staging obsessions

The most basic goal of staging is to tell a story about the object such as scale, function, style. Since I am one of those curious people who must push the boundaries, the staging of my pottery requires many props that get moved around and regrouped until something intuitive inside me says its right. This nesting bowl set is in  my Valentine collection. The heart formed in the negative space of  bits of winter garden finds and pieces pinched from a bouquet alludes to VD. I like to use bits from my own life. My husband surprised me with flowers. It was an exceptionally warm day so I enjoyed scavenging the garden. I've been scouring Pinterest for a dessert treat to bake and send to my college girl. So the story of my bowls is richer than size and color. It is about the love transmitted in cookies and gardening and getting something delightful that was unexpected.

Each staged picture is a small collage of the everyday magic in m life.

River Journey Series

My two favorite things in clay are textures, especially lace textures, and glazes that flow. The River Journey series has the colors from my whitewater rafting trips on the French Broad River, and this one captured that essence perfectly.

I may not go rafting for another month as I am still fragile, recovering from surgery. These colors still call to me, perhaps even more urgently as memories than as experiences in real time.  I think of that exhilarating moment going over rapids, scenery blurring, control suspended, and what it is to be no more than a leaf taken by a strong current. Isn’t it ironic that most of our lives are spent trying to get or maintain control, while the nanoseconds of exquisite joy occur during abandon and surrender. Perhaps this is why I layer 7-10 glazes and stack them in the kiln, never knowing what the heck will happen.

Like this one.

The Circle: Chranukah

A clever and talented perfume maker and blogger, Roxana of Illuminated Perfume, asked me to participate in a holiday round robin Advent-ure. For each day of the Christian Advent, a different blogger creates their own little post about scent and its relationship to the experience of the holiday season. If you enjoy my post, check out the links above to read all the posts in this series!

We are a blended tradition family who celebrate the Christmas of my Episcopalian childhood with the Chanukah of my husband's faith, in a season that we now refer to in our household as Chranukah. Time has smoothed the blend, and I can now sing the Hebrew blessings as artfully as my husband hangs outdoor lights of blue and white, but it wasn't always that way.

In our first holiday season together in one household, it became painfully obvious that the plethora of Christmas decoration swallowed up our menorah, the carols hogged the airwaves, and the cookies, candies, and cakes were like painted harlots vying for attention with a singular plate of latkes. My husband and his sons were woefully uncomfortable.

Our new kitten, aptly named Loca, created the comic relief that smoothed over our tension by perpetually stealing baby Jesus from our nativity scene and leaving Him to be found under pillows, in a shoe, or under a chair. One day Baby Jesus went missing, not to be found, and we had a whole Christmas with a manger scene that lacked Jesus.

The next spring, while tending to the new growth in our gardens, my husband burst into the house, holding the tiny sewn figure, and exclaimed "I found Jesus!" My daughter and I laughed ourselves silly! "Don't tell your mother!" "Don't tell my mother what?" "Don't tell your mother that you found Jesus! She'll think we've converted you!"

This story is told every year as we hang ornaments, and put our nativity scene under the tree. We now eat gingerbread Star of David cookies, and send batches to my in-laws who love them. I've become a great latke chef, and make homemade applesauce, so those smells now evoke our holiday memories: gingerbread, fresh and pungent applesauce, steaming plates of latkes. And Baby Jesus still maintains a slightly earthy scent. What we are all celebrating is not really so different, or so it seems to me. Hope. Miracles. The light that comes into the world and our hearts and cannot be extinguished.