Grad School: Week 28 - The Great Plains/Pains of Risk and Failure.

"The view of the Great Plains from an airplane window is hardly more detailed than the view from a car on the interstate highways, which seem designed to get across in the least time possible, as if this were an awkward point in a conversation. In the minds of many, natural beauty means something that looks like Switzerland. The ecology movement works best in behalf of winsome landscapes and wildlife. The Great Plains do not ingratiate...The beauty of the plains is not just in themselves but in the sky, in what you think when you look at them, and what they are not."

-Ian Frazier, From Great Plains

This week in graduate school I created a tremendous amount of clay to be reclaimed. Maybe 20% of what I made survived the initial drying process. In the early mornings, I padded into my studio, took a look at the shelves, and the first word out of my mouth would be an expletive. No way to start the day. I had been making large, hollow rimmed bowls and did something to the feet that was not appreciated by the clay particles. Hence, ridiculous S-cracks shooting through the bottom and sides of the pots like galaxies expanding. 

That I lost 80% of what I sweat and toiled over the week before doesn't seem so rare these days. That said, I returned to a basic form, the mug, from which to start from again. A touchstone during times of risk. Rather than try out grand and scheming plans on large forms, only to see them collapse, there is so much to be learned in the basic form of the mug. If you are going to do something basic like cook a hamburger or drive a nail, as a craftsman, you have to complete the simple acts perfectly. So I keep making the humble mug. This process is clearly endless.

On that note, I was proud to be invited to the show Daily Companions: Cups, Mugs, and Teabowls at Baltimore Clayworks. The show opens today and was curated by Linda Christianson and John C. Wilson. If you are in the charm city, stop on by. None of the cups there may be perfect for everyone, but then that isn't really the point.

Grad School: Week 27, Cellulose Hero, Cynicism, and Sincerity

     "Barrett's connection to the old papers was becoming more than simply technical. It was emotional. He detected life in them. He once found the imprint of a person's thumb on a page in a Renaissance book. 'Maybe the papermaker was rushing to fill an order, and grabbed the corner too firmly,' he said. 'To me, that fingerprint marked the sheet with a humanity of the person who made it. I could feel his presence.'

     James Galvin, a poet who teaches at the Iowa Writer's Workshop, occasionally feels the need to send his students a wake-up call. When this happens, Galvin calls Barrett...and asks him to send over one sheet of paper per student. 'I describe the paper to the students,' Galvin says, 'and I talk about the care, knowledge and aesthetic wisdom that went into making it. Then I tell them to go home and write something on it that makes it more interesting than it is when it's blank.'"

-Mark Levine, from Cellulose Hero, New York Times Magazine

There is such a love for process, history, and the sanctity of material in this article. It was written without cynicism and venerates the handmade object as a layered and vital object in our history. It asks, where is the future of the historical handmade paper headed, and who is helping it survive? The question is as essential as asking what is the future of the book? Is it becoming an obsolete object that will be a luxury item in a digitized age?

The music industry faced a similar conundrum as their product became digital and it was an industry in decline for some time. Publishers face the same crisis as they are being written (pardon the pun) out of the equation when it comes to getting books, or words, into readers' hands. The newspaper, phone, and photography worlds have all had to make massive shifts in their business models to remain relevant. Who buys a dictionary anymore or writes a letter on paper? The postal industry is in its death throes due to technology's steady march. Jonathan Franzen wrote: 

"The ultimate goal of technology, the telos in the techne, is to replace a natural world that's indifferent to our wishes - a world of hurricanes and hardships, and breakable hearts, a world of resistance - with a world so responsive to our wishes as to be, effectively, a mere extension of ourselves."

What are we sacrificing to have the objects we love: books, pictures, letters, music, and communication instantly attainable but without any concrete physical presence? Can we afford to be cynical about embracing handmade objects no matter what their provenance or worth? Perhaps I am preaching to the choir, or maybe not. Cynicism towards the mainstream craft world, the purveyors of paint your own pottery, the Etsy crowd, and the Michaels Craft world should perhaps be replaced with sincerity and approval. I'm just making an argument, here, and perhaps that is a portion of what we do here in Graduate School, argue over the fine points.

VS.

Thanks for reading and have a good week.

Master Hand/Slave Hand Continued...

Thanks to Carter Gillies for continuing the Master Hand/Slave Hand conversation on his blog. Michael Kline also weighs in under the comment section about producing in volume and that perhaps the Master/Slave metaphor is not the most apt description of the act of throwing. Feel free to throw some skin into the game if you like.

Aaron

Grad School: Week 26 - Schaller Gallery, Worker Hand/Slave Hand, and Martha Stewart

Straight Talk From Fox

Listen says fox it is music to run
over the hills to lick
dew from the leaves to nose along
the edges of the ponds to smell the fat
ducks in their bright feathers but
far out, safe in their rafts of
sleep. It is like
music to visit the orchard, to find
the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the
rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself
is a music. Nobody has ever come close to
writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot
be told. It is flesh and bones
changing shape and with good cause, mercy
is a little child beside such an invention. It is
music to wander the black back roads
outside of town no one awake or wondering
if anything miraculous is ever going to
happen, totally dumb to the fact of every
moment's miracle. Don't think I haven't
peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons
making love, arguing, talking about God
as if he were an idea instead of the grass,
instead of the stars, the rabbit caught
in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought
home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.

Mary Oliver 

I have been thinking back to my years as a production potter during week 26. Sometime in 2001, Martha Stewert gave Oprah some garden pottery on television. This created a huge demand for said pottery and Smith and Hawken was awarded the exclusive distribution of the ware. Around that time, I returned home to Madison, WI and on a tip, went out and "auditioned" as a production potter. This involved standing at a wheel and trying to replicate the form in front of you as the other, far more experienced potters, looked on sceptically. Long story short, I spent a few years making garden ware that Martha Stewart made famous for a time. She went off to jail later, and I moved on to other endeavors. 

A potter I worked with at the time referred to one of his hands as his "worker hand," and the other as his "slave hand." For the life of me, I can't remember which one was which. One hand remained on the inside of each flower pot while the other held tools: a stamp, toggle, metal rib, and sponge. One was a worker, the other a slave. It has stayed with me like a riddle. I have tried to put meaning to this memory, but can't seem to find any wisdom in it. Still, it remains.

I think the photo below illustrates just how fun pottery can be. Makes you smile, don't it?

There is new work at Schaller Gallery, where I am in a show entitled Surface. Lots of good pots to be found on this website. Other than all this, I am just grinding away in the studio. Once again, thanks for reading.

Aaron

Grad School: Week 25 - Ted Kooser, Process, and The Studio Door

So This Is Nebraska By Ted Kooser The gravel road rides with a slow gallop over the fields, the telephone lines streaming behind, its billow of dust full of the sparks of redwing blackbirds. On either side, those dear old ladies, the loosening barns, their little windows dulled by cataracts of hay and cobwebs hide broken tractors under their skirts. So this is Nebraska. A Sunday afternoon; July. Driving along with your hand out squeezing the air, a meadowlark waiting on every post. Behind a shelterbelt of cedars, top-deep in hollyhocks, pollen and bees, a pickup kicks its fenders off and settles back to read the clouds. You feel like that; you feel like letting your tires go flat, like letting the mice build a nest in your muffler, like being no more than a truck in the weeds, clucking with chickens or sticky with honey or holding a skinny old man in your lap while he watches the road, waiting for someone to wave to. You feel like waving. You feel like stopping the car and dancing around on the road. You wave instead and leave your hand out gliding larklike over the wheat, over the houses. The highlight of week 25 was a visit to campus by poet laureate Ted Kooser. When asked about his writing process he said he liked to wake up early, around 4:30, and sit down at his desk and start drinking coffee. From there, he would write poetry and fail, over and over again, to compose anything decent. The important part, he said, was getting to that chair, because if a poem came along and he wasn't ready, well, it was gone. This is the long version of "suit up and show up." Or an even longer explanation of what an old teacher told me, that the hardest part of making pots was walking through the studio door. Kooser was an insurance executive for thirty years before becoming a full-time poet. He said he excelled at this business because he knew how to write and describes waking up early to get a little work done before driving into Lincoln for his day job, then going to the library at lunch for more research, and finally home at the end of the day to shed his suit and tie, and be with his family. It was only after he retired from insurance, that he went on to become poet laureate. Kooser loves Nebraska. In particular, his corner of the state, the Bohemian Alps. He does not accept residencies or visiting poet jobs because he would just stare out the window all day and think about home. Kooser writes about the ordinary in life and says, "you have to stare at a lot of fence posts before you can start seeing the beauty in them." To me, and many others, he is a Nebraskan legend. I also wanted to show the process of decorating a platter from start to finish here on the blog. I salt-fired this week and got very mixed results. There were a few winners, but most of the kiln was either passable or went straight to the dumpster. All the pots could have been better, but my mind had already moved onto the next project. Such is the blessing and the curse of graduate school, right now. Change is of premium of value, and with change comes failure, promise, and growth. The important part is to keep charging forward.

Grad School: Week 24 - Studio Potter, Making Life Whole, and Partnership

"Marriage, like any partnership, is fundamentally a putting together of pieces, an ongoing arrangement of fate's deliveries into a livable, nurturing layout. Rheumatoid Arthritis informs the directions in our life together, but with each decision, we must practice viewing the destination as one full of choices."

-Molly MacQuoid Bass

I am really pleased to announce that my wife, Molly Bass, has an article published in the newest edition of Studio Potter. The article is titled, Making Life Whole, and discusses the challenges and rewards we have faced as a couple, for Molly as a spouse of one who has a chronic illness, and for me as an artist, living with Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). It is a lovely piece of writing, highly personal, and we hope useful to others who battle some obstacle while trying to live a full life.

For years I have tried to hide the fact that I have RA. This has taken a variety of forms. One relates to chronic pain as one would an intimate partner. It is someone that is always with you, sometimes walking by your side, other times riding your shoulders, screaming bloody murder. I rarely introduce people to this invisible stranger. Michael Cardew, although still an active potter at the time, described fighting against his body that, "had become a surly and reluctant servant." Part of Molly's article describes how to view pain less as an obstacle, but more as path finder, letting it direct your work in the studio when necessary, but never giving in.

After arriving here at UNL, it became obvious that I was not going to make it through the program unless I started to communicate. It is to the program's credit that they met this complication with grace, privacy, and support. Communicating, at large, such a personal matter was a complicated leap of faith. Molly writing about it in Studio Potter was an even greater journey towards making what was once private, public.

We use blogs, websites, and even ceramic journals to communicate our successes. They are the medium of professional mobility. This small, public revelation is a reminder that life is not all roses for artists, for anyone. Our victories are few and often hard fought. When we face obstacles, we are not pariahs, underdogs, or victims. We are human and to be human is to be flawed, incomplete, and sometimes, in pain. This fact can be a small comfort, true, but it is a universal I think it is important to notice now and again.

Please visit my wife's blog, Minnow, for an honest and visually stunning look at what life is like here on the prairie. She is a wonderful writer, photographer, and wife.

Thanks for keeping up.

Aaron

Grad School: Week 23 - "The Raven", Poe, and Ideas

The idea began in the abstract. He wanted to write something tonally sombre, sad, mournful, and saturated with melancholia, he knew not what. He thought it should be repetative and have a one-word refrain. He asked himself which vowel would best serve the purpose. He chose the long "o." And what combining consanant, producibly doleful and lugubrious? He settled on "r." Vowel, consanant, "o," "r." Lore. Core. Door Lenore. Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Actually, he said "nevermore" was the first such word that crossed his mind. How much cool truth there is in that essay is in the eye of the reader.

-John McPhee on Edgar Allen Poe's creation on the poem, "The Raven"

In school this week we tried not to discuss the difference between art and craft. Art begins with an idea, that is executed through any material that will most effectively express it. Craft starts with a material or process, and the idea finds its outlet somewhere before completion. This may be one of the most talked about, and tired, discussions in the craft realm, and despite efforts to steer clear of it, it raises its ugly head in many different disguises. Like a cat chasing its tail, the difference between art and craft will never be completely pinned down.

Edgar Allen Poe was paid $9 for his poem, "The Raven." If the above quote is true, it seems the idea bubbled up out of his subconscious. He had a feeling of potential, not a concrete idea about composition. The source of his inspiration came from his gut or his heart, and found resolution in his mind and on paper. Poe had an idea. The source of that idea was another matter entirely.

Where do ideas come from, after all, and how can we mine them most efficiently? Poe seemed to pull his grand idea out of the ether and gradually watched the gasses form into composition. He was accused of being a drunk and drug addict after his death, some of which was apparently true. There are ideas, and then there is the harder to reach area of where ideas come from. If I think about the latter, I tend to hesitate. Most of the time, I am grateful just to be having inspiration come to me at a reasonable pace while I am in the studio. The rest is hard work.

See you next week.

Grad School: Week 22, The Work at Hand, The Future, and New Images

Even as you are reading this, engineers in Silicon Valley are hard at work on new ways to delight you - gathering the entire field of aesthetic experience onto a single screen you'll be able to roll up like a paperback and stick in your back pocket. It's safe to say that delight won't be in short supply, and as long as there is juice in the battery, we won't have to feel alone. But will we be alone? Literature, to a degree unique among the arts, has the ability to both frame the question and to affect the answer. This isn't to say that, measured in terms of cultural capital or sheer entertainment, the delights to which most contemporary 'literary fiction' aims to treat us aren't an awful lot. It's just that, if the art is to endure, they won't quite be enough."

- Garth Risk Hallberg, from the essay "Why Write Novels at All?"

Although this quote is about the ability of fiction to ease the sense of lonliness, and fiction's possibilities moving forward, the quote reminds me of Kevin Crowe's essay, The Work at Hand, in which he states, "Handmade is not enough." Functional potters often take a hard look at themselves and ask, "what can I offer a world that seems indifferent?" I think The Work at Hand answers this question far better than thousands of other artists statements about the joys of the kitchen, the interaction between maker and user, and the potter imagining food in the bowl they are making at the time. He says what everyone else is trying to say.

It can difficult to take a hard look at why you do something creative, for dubious monetary rewards, that is labor intensive and often very frustrating. Why put yourself through it? Are there any other reasons to do it besides the fact you enjoy it? Is there any moral ground to stand on? Difficult questions, right? I'll leave the answers to you. Just write them on the back of a palette of high fire clay and send it on to Welcome to the Yard.

Please go on over to my website to take a look at the last round of pictures. Here is a sneak peak of a dinnerware set I made towards the end of last year. I have always believed in leaving the top of the dinner plate a smooth eating surface, while I consider the bottom of the plate to be mine to do with what I like. Food communicates so much important information. Too much decoration and one could confuse their carrots for peas, their pasta for brushwork, simply not notice that there is a beautiful meal in front of them, or mistake that grey morsel as edible.

There is a lot of work in progress at the studio. I have slow dried these long boat forms to a point where they are growing green mold. They are pretty large and I just needed to take my time. The rest of the work is moving along. Things are in process. Always in process. Thanks for reading.

Grad School: Week 21: Questions, Snowy Owls, and Nature's Refrain

"There is a symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folding bud ready for the spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains from nature - the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter."

-Rachel Carson, from The Sense of Wonder

Here in Nebraska and much of the area, Snowy Owls are wandering south from the arctic in search of food. They are arriving emaciated as there is an imbalance in the predator to prey ratio up north. Perhaps there are too many Owls this year and not enough Lemmings, or the Lemmings themselves are in crisis, forcing juvenile owls south in search of food. Whatever is happening in their normal feeding grounds is out of balance.

This was the first week officially back in school and it got off to a raging start. As you can see, I am starting to find my way around a Nikon, and eventually will be sending these images through photoshop for some trimming and adjusting. Learning these new tools will require adaptation, but certainly less than a juvenile Snowy Owl is requiring this time of year.

These rudimentary photos are indicative of the psychic and formal split that is happening in the studio right now. I am making low-fire wall pieces that are narrative and personal, and also good old fashioned salt-fired pottery. Do I want to make art in the realm of ideas, or follow my gut, and throw functional forms? I don't have that answer at the moment. Will there be a marriage between the two? Again, no answers.

The air here in Lincoln is dry, and grass has trouble growing properly. Fall was indecisive and it is unclear when, and if, the trees will fully lose their leaves. Week 21 went by quickly, as they all have. A little factual information about the second semester of graduate school: I am taking three credits of Greek Sculpture, three credits in a Colloquium focusing on criticism, and five credits in the studio, creating questions that are hard to answer. Ever wonder what graduate school is like? I did for years before coming here. So there is at least one question I have an answer for.

Next week I promise some photos from the studio of pots in process, and other announcements. Until then, I will be silently praying for a Packers/Patriots Super Bowl while on the exterior, I will be working at this second semester in Lincoln. Thanks for reading and have a good week.

Grad School: Week 20, To MFA or not to MFA

"One's life begins on so many occasions, constructing itself out of accidents derived from coincidence compounded by character (only the last is ordained, if it is ordained)."

-Donald Hall, from Unpacking the Boxes

Over the years, I have received a lot of opinions about potters going to graduate school. Just last post, Dan Finnegan brought this question up again. There really is no answer, just as there no answer to what a correctly made pot is. I have heard people with MFA's describe non-degreed potters as envious, and working potters describe academics as poor makers.

Working potters tend to feel like they earn their bread more honestly and academic potters seem more willing to embrace conceptual pots. I'm generalizing here. The grass does always seem to be greener on the other side of the fence.

Would you trade your health insurance for more time in the studio? Do you require financial security over independance? Do you make things that people want to buy? Are you an excellent teacher? Have you got a bad back? Debt? Can't stand young people? How much do you even want to think about the objects you make? In what context? Potters don't need to go to graduate school. Everyone needs different things in order to continue producing at a high level. Maybe you need a new roof more than a challenging change in artistic direction? Teachers and working potters are both vulnerable to life's necessities sneaking into their artistic work. An MFA also does not equal teaching at the college level. In light of these questions, i'm going to post most of my letter of intent to actually get into school. I had never seen one of these before writing mine, so maybe this will open up the attic door a bit:

"Rather than narrow my focus, I will broaden my perspectives by taking risks and exploring old and new work in order to better inform my own practice. I have been influenced by David Pye’s book, The Nature and Art of Workmanship, in which he refers to two types of working: “the craftsmanship of certainty,” and “the craftsmanship of risk.” I have come to believe that a sustainable studio practice requires a balance of both. I want to use my time in an MFA program to take more risks that will in turn influence the balance of these vital elements in my own studio.

At the same time, I am hungry for the opportunity to articulate and defend the aspects of pottery that I find essential. This will help me to identify and shed the non-essential and build skills to crystallize how I think about my work. I will examine the historical context in which my work falls, explore themes beyond utility, and further investigate brushwork as a surface treatment. In researching these avenues, I will evolve as a craftsman and produce work that more accurately reflects my vision.

Functional pottery seems abundantly relevant to me and requires little or no internal justification. However, in the past several years I have found myself in communities that are largely indifferent to the handmade object. In collaboration with the faculty and other students, I want to investigate the cultural relevance of making utilitarian work.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a professional potter. I believe that craftsmanship and thoughtful making are the foundations not only of a successful studio practice but also of a rich life. For the first time, I know that I am prepared to enter an MFA program. I want to ask difficult questions of my pots, stretch intellectually, and incorporate new sources of inspiration into my work."

So there it is. Could one have accomplished all this at home in three years? Perhaps. I knew that I couldn't. I don't know why other potters go to graduate school, but there are my reasons. Thanks for reading and Happy New Year.

Aaron

Grad School: Week 19

To be of use
by Marge Piercy

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

Next week is back to school for me and back to work for many others. I don't have too much to describe this week. We drove from Maine to Nebraska in two days and are slowly acclimating. We heard this interview with Maurice Sendak on the radio, somewhere in Western Iowa. It is a beautiful twenty minutes about life, growing older, and beauty. Happy New Year.