A place for everything and everything in its place
This collection is mostly about birth and the time that immediately follows. Specifically, it’s about exposure and vulnerability tied to the transience from the bodily womb to the external caretaker. Having been adopted as a newborn, I’m investigating the idea that where we are born is not necessarily where we belong, and how, when, and why the time between those two places is resolved, if ever. Through ceramic techniques, I am exploring dynamisms in objects appearing hard or soft, heavy and light, and in ideas about presence versus absence.
On the bones
The bones are about trust—like the trunk of a tree, they represent both structure and temporality and exist as a reference point for the soft forms.
The bed, the womb, as a vessel
Sleep comes more easily to some than others; sleep can be powerful. In sleep we wrap ourselves with linens and blankets and curl our bodies, as if hearkening to the womb as our source of incubation. The soft forms are an attempt to express the delicate trust we put in this comfort.
Just pulled this guy out of a residual salt kiln this week.
The Fruit Loop
A well-timed retreat with well-chosen friends.
Today a woman justified suicide to me (the idea of it, not hers or mine). Another recommended crystal meditation and acupuncture. A third mentioned I seemed melancholy.
Evidently I need more optimistic men in my life.
My proposal for the Art on the Vine auction was turned down, though I was “promoted” to assistant camp director for Art Adventures. Perhaps it was written in the stars.
I laughed at the Sedaris passage. Not that I’d snort coke out of a found fifty, but that my attitude towards my opportunities often start out on the bright, sunny side of opto-idealistic and by the end have traveled to the deep, dark waters of pessi-realism.
As many goals I say I’ve accomplished, I’d say I have at least twice as many balls that never got rolling (that one was too easy).
I guess there’s a skill required to decide what’s worth the pursuit and what’s not and how much effort is worth sacrificing to redirect one’s attention towards a more promising solution. I feel like all I’ve done this year is justify my decisions and economize my actions, though they only served as extremely short-term goals to get through the day or the semester, which is over now. Now I have to find a way to migrate my summer—to quote a textbook title—-from surviving to thriving.
But for now, Sinatra and my battery meter are telling me that I should shut down for the night.
The day after graduating from college, I found fifty dollars in the foyer of my Chicago apartment building. The single bill had been folded into eights and was packed with cocaine. It occurred to me then that if I played my cards right, I might never have to find a job… I didn’t want to become one of those coots who combed the beaches of Lake Michigan with a metal detector, but if I paid attention and used my head, I might never have to work again.
"The following afternoon, hung over from cocaine, I found twelve cents and an unopened tin of breath mints. Figuring in my previous fifty dollars, that amounted to an average of twenty-five dollars and six centes per day, which was still a decent wage.
"The next morning, I discovered two pennies and a comb matted with short curly hairs. The day after that I found a peanut. It was then that I started to worry.
Naked, by David Sedaris
This conference was especially eye-opening. It’s starting to make me think harder about applying to grad schools, even potentially PSU!
Just watched this tonight at Portland’s Cinema 21. My jaw actually dropped.
I came upon this poem early this morning. As it was the first thing I read on my 24th birthday, I thought it held some significance.
This song popped up on my borrowed iPod (courtesy Julia Mantey) and it just happened to sync beautifully with my enlightened mood now that school is out and the sun is shining in Portland.