Out of the Snow and Into the Studio

Got a wee bit of snow a few days ago...

Current sculpture in progress

This past week has kept me fairly focused in the studio. Yet another snow day allowed time to work on a new sculpture. This one, when finished, will reach over three feet tall and is quite hefty. Throwing and wedging the larger-than-usual clumps of clay left me fearing I had permanently damaged my stomach muscles, but a few days later all returned to normal, noting to myself that I better be a bit more careful next time!!!

Creating artwork is not always fun. Just like with any job, there are parts that you enjoy and there are parts that you despise. Not that I fully despise any part of working with clay, but there are definitely some things that are more "grunt work" than pleasurable. Wedging is always a source of discomfort. It is taxing on my shoulders and takes quite a bit of time to get all those unruly clumps and lumps back into a smooth, workable ball. With the current sculpture, I spent perhaps equal time researching and sketching as I did forming the structure. The part that I do love, though, is carving. This particular piece is carving-intensive so I was in all of my glory for a few hours while I toggled from tool to tool to get the look and feel of my vision. Now I wait (hope/pray) that it survives the kiln firing so that the next phase of the process may occur.

In between shoveling last week's storm, I spent hours holed-up in my "cave". Chris said to me that I must really have a passion for what I do when I am willing to spend several hours in a cold, damp, concreted space below the earth, and actually crave and enjoy it. I never thought of it like that before, but when you break it down, yeah, it is kinda strange.

Amazingly, I am comfortable in that space, engulfed in messy, dry clay dust and mounds. For someone who seeks the just-so feng shui feeling of a home space, it is kind of odd that I don't pay attention to the lack of "homeyness" in the basement. Maybe it has something to do with being in a space that is natural to clay; deep within the earthen underground. Or maybe I am just so enthralled by the project at hand that my peripheral vision ceases and I am completely zoned into the form that is before me.

I probably shouldn't try to hard to understand it all.

A bit of rain this morning sunk the snowy yard and has created a new ice rink. It's like last week's "Snowmageddon" never occurred. Chris narrowly averted the intense shoveling schedule, boasting of sunny skies and warm temps while taking his afternoon walk with his father in California. He somehow dodged all flight delays, once again, upon his return to Maine on Friday. Bello and I are glad to have him back home with us. Now, I'm just hoping for another massive snowstorm so that he may experience the endless shoveling as I did this past month. I wouldn't want him to feel left out of all the fun, afterall!

I have some things to tend to over the next two to three weeks and suspect that I will not have a chance to blog. If you don't see a post next time you check in, just keep checking back. All should return to the regular normally scheduled life routine by the end of the month.

Hope all you romantics out there have a memorable St. Valentine's Day! (or at least your fill of quality chocolate confections!!!!)

Snowy Winter Encourages Artistic Endeavors

Last Thursday's storm brought another foot of the white stuff.

Teeny-tiny component of a much larger sculpture currently in progress.

Wheelthrown cylinders for a new sculpture in progress.

Kiln loaded and ready to fire.




It's been a snowy winter. No one will dispute that, not even those who live in the south. We have all had our share of it and it seems we can barely get shoveled out from one storm when another is forecasted on the way. This morning I had a "snow alert" in my inbox. Apparently we got another 4 inches of snow while I was snoozing, and last night the weatherwoman on WSCH news cheerfully alerted all the viewers here in downeast Maine that there is a "potential for significant snowfall mid week" with the next storm.

More than a few times over the past three weeks my arms have been reduced to a jello-jiggle after shoveling. It's a bit different here on the coast than what I was accustomed to in central Maine. On the coast, we tend to get a heavier, rain/snow-mixed precipitation. So, when the rest of the state has that light fluffy stuff that isn't a back-breaker when shoveling, we usually end up with a heavy, sticky mess that would give even the most Herculean of men quite an upper body workout.

This winter the forecast has called for more-than-usual "coastal huggers". Those storms that go out to sea are often clipping us here in Lubec. While the rest of the state (or even the next town north of us) may be dry and sunny, we are getting dumped-upon with whiteout squalls and mass accumulations.

So what does this mean beyond lots of shoveling and an enormous plow bill?

Snow days. The kind where the phone rings at 5:30 in the morning and the voice on the other end of the receiver tells me to go back to sleep. (But I never do!!!)

We've had four of them so far this season. Sometimes that elicits complaining since they have to be made up at the end of the school year, but I have sort of resigned myself that already. There is nothing that can be done: Mother Nature is in control.

For me, the snowy days have been great for studio time. Instead of my usual two days on the weekend and scattered weeknights, I have been able to squeeze in an extra full day which amounts to approximately ten additional hours of sculpting.

Winter is wonderful for creating, especially that which requires much thinking and reflecting. The stillness allows me to be more in my head and less distracted by the pull to be out in the garden or heading out of town, etc. Being snowed-in is the ultimate. Everything that was previously planned gets dropped from the schedule and that makes for pure creation.

I am currently working on two clay sculptures simultaneously. In general I don't like to have my mind scattered amongst too many things, but sometimes that is inevitable. The main component of a sculpture I began almost four weeks ago has a fracture so may need to be re-sculpted, and while I am waiting for that situation to become more clear I have begun a second major piece. With clay, I am always working against the clock. Different steps need to be done at a particular moment when the dryness is "just-so". I may come home from work some days exhausted, but I know that if I don't commit a few hours in the studio that all the previous labor done for a piece may be for naught.

Art is like that. Creating is pleasurable, but it is still work. Inspiration is a motivator, but once a piece has begun, the steps need to continue along at a specific tempo, whether or not the energy is there.

At present moment, the sun is still over an hour from rising. I've yet to assess what amount of snow we actually received overnight. I'm hoping for a shovel-free Sunday so that I may spend as many hours as possible in my pottery cave.

The beginning of a new piece always begs for extra attention. The anticipation of what it may become is at its height.

The Odd Couple

It does perplex me, how people are able to get along well enough to live together for any length of time, but somehow we manage. We begin with growing up in a house with siblings and parents, sometimes grandparents as well. Squabbles are the norm but unconditional love is ever present. I consider it training for the adult years.

During college, we achieve some level of independence, but then we graduate, seek a mate, and do it with all over again...COHABITATION.

When you live alone for any length of time, you become quite comfortable in your own routines. The toilet seat or toothpaste tube is tended to in a manner likened to your personal preference. Maybe laundry loads always include matching socks, and dairy has its own shelf in the refrigerator. The thermostat is at optimum level. The nightly TV shows are always to your liking. Then suddenly, it is all turned upside down when you fall in love and decide that you will spend the rest of your living days with one particular person.

Chris and I have been together for about twelve years, and have lived in the same dwelling for almost eleven of them. We are not exempt from individual quirks that can bring a person to a near neurotic meltdown, but in most cases, we can pluck the humor from our day to day.

I told Chris that I was going to find an "Odd Couple" video and post it for the next blog. I'm not sure he believed me. As I prepared to blog this morning by watching the 70's reruns, I was belly-laughing with just about every episode I watched. I could find correlations to our own habits and lifestyle here in Lubec. Of course, it is highly exaggerated. We aren't exactly Felix and Oscar, but clips such as "Insomnia" and "Psychic Shmychic" had me in stitches.

I won't tell you which one of us is the "Oscar" or the "Felix": I'll leave that up to your imagination. incidentally, in the sitcom, one of the characters is a writer, the other a photographer. In my estimation, that makes for a pretty good combination.

What really got me on this thought pattern was that I received an email the other day from an artist in New York whom I had met last summer when she and her husband visited Lubec on vacation. I instantly saw correlations between that couple's relationship and mine and Chris'. Both Patricia and I acknowledged that without our husbands' support, there is no way that we would be able to be the artists that we are.

I had heard, years ago, that there is no way two artists can live together harmoniously, that they are each always vying for the spotlight and inevitably jealousy ensues. I have, however, found the opposite to be true. Chris, an artist with words, and myself an artist with the visual, make for a perfect team. Because we are both so passionate about our art, we understand one another and the idiosyncrasies that come with the territory. We keep strange hours, working morning until night, obsessed with the project at hand. Weekends are not for down-time, rather they are an opportunity to continue our work unfettered by the usual weekday demands of errands and job.

We both recognize that creating is as necessary as breathing. And that is key in our relationship. We make space for each other to be the artist and the writer. We support each other: artistic cheerleaders.

So it is with deep love and understanding that I post the video clip of Felix and Oscar. I imagine that soon Chris will be watching the segment as well and (hopefully!) laughing as hard as I did. I can see his hand coming down in an enthusiastic thump upon his desk each time he chortles. The banana on the beans really got me going!

Some of you know us pretty well and have a good guess who is who is this relationship, but truth be known, Chris and I are each a little bit Oscar and little bit Felix.

If most people are honest, they will recognize the duality in themselves as well.

Post Note: So there is no confusion, Chris does housework, cooks meals, and is always respectful...so don't go reading too much into the video!!! (um, I do those things, too!)

Artists and Their Funky Homes

Daine Langley's home/studio, located on Westport Island, Maine

Diane in her Wildwood Gallery on Westport Island

Two of Diane's encaustic paintings
(and a wall-hanging that I made!)

Diane's hallway to a very tiny, rustic, galley kitchen.

Artists live differently than the rest of the population. While some people strive for the beautiful home with matching curtain to plate dinnerware, we often exist in a bit of a hodge-podge existence. The home is seldom considered completely tidy - with everything in its place as if plucked out of a Martha Stewart Living catalog. Instead, we tend to not be able to refrain from acquiring quirky objects that we think could someday be great in a painted still-life or assemblage, or perhaps offer some sort of inspiration for a work later-on down the road. Have you ever wondered why the artist has a rubber chicken or wagon wheel sitting in the middle of his or her studio? This is why.

I always love to visit my friend Diane. I don't get to very often since I live so far away. We first met at USM in the late 1980's where we were both art students. It had been almost two years since I last saw her, but we try to keep in touch weekly.

Diane lives on Westport Island in an old 1800's schoolhouse. That's pretty nifty in and of itself. If you visit her in the summer, you get to see all kinds of beautiful plants enveloping the grounds and house. There are a couple of outbuildings: an old barn and a smaller structure that houses her gallery.

It's the inside of the house that always amazes me. No matter how many times I visit, it is always a new experience. Diane is constantly moving furniture and switching out artwork to fit her mood or needs and the studio never stays any one way too long. When I walk into the main living area which is her studio, all the senses are brought to full attention. I want to touch everything, look at it all, and more often than not, there is the smell of something yummy cooking in the kitchen. Lilly the cat is parading around in her beautiful long fur coat demanding acknowledgment. A dozen or more in-progress projects are strewn over various tables, chairs, or hanging on the wall or from the ceiling.

In one corner of the room, floor to ceiling book collection and library loans. In another corner, her sewing equipment and fabrics for slow-cloth and quilting. By one window her encaustics are set-up, another window lights her easel for oil painting. The computer (which is extremely outdated and seldom works) is tucked in another corner with piles of papers and photos surrounding, and in the middle of the room, a large table for workshops and a small loveseat and chair for reading and guests, albeit, it is covered with her current rug-hooking projects. Spinning wheels, looms, sewing machines, and furniture that tells a story are randomly sitting here and there. Walking through the space is no easy task, having to maneuver a multitude of interesting items.

Diane doesn't own a TV. Her time is spent reading and working with her hands, and tending to daily tasks that keep life running as smoothly as possible. She is always busy making something whether it is for a show or a gift. I love receiving her emails that read something like: "two pair of socks finished one sock for emma done started quilt for birthday gift encaustic paintings wrapped for show need to get rug hooking example ready for Tuesday's class spinning group here on wednesday think i'll make blueberry scones car not working right not sure i can find someone to plow maybe i will do some oil painting today" (long list lacking most punctuation - but I seem to somehow be able to decipher it all.)

I am blessed to own several pieces of Diane's work from over the past twenty years, from oil paintings to quilts, to slow cloth and rug hooking. I have watercolor paintings from her last trip to Ireland and this past Solstice I was gifted homemade items which included a new pair of hand knitted socks in earthy but bright homespun/dyed wool colors. My toes are very happy!!!!

It's not an easy life for Diane to keep up with the demands of modern society, i.e. bills! But she is doing well to keep art at the forefront of her existence. There are many sacrifices, and everyday simple pleasures or material items are things that many folks take for granted. Diane lives simply, and is grateful when she makes a sale or fills a class. As she says "I have become accustomed to eating."

Click here to visit Diane's Blog.

New Year's Resolution

Sculptures completed over the past three months by Shanna Wheelock....

U.S. Totem Pole
approx. 22" tall
Wheelthrown and slab construction
Stoneware, acrylic paint

Incendiary
Approx. 26" tall
Slab and wheelthrown construction
Stoneware, acrylic paint, wood, metal
with interior light source

Pomegrenade, sequential series
Total 6' wide. Individual sculptures approx. 8"x8"
Slab and press mold construction, fuze toppers each individually carved
Earthenware with acrylic paint and encaustic medium, metal, wood

Well, the New Year is upon us. Folks all around the world are making their ritual New Year's resolutions: Lose weight, exercise, get to work on time, spend more time with family, pay off debt....The list goes on and on. Some people will accomplish what they set out to do, but most will probably fail miserably. Sure, we all get off to a good start. It's the New Year afterall. We certaily have gorged ourselves so much over Christmas and other celebrations this past month that we think we might vomit if someone so much as mentions another glass of eggnog or piece of cake.

Add me to the list of those who have failed miserably in the past. I can't count the times I have made the same resolution over and over year after year. I finally gave up on making resolutions. Still, people ask, what New Year's resolution have you made this year? I have come to the conclusion, after years of failed attempts, that if you think you should do something for your overall betterment, then why wait another month, week, or five days to begin?

So, I planned to begin 2011 with no resolutions.

But, I have been pondering this thought....

What if....

We were all (yes, the entire world, every last one of us, child or adult, no different what country we are from, the color of our skin, sexual orientation, religious affiliation, etc. etc.) were to.... make the exact same resolution?

What if....

We all proclaimed enthusiastically to ourselves that we would make 2011 the year that we...

Make a vow for Peace.

Yes, I really do think it is that simple.

If every person in the world would vow to not say or do another hurtful thing to another being.

PEACE.

Just like other resolutions - it may take while to catch-on. But eventually, with enough people on board, vowing year after year to be kind, empathetic, forgiving beings ...change is destined to come about.

Power in numbers.

Why wait until January 1?

Spreading the Holiday Spirit to Those Less Fortunate

"Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!" And what happened then...? Well...in Who-ville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!

-Dr. Seuss "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas"

I just returned from my end-of-semester presentation at Heartwood College of Art and am now full swing into holiday mode. I love this time of year: time with family and friends, a few days of "down-time", and spreading a bit of goodwill. It is late and I still have lots to do before I turn-in for the night, so thought that I would re-post part of last year's Yule entry. It is equally relevant today as it was last year.

Blessings to all for a magical Yule and a peace-filled New Year!
Shanna

Blog post from December 2009:

Thanksgiving has come and gone. People sat around tables stuffing their faces with all kinds of epicurean delights, sharing stories, giving the occasional thanks for blessings in their lives. Eventually some members of the gathering made their way to the couch for a snooze or to watch a few plays of football. As soon as night passed, it was on to the next holiday and hordes of cell-phone-carrying crazed bargain hunters flooding the streets and stores to find the best deal on this year's hottest toys and gadgets.

Yes indeed, I was part of that mix. Not so much to find the latest deal, but living in a remote area I grab at the opportunity when in "the city" to seek what items we need "back at the ranch" that just aren't available locally. I had been dreading this day, knowing that I would have to skirt around crazily-driven cars at backed-up intersections only to find myself standing in line for what would seem an eternity for one or two items in my hand while others in front of me flaunt their overflowing carts while listening to "The Little Drummer Boy" play over the speaker system for a fourth time that morning.

Okay, maybe I am sounding a bit like the Grinch now.

But in reality, I am not Grinch-like. I love this season. I love (almost) everything about it. Christmas time conjures up all kinds of nostalgia for me. To this day, our family, friends, and neighbors still gather at Mom and Dad's for the Christmas Eve buffet: an enormous spread of food and cheer, gift-exchanging, music, and festive decorations. As a young child, my sister, brother, and I would perform little skits for everyone, or play music or sing. I can still recite the corresponding organ key numbers for "Dreaming of a White Christmas" and "Auld Lange Syne". We don't perform anymore, but the younger of the clan like to belt out a few holiday tunes on the paino or guitar, and the occasional AC/DC song.

In my youth, the butterflies would work overtime in my stomach on Christmas eve. I knew that the sooner I went to sleep the sooner I would wake to find all kinds of toys that Santa had tucked under the tree. There were plenty of chimneys for him to use, and my letters had been mailed to the North Pole ensuring that he would be well-prepared. I was certain I could hear the sleigh bells tinkling as he and his trusty crew of reindeer flew over, Rudolph at the helm of course.

Now that I am older, I still look forward to Christmas (and Solstice!) with great anticipation and excitement. As you age, you appreciate the holidays for different reasons than you did as a child. Now, I find more joy in giving and knowing that I will be spending time with those I love most dearly.

My mom wrote me an email yesterday reminiscing about Christmas past. Like many families, there were financial struggles, but, I never knew it as a kid. The Christmas tree was always overflowing and my sister, brother, and I didn't want for much. It always seemed we had everything we needed. Mom tells of the hours she spent making us handmade clothes and toys because times were so lean, and with tight budgeting she could supplement the handmade items with a couple of material-world toys that we had requested from Santa. I can think back and remember some of the gifts. There were certainly lots of dolls - one that peed and pooped when I fed her, one whose hair could "grow", the beauty-school head that I could I could glam-up, Little Red Riding Hood, and too many Barbies to count, all with high-end runway-type outfits. But what Mom would probably be amazed about is that the items I hold most dear from Christmas' past are the little beanie baby doll she made and the big stuffed pink turtle. I remember toting those two items to school a number of times.

I have lived a truly blessed life. I always had a roof over my head, warm clothes, food, family that loved me, beautiful holiday memories, and material items that I know many in this world don't or won't ever have an opportunity to experience.

I teach in a public school, in a remote, rural area where there are more of those who "need" than those who "have". I know my students, and I know which ones haven't been blessed as I was, or as I am. I know that children, regardless of income class, believe in Santa and expect that he will travel from the North Pole on Christmas to deliver them their dreams. And I know that some students will be more silent than others as kids return from holiday break to show-off their new toys and talk about what goodies Santa delivered to them.

I imagine that most people who read my blog are kind, nurturing souls who are already helping-out others. Given the economy of late, I know it can be a lot to ask. Some folks may not be able to extend themselves financially, but are able to help out with time and volunteering. If you are able to help out, with a toy or in some other financial capacity, a great place to start is a school. Teachers know of lots of little boys and girls who could benefit from the generosity of another. Give your local school a call and ask if there is an item(s) that you can pick-up that will make a child's Christmas morning a little bit brighter. If not a school, there are plenty of children's homes/residential facilities that could use some goodwill as well.

It is a heart-opening experience to help another family who is less-fortunate then yourself.

There are lots of ways to "give" this holiday season (and any season!). If you haven't already made your plan to help-out another, make it a goal to begin now. Whether it is a donation of time, money, or gifts, "tis the season". Perhaps you will help at a local shelter or food bank, be a secret-santa for a school-aged child, pay an out-0f-work neighbor's electric bill, or volunteer at the local hospital's children's ward. It's all beautiful - and it feels great!

Start the giving now and feel your heart grow...and grow...and GROW.

Sounds of Silence

Day after the first real snowstorm of the season. Yep! It warranted a snow day!

Sometimes you just have to take a hammer to a piece and start all over.

Bello has been feeling neglected lately. He made his way onto my lap despite my continuing to weave.

Last time I blogged I was crossing my fingers for a snow day. I sent out an all points request (begging) to the Weather Gods to please, please, please, give me a free day to get some work done (ironic, isn't it? a "free day" to do work).

Well, I guess the Weather Gods heard me, because next morning at 5:30 a.m. I the phone rang. School canceled. And it should have been, too. It was a nasty frozen mess out there with a mix of sleet and snow. Definitely not good conditions for anyone to be driving in. I was ecstatic. I laid my head back down on the pillow and snoozed another 45 minutes. When I woke, thinking of all the things I could get done that day, I noticed an unusual stillness. There were no sounds of heaters, no hum of appliances: just the sound of distant blowing wind.

Hmmmm.

The Weather Gods giveth. The Weather Gods taketh.

My hopes and plans fizzled as I realized that the power was out. How would I get my 10 million things on the to-do list done without power? I needed heat to be comfy. I needed light to do the finer, more detailed work. No electric toys to help dry paint?

Not knowing how long we would be without power, my first instinct was to shower before the hot water cooled. Once that was accomplished I clothed in the warmest wools and layers I could get my hands on. I turned on the Jotul stove, pulled up a rocking chair, placed a camp lamp beside me, and began to weave. I sat toasty by the stove, creating, while watching snow fall briskly outside.

The silence is not something I am used to, but that morning, it felt incredibly comfortable. I worked for about three hours in that spot, thinking how this was the norm for so many not so long ago. This silence. With only my thoughts to entertain. I felt peaceful. Focused.

Chris eventually sauntered down the stairs. His camping skills came in handy as he pulled out a tiny single-burner stove and prepared us scrambled eggs and hot water for coffee and cocoa. I'm sure that our ancestors long ago didn't have it quite this easy without power, but it did make me wonder what it would be like to take ourselves "off the grid".

I'm not sure I could do it long term. I have become accustomed to modern ways and modern toys. I would miss listening to music, the convenience of a quick warm meal, or hot water for a shower. Oh yes - how could I live without hot water?

Still, the thought intrigues me.

The power returned a bit over three hours later. I missed the silence. I missed the peacefulness. Even if you turn off the music, TV, and furnace, there is still the hum of the refrigerator and other electrical devices. Even if you turn off all the lights and heaters, you can still sense the electrical flow.

I finally found my groove again and got in a long day's work. One week ago I didn't think I would be able to accomplish all that I have, but I sit here tonight in awe of the amazing amount of artwork that has been completed over the past week. I finished three tapestries and am almost done with a third sculpture. The pieces have been in progress for almost 15 weeks and it feels good to see them coming to some sort of conclusion. Right now I am listening to the hum of a fan, blowing on a wooden pedestal that I just painted with acrylic paint. I am waiting for the paint to dry so that I can move on to the next step. It feels good to look around the studio and see all that has been accomplished in such a short time.

On another note, the North Pole called today. I normally wouldn't answer the phone on a Sunday morning when in the middle of work, but when Santa phones around the time of holidays, I think it best to Pick-up. It was his top elf calling with a message from the big guy. Apparently Santa was watching us in his big snow globe (yep, checking us out in Lubec, Maine) when he saw Chris, in an ecstatic frenzy, grab a gift from his Christmas stocking and tear apart the paper while dancing frantically around the room and gloating that he opened a gift and I couldn't do a single thing about it.

Well, I don't need to do anything. Seems Santa has taken care of things and Chris is on the probationary Naughty list. If I was in charge of all things festive, I think I would have just slid him right on over to the Naughty list with no chance of gift-receiving parole. But the big guy in the red suit has the final say.

It will be interesting come Solstice and Christmas, this year, won't it Chris?