna designs, ink, watercolor, color pencil, grade 7

Every January for the past few years, Lubec Memorial Library has played host to a student art exhibit. I traditionally spend the days preceding Christmas vacation sorting through hundreds of colorful pieces to jury about forty items into the show. It's a difficult task in that there are so many incredible artworks and so little space to hang!

It is an honor for a student to be included in this exhibit because of the fact that only a limited number of works make it to the final cut. And not only that, since each grade is included in this exhibit, there are only 2-4 students typically chosen per classroom. It furthers the difficulty in my selection in that I cannot choose every schoolwide favorite piece of mine to be in this show, rather it is a selection of the top from each class. I am also sure to include a mix of artworks from each grade level by both boys and girls. And one more dimension to the slection process, sometimes it is about choosing pieces that will work well together.

Inevitably, some students feel disappointment in not being selected, and parents wonder why their child was not chosen as well. This is one of a few "juried" shows that we participate in each year. As with many "competitions", numbers are limited. However, I do make sure that each child proudly displays their work at some point during the year, most times more than once. Bulletin boards line the halls filled with grade level art projects, each month the principal selects an artowrk from each grade for recognition, the Women's Club Federation hosts a high school competition, the West Quoddy Visitor Center sells student artwork, and last year the McCurdy Smokehouse ran a student art exhibit as well. In the spring, at our school's annual projects' night, we have a huge art show where every student chooses their personal favorite artwork from their portfolio to show.

This year's exhibit at the library turned out quite nicely if I may say so myself! The opening reception is always enjoyable and I am grateful to those folks who help out with the set-up and food table. Kids are excited to see their pieces on display, and equally (or more so) excited to be able to snack on various yummy junk-food delights without too much parental complaint.