La Capretta Studio & Garden

Taking the fun out of it... (Wed, 09 Mar 2011)
On the Metro, Acrylic on Canvas Sheet, 18"x 24" Art at the Mill is described as, "one of the premier art shows in the mid-Atlantic region, attracting artists and buyers from over a dozen states."  The show does offer a huge number of works from 300 amateur to professional artists.  Eleven years ago the pig painting I entered seemed the most likely to sell because of the predominance of pastoral landscapes, animal portraits and other bucolic works that dominate the show.  Instead my view of St. Peter's cupola with a male figure from behind in a winter coat was the one to sell. This year will be my second attempt to exhibit.  Of the five pieces submitted one was accepted.  A pensive portrait of a little girl wise beyond her years, it seemed the most likely to be noticed.  Although it is well painted, it was not remarked upon by many in my small circle of artists.  Remember we paint for ourselves, not for anyone else, right?  But what about selling art-- is it to please the artist or the buyer? Bastava Baciarmi, Acrylic on Canvas Sheet, 18"x 24" This figure study has received the most attention from my circle of artists in recently posted works. Perhaps it is the daring nature of a nude that makes others stop to stare.  Objectively the painting is brighter, more boldly painted, and not overworked into awkwardness. I felt more free as I was painting this than I did with On the Metro.  This work was also submitted for Art at the Mill.  It isn't too surprising that it was not accepted.  I do live in Virginia, and I can't remember the last time there was a nude hanging at the Mill.  Or it could be that the cropped composition and surreal background just did not suit their look this year. Offering such a work for consideration makes me that much more vulnerable.  Something I painted to make myself happy does not necessarily garner the approval of others. I'll be curious to see what else hangs this Spring.  Putana della Miseria, Pencil on Paper (my most viewed on flickr for no apparent reason other than someone looking for a tattoo design with hearts and flames) The process of offering work for consideration, even if it's just to ask a loved one, "What do you think?" is risky.  What lives in our minds and hearts is not normally on display.  As an artist the exposure to the opinion of others can be detrimental to our creativity if not processed with a grain of salt.  We have never lived in an age where images are so readily available as they are now.  The act of someone choosing to look at your painting, much less go through the effort of framing and installing it into their life, can be a huge commitment.  If I were to live on painting, there would be that much more risk involved.  Perhaps that is what it takes to be truly daring and liberated as an artist.  After all, buyers are paying for a unique piece of the artist that only they have procured.  With so many Artistes in the world, however, the cachet of ownership has become diluted.  In a relationship with privileged patrons the onus is on the artist to really stand out.   Embrace, Acrylic on Canvas Sheet, 16"x20" One way to be noticed is to widen my circle of potential patrons.  This month I posted work for sale on Etsy.  Although the pedigree of this electronic venue may not compare with that of Art at the Mill, I should be more likely to find patrons by casting my nets across the globe.  If nothing else, the twenty cents it costs to post a work on Etsy is a lot cheaper than the $40 application fee to even be considered for display at a local show.  How's it going so far?  Well, the game of getting noticed via social media is a lot more work than I realized.  Even on Etsy, it's about who you know and who knows you.  Eager to set up my community, I immediately searched for artists I admired.  There are no shortages of brilliant artists out there.  There is even a handy group called Finding Fine Art which aims, "to provide a unique shopping experience for fine art collectors seeking original art on Etsy."  Sounds so easy in some ways.  I have posted seventeen items for sale, all created in a six month creative growth spurt.  No purchases so far, but I have been told by my friends to be patient.  So I will.  Regardless of selling or not, I paint.
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Figuring Next Out (Thu, 13 Jan 2011)
Davanti le Porte, 16'x20', Acrylic on Canvas, 2011 All of December has gone.  The holidays and cold kept me from the studio, but I have set up shop in my kitchen again.  My course-work with Mary Ann Wakely is almost done.  Painting with her has opened up so many doors that it is hard to choose the next step.  It will involve the body and portraiture-- I'm just not sure how.  After playing with paint under tutelage, a thrilling return to images and ideas long stock-piled has become possible.  Slave to the photograph in the past, I am now eager to paint past the pre-conceived and captured image.  Portraits and figures have always taunted me with their illusive nature.  In turn my work on the canvas is usually labored and frustrated.  With new found freedom in paint, I hope that the forced quality of past projects will fade. Orage, 16'x20', Acrylic on Canvas, 2010 Before considering the challenges to overcome, why not celebrate what I have gained in the last 2 months?  Comparing the first painting of the class with this most recent work offers an excellent window into the changes not only in my work, but in myself.  The very first painting is difficult to look at without seeing the possibilities of hind sight.  I had an experience in my head that I wanted to capture.  There in lies the problem: capturing implies some kind of control, possession and/or seizure.  It offered the comfort of structure initially, but as I worked I found myself painted into corners without satisfying solutions.  As an initial effort it showed promise of how I might not create corners in future paintings.  And so I sent it off in the mail to Mary Ann to help me move on to the next painting.  It was liberating to let go of something that seemed so precious.  I was free for the next step.  Davanti le Porte is not corner-free, however, my eye and mind move more freely through the composition and color.  It plays with my imagination in a way that Orage cannot. Inside Saturn, 18'x24'?, Acrylic on Canvas, 2010 The most surprising painting of the class is Inside Saturn.  Its process was a painful, ugly with a middle phase that looked like an aquarium on a mottled, multi-colored mess with sienna, green, orange and blue in all the wrong places.  The goal was to allow myself to make an ugly painting.  I hated it so much I didn't even photograph it in that awkward middle stage.  Here is the under-painting, I think. Something called Palette Fingers I.  Painted at the end of the day to rid Palette Fingers I, 2010 my palette of paint in preparation for the next day-- it seemed a hopeful final gesture as the sun set in the studio.  Looking at them side by side they have a similar abandon to an intuitive release with only the color and brush as structure.  I would be able to look at these for years before I tired of the meandering energy and possibilities in the forms.  It was that middle step where I forced myself to make an ugly painting where the corners built themselves around my head.  Mary Ann and I were having one of our sessions over google video when Inside Saturn came to life.  I credit the ability to make a silk purse from a sow's ear to a synergy in working side by side with another artist who so easily abandons herself to that intuitive play with whatever is in her hand.    Al Ronego, A Casa, 24'x24', Acrylic on Birch Plywood And then the holidays came with the demands of family and a need to gift something home-made from the heart.  People love having an artist in the family to paint their myths.  Recovering and fallen Catholics still love pulling one out just in time for Christmas Eve.  It almost makes up for never going to church.  I wanted to please my mother without taming my new found freedom.  So I painted her child-hood home with reckless grass, dirt and trees in greens and masses of brown, blue and purple that I simultaneously tangled and combed until satisfied.  The composition is dead-simple and the patron almost impossible to disappoint-- a loose enough structure to try on my new independence from corners.  She was happy and I was happy.  What next? Davanti le Porte, (progress) I came across some night-time photos of Italy taken with an unsteady hand and an improper setting on the digital camera.  The energy of the bouncing light and unclear buildings seemed a likely subject to explore with free-flowing intuition at the helm.  I set to work capturing an accident-- how foolish!  It almost worked until the cookie cutter planter painted itself in the middle ground, and the realization that the awning was never going to behave.  That was it.  I had to destroy some of these corners.  I flung light gold paint and lazer lines of light until it hummed with the unclarity of bad photography and happy accident.  Suddenly the interiors were alive.  The title made complete sense.  In front of the doors, but also inside from where energy was leaking out into the alley.  A cathedral of unstructured abandon emerged.  I came across a much more masterful painting like this by Vittoria Ramondelli called Cardini in my travels to Rome in June.  It haunted me immediately and echoes had emerged on my canvas 7 months later.  This is why I signed up for the class with Mary Ann.  Not to copy Vittoria's work, but to force myself to abandon my self so I might tap the same well. On a high from escaping the corners, I met with Mary Ann via google video this week.  Like the dying Fawkes in Harry Potter, we both weren't sure of what was next.  Buoyed by the inspiration of works like these and my own recent applauded attempt at an abstract nude, I felt less like Fawkes. In the Afternoon by Peter G Hall Nude by Kamyanov Igor V nu allongé by Olivier Rouault Figure Study, 8'x10', Acrylic on Canvas, 2010 The optimism was short lived as I tackled my next canvas.  Mary Ann asked me what I wanted to do-- play with the paint until the figure emerged.   The result was not the intuitive accident I was looking for.  An unhappy Mayan War Goddess appeared with disproportioned limbs, chest and head.  Where was my graceful nude floating in an ethereal bath of light and shapes?  The energy was the same stubborn energy of capture from the beginning of my class with Mary Ann.  With any luck I can put hard earned awareness to use and paint with greater satisfaction next week.  As for Art with Mary Ann II, I am not sure what the curriculum could be.  I do know that looking at this strange portrait there isn't a lot of worry. The key is to abandon the new corner I have painted myself into.  What next?  Learn to draw the figure without control, possession and/or seizure.  Simple drawings, watercolor, something to carry me through harsh January and February.  My last session is next week.  Perhaps I'll just wait and see what happens. 
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I just don't Know (Tue, 02 Nov 2010)
I had artist envy at a very early age.  My first-grade art teacher loved the work of a Korean girl in our class.  She didn't speak much (if any) English.  I remember her water colors.  He would have to take them away from her before she rubbed a hole in it from all her work.  She would get very upset with him when he told her they were done.  I remember her struggling to keep the piece of paper on her desk.  They were beautiful.  The memory of the push and pull between artist and teacher tugs at me when I stand in front of the canvas still.  I need that first grade teacher to take away the paints and put me in front of a new blank mind this week. Here is Thing 2 in Progress:  The chiaroscuro underpainting  The initial explosion of color.   I shudder when I see sienna anywhere near green... and still it happens.  I love the upper left hand corner, but that egg shaped horizon would not shake loose.  It was on purpose to prevent any frenzied flipping.  Must control something.  The break in the horizon helped, but the right hand tree had disappeared in a parallel river path to the ochre distance.  Bring the pink into the foreground and break up the right with black.  Over thinking things? Yes.  But can't I fall in love with the neurosis of it all?  Some people stab away at a canvas for years. It could be the cold that has crept into the Eastern Mid-Atlantic and the half naked trees in post peak splendor.  Either way, today was rough going.  Not wanting to waste the rest of the paint and the lovely birch board I had primed, out came this before leaving:  Which way is up? I just don't know.
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Which Way is Up? (Mon, 01 Nov 2010)
Clumpy paints from years ago.  Bumpy canvas.  Stray brush hairs.  A paying job demands attention.  Immediate creative vertigo.  Swimming in cold weather, ill prepared with an expectation of warmth outside the door, I made it to the studio with a lavender hat, a pink scarf and my thermos.  Thanks to passive solar radiation it was warm.  In spite of well laid under-paintings, today seemed like a waste of last week's enthusiastic preparation for a new fluency in my painting.  It wasn't.  Read on and you'll see. Last Friday I wanted to paint large.  The tubes of liquitex felt skimpy.  Why not use the paints purchased for summer camp 6 or more years ago? First there was some black.  Shiny thick with a hint of blue, it made a great first mark on the birch plywood.  It felt somber, so out came the white. The brush marks of the hardware store 2 inch brush were sponged away here and there.  Cheap paint disintegrates into its component colors really well with water washes. The hint of payne's grey and purple were not intentional.  The other thing about these particular paints is that they don't dry right away.  While waiting, I pulled out 2 hand stretched canvases primed with gesso that had frozen and thawed at least 4 times.  It felt like a layer of sand under white paint.  I hoped the color would help.  Grey alone was too superficial.  Raw Umber, Burnt Umber, Burnt Sienna, Raw Sienna?  How about red, yellow and a dash of blue?  With a little black it became umber and on its own it came close to sienna.  As drier flecks of paint rose to the surface, they were slid off the canvas with a brush and washed away in the bucket of water.  This was slower and less magical than expected, but it was a road map for something waiting in my mind.  An abstract chiaroscuro with major components of the composition appeared like an out of focus sepia print. It would be perfect when I came back to the studio on Monday... right? Inspired by some of the pictures snapped on my phone, I was working toward the strong contrast of October light on the trees and grass.  If I start with an idea of a tree, it usually turns out to be anything but.  It felt childish.  Separate parts of a scene would pop into my head--yellow leaves, horizon, sky, trunk.  With the brush I wandered from icon to icon.  The idea was to get the color out in a new way.  Unfortunately the distraction of sand and loose hairs from the brush made me want to leave.  In a moment of intense disappointment, I flung the canvas across the room.  It was also time to do some paper-work and have a "Farm Meeting".  Checking out physically and mentally was the best way to put a day and a half of  seemingly wasted work into perspective.  My call with Mary Ann would surely give me some guidance. She did give me a lot of ideas, but they fell on somewhat cynical ears today.  At 3pm I came back with these synthesized pearls.  Some days conditions are crap.  Just get to work.  And so I did.  I abandoned good brush technique that would just be a waste on uncooperative ground.  My  hardware store brush worked just fine, but I was caught in the icons swimming in my head.  I just kept working really fast and flipping the canvas every time I felt like flinging it across the studio.  Tom Waits was on.  If he can make music out of junkyards, I could make something out of this mess. The staid landscape icons faded. As I continued to flip the canvas some interesting things were almost born: a raven, a woman's face, a female torso, huge owl eyes.  Tempting as they were, I kept painting them away.  My technique: make smaller studies in a round robin of frenzied activity only on the parts that itched each time I flipped the canvas.  Was I playing with the paints?  Yes.  And it was as decadently satisfying as alternating spoons of peanut butter with bites of chocolate. At some point, glutton's remorse set in.  Just what the heck was I doing?  Although there were some excellent pieces of paint, which way was up?  The horizontal sky on top of a quilt of color was not completely disorienting; however, it was not what I wanted.  It felt lazy and formulaic.  So I took it out in the sunshine for a photo.  It's strange how the camera can act as a fresh pair of eyes.  I saw the beauty, but I wanted vertical instead of horizontal.  Solution: flip it again, consolidate some warm colors in the center with ochres, and let the orchid invade the column of green on the right.  To my surprise, the canvas started to behave.  With fingers and brush I had tamed it. The crazy thing is, as I type this way too late on a school night,  I wonder-- Did I go one step too far?  Who cares?  No, really.  It doesn't matter.  No matter the intention, after an honest process something living was born.  It changes each time I look at it.  Even with the moments of intense doubt I come back to it.  The beauty of photography is the ability to preserve as you go.  I can have step four and five if I want, and step five is growing on me.  At the end of the day Thing 1 was put aside, and my new favorite ritual was repeated: clean the palette.  It's as meditative as washing the dishes after a huge, delicious meal.  This time there is a little more structure to the process.  It hit me as I was leaving the Food Lion last Thursday.  Here is what it looks like in the first few stages.  Working with a photo in my head and off to the side of the canvas, avoids a lot of the pressure to make something just as it is.  I'll let you know how it turns out.
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Week One: Getting There Part 2 (Fri, 22 Oct 2010)
Thursday is busy at Smith Meadows Kitchen and has been since the business began in 2003 when I was making all the pasta, ravioli and sauces for weekend markets.  Yikes! It's hard to believe that 7 years later I can spend a Thursday morning in the studio.  The feel of failure from the night before had faded.  Forrest and the farm apprentices were moving the cattle, the air was crisp, my staff of two was in the kitchen making ravioli, and I was free to get into the studio.  On the way I showed our farm hand, Robert Albright, my current work in progress.  "What ya got there? Purple, green, blue and some white. That's real nice. You want some gum?" His smile and the stick of gum was just right, in spite of his skeptical glance at my canvas.  I might not need my tea today.  With the clarity that morning can bring, the white smear that spelled failure last night became the ocean I had once tried to paint in this piece early in 2010. Or was it clouds? The emptied palette needed to be scraped clean with fresh paints added.  My old glass palette was irreplaceable for how easily it shed dried chunks.  Nonetheless, I couldn't keep wasting so much paint, so the deviled egg holder with lid has taken its place.  I can't resist a complete rainbow when getting started.  The sickly sea green from Florida dominated the right corner of the canvas, but with some orchid, naples yellow and parchment Girogione's sky might appear.  There was sea spray in the white.  There would be sand (somewhere) and the irrepressible horizon would emerge.  It was all unavoidable.  What to do about the accidental blunder of sienna and hunter green that met too early?  Greys are the most fascinating part of mixing color.  I flirt on the edge of mud with many combinations of opposing hues.  Shades of green and red have always been my least favorite (an aversion to Christmas?). Payne's grey and phthalo blue (green shade) to the rescue with some gloss varnish medium.  No more mud where the ocean appeared, but what about the upper left?  The same tension from Orage had presented itself in the new canvas.  To the left was more sienna/hunter mud, and to the right were some distinct masses of sand fading into a payne's grey horizon line. It was resolved with a similar solution as in Orage.  A slow drying gel mixed with some iridescent medium into sienna and more orchid as it touched the sky.  Then a touch of lemon yellow on parchment, on raw sienna in the very top left to give a reason for the misty haze that creeped toward the sunny sand. How did I end up with the exact same tension in the second canvas? Was it resolved any better in this piece?  Beyond the Sea may not be fully realized.  The right still struggles for some kind of comprehension, but the ambiguous quality draws my eye from one side to the other.  I do miss the first intensity of the white splash of finger paint from the under painting now that it has been toned down with warmer whites. Two landscapes have surprised me this week.  My rambles in color remain closer to full expression rather than the short hand that abstraction should be.  After emptying my palette on Wednesday I came home to the books just arrived from amazon.  Two completely new artists for me: Joan Mitchell and Howard Hodgkin.  For a girl who loves Vermeer, it's close to impossible to sit down with abstract expressionism without some unease.  Tempting to dismiss Mitchell as a Pollock pop-version of Monet, and align Hodgkin with complete incomprehension.  But if I hadn't looked at them, I would never have found the sea spray in my mud. What next? Do I continue with landscape? Intentionally?  Do I put some rectangles down instead of my spiraling rainbows of paisley underpaintings? How about limiting my color choice? I have a zillion photos begging to be translated onto canvas in some short hand.  There's that series of children's portraits I am hoping to enter in Art at the Mill in the Spring.  And what about Etsy?  I have no clue, except I am going to the studio tomorrow with some tea in a thermos and my son.
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Week One: Getting There Part 1 (Fri, 22 Oct 2010)
Last week walking into the studio was my greatest accomplishment.  This week I exploded into my paints and canvas.  After a conversation with Mary Ann Wakeley on Monday, I set up my tasks for the week: Set Up Studio so I Don't Have to Clean Up Get Music  Start Introducing Myself with Business Cards "Nancy Polo, Artist" Play with color on whatever I get my hands on Etsy? Tuesday brought my first opportunity to march right in and get to work after a brief clean and set up on Monday night.  My trouble is filtering out a stream of impulses and ideas that rarely make it to the page, but I set to work with no real plan.  The first effort was rough.  Chalk Pastel on paper.  Much as I'd like to believe that dust and mess don't bother me, they just plain do.  I grabbed a set of pastels I had purchased long ago to do a portrait of my nephew and a piece of raw sienna paper from a painting class in 1998.  "Just put the color down." So I did, and this is what I got after playing with it for about 30 minutes.  I used my fingers, my fingers in gardening gloves, a brush with some acrylic paint (when I could not get the depth I wanted), and a rubber tipped shaper.  Having not received the books on my class reading list yet, I was itching to figure out where I stood with what I had just made.  The title: Acqua, Piume e Finestra (Water, Feathers and Window).  Vaguely reminiscent of my obsession with Venice and Carnival.  The result was well received on flickr by contacts who don't normally comment, which should lead to me believe it is successful.  I have my doubts. Next I grabbed my palette with left-over paint from my last project Still not Emma Grace. I duct taped a piece of canvas sheet onto a board.  With a vague idea of driving through the apple orchard on a sunny day, and a memory of a photograph borrowed from my friend Patrice on facebook, I laid down the colors: sienna, white, cerulean blue, portrait pink, light orchid, dioxin purple, sea green, umber, ochre and some payne's gray (perhaps some parchment and naples yellow).  Happily my memory did not cloud the process too much.  While listening to Pandora station based on Bobby Darin, I danced across the canvas sheet.  I was overwhelmed to see what appeared.  Driving during the Spring and early Fall can be dangerous for me.  The light plays with everything and I see the most gorgeous landscapes, but I can't stop along the highway to capture it all.  It never seems to be as good when I stop.  The motion of driving and ever shifting horizons is what I am after.  Trying to get it has almost gotten me into several car accidents.  Listening to music while hopped up on my thermos of green tea chai (another necessity in the studio), I could almost enact the feeling of driving through the landscape in an explosion of color.  With my trusty phone camera I captured my work and set about transforming it almost immediately.  I was avoiding attachment. I had not gone far enough into the process to merit calling it DONE. Really? Next came the search to really recreate in paint a specific day in the orchard.  As a crutch (on the right side of the canvas) I used the idea of an old sycamore discovered on a walk with David and his kids.  He showed me how it was hollow.  Squirrels live inside these hollow trees, coming in and out of small holes in a rodent shutes and ladders.  In my mythology of iconic landscape components, these dinosaur sycamores play over and over again.  It served as an excellent support to the mental process conjuring itself in my head and on the canvas.  What I was really after was still so illusive and somewhere on the left side of the canvas.  Imagine two old apple trees in a staggered arch above your car as you are driving on a dirt road through an autumn morning.  The trees were hugging me in my vehicle with the sun.  Yes, somehow I want and need to paint something so impossible.  At the end of an hour or two of work this materialized.  Linus was on his way home and I had to meet him at the B&B where he gets dropped off.  Take a break and let it dry some. Wednesday afternoon in the the studio brought more progress, but I was less absorbed by my memories.  The canvas had taken hold of me and it was no longer a conversation with my memory.  It was now a push and pull of left and right.  The left side harbored some strange middle creature of hunter green and tree.  The right side was a pronounced real tree with roots growing across the horizon.  Playing with some smaller brushes I began breaking up the plain into successively smaller, receding plains.  The orchid was vying for space with the fake sea green that belonged somewhere in a painting of palm trees in Florida.  Yellow ochre and sienna (raw and burnt) happily toned down the competing colors.  I continued to play and listen to Rat Pack music.  It was heaven.  Every now and then I felt Bob Ross creeping into the process and he was quickly shut out by adding more of this or that in a very messy way.  How deliciously unlike me.  The only unresolved part was hunter green asking for shape with some electric yellow green and dioxin purple.  What was happening on the left side?  Was it a cloud, a storm or some leaves thousands of feet away moving in?  I solved the problem with purple haze and iridescent gel contrasted with clouds in the middle of the sky for balance in the composition. The afternoon was broken up again by Linus coming home.  Somehow he knew that Mamma wanted to be in the studio, so he stayed with me after Auntie Bet dropped him off.  We played, we listened to music (some India Arie playlist mixed in with indulgent 80's dance tunes).  He loved it.  He even painted a bit by himself.  I was happy to see my critter working with paint as I abandoned myself to the canvas.  When he was done, he wandered into the sandbox in front of the studio.  I should have worried about his ruined khaki's, but I painted instead.  After Orage was done, I ripped off the duct tape and grabbed another piece of canvas sheet that was re-taped to the board with the same tape.  What now?  No idea. With no memories or visions to guide me, I emptied the contents of my palette onto the canvas.  Here's what happened.  It was originally a vertical piece with some unfortunate combination of browns and hunter green toward the bottom.  In an attempt to fix the mud, blue was added on top and in the middle.  I had no idea what would become of the sea green and mustard ochre that invaded the upper right.  The palette was almost completely clean.  Only some white and parchment lingered.  What do I do?  I smeared it on in the center with my fingers.  Complete failure.  Unresolved and looking like nothing.  I decided to go home with my critter and eat dinner. As I type this out on a busy Friday, I am 10 minutes late getting to the commercial kitchen to make Mrs. Ratszenberger's Short Rib soup: a trial run for Smith Meadows Cooking Classes and some for the farmers market.  More on painting to come later...
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What's Next at La Capretta (Wed, 13 Oct 2010)
My Girls Lynsi and Kate This week I said good bye to my apprentices Lynsi Pasutti and Kate Westlund.  I had no idea how much of a doorway it would be.  I've been in many airport terminals, have walked out of many houses, and have felt the physical and emotional tug that comes from crossing into another dimension.  Each time I need decompression to properly assimilate into my new landscape.  The girls have left me, but I feel as though I am the one beginning a trip.  There's no destination, but I am on a precipice surrounded by everything I have worked over twelve years to put into place on this farm.  With Lynsi and Kate's help it was possible to uncover the dust on many wonderful parts of my life at Smithfield.  I have my son Linus, a modest business large enough to support me and Linus while I pursue my art, a staff that allows me to spend time in the studio, a gallery, and a comfortable home that I share with my fractured family.  In all ways I am poised to take a leap into an amazing life.  I have never been so terrified. Erysichthon in Dixie, by Clyde Broadway Yesterday I went to Border's in search of books for a correspondence course I just started with an artist, Mary Ann Wakeley.  I ordered most of what I wanted on Amazon, but I couldn't wait til Super Saver Shipping would have them at my door on November 1st.  In the paltry aisle of art books with only the most predictable on the shelf, a stranger said hello.  We exchanged names and a handshake.  He commiserated on the lack of anything interesting and mused over the former erotica section.  Since I can be shy, "Exit Stage Left" immediately came to mind, but I listened for a few more minutes.  Clyde told me his agent was pushing his new work down in Atlanta where he had entered some work recently for the Elizabeth and Mallory Factor Prize for Southern Art.  Overwhelmed by so many details shared in the span of a few minutes, my need to go look for my son in the children's section afforded me an opportunity to walk away.  Clyde found me later and recommended the magazine section which was more au courant.  He was right, however, nothing offered seemed appropriate.  With no Wassily Kandinsky: Concerning the Spiritual in Art or anything else on my list to be found, I settled for a book called New Acrylics Essential Sourcebook. Summer Reruns, by Clyde Broadway Today on facebook was a message from Clyde.  He encouraged me to keep painting and sent some links to his work.  Ain't the internet great? I only remember saying my first name and that I painted.  Curious to know about Clyde's work, of course I took a peak.  It is very reminiscent of Henri Rousseau with a modern Southern Gothic twist.  I particularly liked the work Summer Reruns. The Factor Prize site has an interesting array of artists, including its 2010 recipient Radcliffe Bailey.  Returnal, by Radcliffe Bailey His work on the African American Diaspora certainly merits accolades and contributes to a new understanding of the South.  His use of "culturally charged" objects and photographs creates harmony in an array of masterful sculptures, paintings, installations, works-on-paper, glass works and modified found objects.  His installation piece Returnal struck the strongest chord.  As always, prize winning work with cultural heft leaves me feeling small in the world of art.  More importantly, however, stumbling onto Bailey's work made me wonder how I could orchestrate harmony in my own body of work. Untitled, Chalk Pastel on Paper, Nancy Polo 2009 was a productive year of painting, photo montage, poetry, one clay work and lots of sketching.  2010 has been somewhat less productive, but that will change with coursework in Mary Ann's class and a renewed appreciation for my place on the farm.  This most recent work was done with stolen time after a bunch of Autumn mornings that begged to be painted.  Pastels are not my medium of choice, but they help me spit things out when under duress.  The sky has set the scene for many of my photographic works in the last two years.  Most often it has been the vehicle for muting drawings too raw to share.  In Autumn the earth meets the sky in spectacular light and color sending me into fits for not training as a plein air painter.  Abstraction has never worked for me, or at least no one close to me has ever said, "Wow! I love it when you do this."  Nonetheless, I am training with an abstract artist to see if I might achieve a harmony unattainable so far in my checkered career.  Many questions nag at me in spite of my joy over this new plan.  What about my bunnies?  Who's going to want my work?  What if I hit another wall?  Do I deserve to sit around and make art on a busy farm?  Shouldn't I be making more money with noodles instead of pastiche?  I could go on.  I'd rather get started and see where it takes me. Court Jester?, Pen and Ink on Paper, Nancy Polo So I proffer this blog as the first entry in my Artist Journal to be kept on a journey put off for far too long.  In homage to the Bunny who started my string of solid work in 2009, here is an early bunny piece made sometime between 2000 and 2005 (I think).  I rarely felt my work was worth signing or documenting before 2009.  The queen is holding court with a jester (perhaps) presenting his case?  It was a flash of something forgotten that made this one bubble to the surface.  I should thank that stranger Clyde for saying, "Keep on Painting." It still amazes me how easy it is to find a person on line with very little information.
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Classes and more at La Capretta (Thu, 10 Jun 2010)
La Capretta has a number of projects in the works, including two classes offered this Fall: Majolica Style Painted Pottery and  Natural Impressions in Clay.  These will be advertised through Clarke County's Parks & Recreation newsletter the Core, so stay tuned for scheduled times. Nancy will be teaching the majolica class and it will be geared toward adults and teenagers with an interest in painted pottery from Italy.  We will look at examples of traditional geometric and floral designs. Emphasis will be placed on a study of color, shape and brush technique.  We will use underglaze colored slips and cone 05 clear glaze on white bisqued blanks.  Students will first develop their palette and technique on a series of tiles.  They will then be allowed to choose 2 functional pieces to decorate with the skills that they have developed. Lynsi will be teaching a class geared toward children and older students.  Through an exploration of the indigenous plants on the farm that surrounds La Capretta studio, students will collect samples to impress on clay slabs in the studio.  The slabs will then be transformed into vessels, tiles or plates.  A focus will be placed on the incorporation of found objects into artwork that functions.  Lynsi now has her work on display at the Firehouse Gallery in Berryville, VA.  Her slab built cups, coil cups and hand made cards are on sale in the gallery.  Come by and see her work while you are in town. We are also going to be part of Clarke County's 3rd Annual Studio Tour on Saturday September 25 & Sunday September 26, 2010.  Stay tuned on the Clarke County website for upcoming events for the schedule. Nancy will be taking a trip to visit her family in Italy until July 9 with Linus.  She hopes to fill her entire sketch and recipe books with paintings, inspiration and more to bring back to share with her students and friends.  Keep an eye on La Capretta's facebook page for updates on her trip and Lynsi's updates on the studio.
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What Bunnies Do. (Wed, 12 May 2010)
What Bunnies Do Here is a link to our brochure for the most recent show at La Capretta Gallery called "What Bunnies Do".  Let us know what you think :^)
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What's a gallery without any art? (Wed, 12 May 2010)
From Lynsi I was very excited to return to La Capretta after what seemed to be such a long winter. A number of changes had taken place since I left in November including new flooring, doors, and trim along the stonewall. Our hopes and dreams of creating a gallery and meditation space were finally coming together! There was just one thing missing: a hanging system. With Farm Day quickly approaching, a fire was lit within us to make it happen. With the help of my imagination and a good friend's carpentry skills, we now have a space to be proud of. Nancy and I decided to showcase some of her bunny prints for the grand opening on Farm Day. I am very happy with how it all came together and am excited for the future of La Capretta Gallery. From Nancy Just as Lynsi-- I too was excited to see the new doors and floor in our gallery in March.  Thanks to Houseworks, we could now showcase art in La Capretta within a room much more inviting than a stained concrete floor for freezers.  I was scared to enter for some weeks after the room was complete.  Although I had been working on drawings and poems for most of 2009, I lacked the confidence to get it on the walls.  Lynsi's return and the prospect of hosting 160 guests on Farm Day(May 1, 2010) was the perfect way to push me into motion. My experience in galleries is limited to my college internships, but I remember the hanging system at the Dimock Gallery at GWU.  There were permanent braces on the wall from which works of varying sizes could be hung at "gallery height".  With Lynsi and her friend Tom we were able to figure out how to hang rectangular hooks from permanently strung wire.  The trick was finding the right frames and hardware from our local stores.  Although the staff at Solenberger's Hardware are the kindest and most patient souls on the planet, they don't always carry a large supply of obscure hardware.  With 4 trips to Home Depot, 1 to Solenberger's and 1 to Michaels, we were able to find what we needed.  The Bunny Pictures were ready by 5 pm on Friday April 30. With Linda Mc Carty's help Lynsi and I put the final touches on clean up and decoration.  We even had a fancy little brochure to accompany the show that I will post in a separate blog.  Now all we needed were guests to appear.  Farm Day was hectic to say the least.  The complete tour of the farm, catered lunch, cooking demonstrations and B&B tour exhausted most of our guests.  Precious few were still hanging out by the end of the day to visit the gallery.  To my surprise a modest crowd did appear to take a look at the Bunny Prints.  Even the Horsts (the Menonite family who butchers our animals at Smith Meadows) came to look and sign the guest book.  How I wish I could have been a fly on the wall as they looked at Narnia or some of the other more surreal drawings.  In spite of the modest response to our first show, Lynsi and I are energized to move on to other projects that will bring people to the gallery at La Capretta.  We are preparing to apply for the 2010 Clarke County Studio Tour and to host classes at the studio through Clarke County's Core program.  We have started to organize artist retreats through the B&B, and we have also begun to invite other artists to showcase their work in the gallery.  Please visit our site for updates on all of these wonderful projects and contact us via email if you are interested.
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Entering a Show (Fri, 19 Feb 2010)
I was recently asked by Ellyn Ferguson to enter some pieces in a show at the Del Ray Artisans in Alexandria.  It is a show co-sponsored by her group called Divas of Decoupage.  Here is a link to the gallery and the show that runs from March 5-21.  This is the first time I have entered my work in show, so I thought it something appropriate to commemorate in La Capretta's blog. Here is my artist statement: Art is an eloquent appeal to the senses from one human to whomever or whatever will look, listen and absorb.  I have had a brush, pencil, or crayon in my hand without knowing entirely what to say since childhood.  In 2009 I decided to start a more effective conversation through my artwork and (for the first time) my own poetry.  In variously rendered expressions of what I would love to say if truth were objective, I am no longer caught in a mute loop of staircase wit.  Rather than observe in regretful silence, I record my part of the exchange with my environment on the page.  In claiming the words and images, I am registering a reaction that would otherwise go unnoticed.  Why have I been mute?-- because I live in a world with others that requires me to speak in idioms I am not always proficient or fluent.  I stumble along as mother, daughter, wife, friend and business partner incapable of complete communication.  We are all ultimately limited by the human condition of living one moment in one body at a time.  The gaze has been the center of artistic debate since the conversation between audience and artist began.  Women have often been the object of this gaze as silent participants in an appeal that the artist is making to whomever will look or listen.  That is the nature of recorded observation.  My most recent work plays with the traditional structure for exchange in a space that is recently ubiquitous-- the internet.  I post my images and accompanying poems on a public website called Flickr where an anonymous audience may leave comment, link my work to other works of art, or simply look.   For this show focused on the role of women in art, I would like to mimic the environment of Flickr.  I  have had prints made of my work that are purposely informal and poster-like at an average size of 36 by 24.  Each piece is an illustration of a poem that I have written.  Adjacent to or in front of each piece on the wall is placed a notebook with the poem for the audience to read.  Each book has a pencil or pen attached to it, so that the viewer may add her/his comments.  I have also provided recordings of the poems on an MP3 player with headphones that can be handed to someone walking through the exhibit.  The anonymity and lack of real time exchange on Flickr limits the performance of the pieces.  By bringing them into a gallery space with the addition of audio recordings of the poems, the works can literally be performed for each individual.  In turn she/he may add their own contribution to the performance by leaving comment or their own artistic mark in the notebooks. The object and audience of artistic expression are traditionally rendered silent-- unless they are critics or art historians.  By including recorded words with the images and opening the gallery space to audience participation, the arena of exchange explodes with possibility.   It may lead to a banal visual cacophony in place of a once inviolate, if one sided, relationship between the artist and the audience.  It is a playful risk worth taking.   Here are my pieces and their individual statements.  You can click on the titles for a link to flickr where they are posted with the accompanying poem: Athena: Lesson 1 Women are often the object of artistic representation.  In my own work I prefer to capture women--perhaps because I am a woman.  Athena sprung fully formed from Zeus’ head when he had a headache one day.  Did she always have a complete sense of who she was?  This piece plays on a fantasized identity crisis of the goddess through my own search for identity in the iconic historical images of the accompanying poem.  The blurred edges of this surreal heat map photo are to highlight a sense of disconnection I have when trying to define myself within the context of the art world and the real world. Economy of Cake Gustave Courbet’s L'Origine du monde is a famous erotic painting that was originally commissioned in 1866 by a Turkish Diplomat, Khalil Bey.  Courbet, along with Manet and other artists who ushered Modern Art into existence, were known for an overt eroticism that challenged what these artists called the “hypocrisy” of Neoclassical art.  My own pencil drawing of Courbet’s original nude female torso forms the base of Economy of Cake.  With this photo/drawing collage, where a piece of cake has replaced the female genitals, I present a contemplation of polyamory from an unwilling female partner’s perspective.  The “honesty” of sharing yourself with whomever takes your fancy while maintaining an economically and emotionally stable relationship with an original partner is reduced to the cliche “Having your cake and eating it too.”  From the subject’s perspective in the poem, however, it is an economy based on her imposed emotional poverty.  Ritratto I asked a capable, caring and intelligent blind man and artist if he had ever observed his portrait.  I have observed my own portrait in thousands of snapshots and a few art works.  There is an uncanny heat of recognition that jolts through my body when I accidentally recognize myself in these images-- as if there were something on display I had never contemplated or wanted contemplated before.  He answered that we are all compilations of our actions.  In this drawing and poem I take the analogy one step further: we are all compilations of the exchanges we cultivate with those who surround us.  When relationships are broken, then, is our self image broken as well?  The sketchy, transient quality of the sketch enlarged to a poster is meant to boldly capture that dread of recognition in the eyes of another.  
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Happy New Year! (Sat, 02 Jan 2010)
I have put La Capretta's gardens and the studio to rest for the long cold months of winter, but I am still humming with indoor projects and future plans. With David Carroll's help we mulched all of the beds with leftover cardboard from Thanksgiving Turkeys. It was large endeavor and somewhat unsightly. We weighed down all the sheets of cardboard with stones and bags of old clay. The idea is brilliant and came to me via Joy Bridy. With the heavy snows that we've already had, and the ones that are sure to come, the cardboard should break down into a fine mulch that will prevent weeds from popping through. My mother-in-law is not terribly pleased with the look, but she agrees that if it works it will cut down a lot of our spring chores. Once approved and we acquire a small army of workers, we might implement the scheme for the formal gardens of the Bed & Breakfast. We heavily pruned the two butterfly bushes-- which makes me a little squirrely. I hope they come back in the spring. The lavender and rosemary plants got some special treatment with a chicken &/or rat wire cage, paper strips and a plastic bag around each of them. The plan is to keep them thinking they are living somewhere on the arid mediterranean coast. Something tells me they are not that easily fooled, but I am crossing my fingers. We still didn't resolve the issue of the sandbox. So far I have kept the cats from making it their personal latrine by spraying it regularly with orange oil. It is currently covered with cardboard and snow, but I am contemplating using an old shower curtain that bit the dust recently as a tarp for furry pest control. Lynsi has temporarily left us for her home in Iowa. She is working on laying tile and renovating some apartments with her dad. Linus misses her very much and wants to know why she has not returned. Per Lynsi's suggestion I am considering making a paper chain to count the days. The advent calendar worked brilliantly, but there's no chocolate involved with this time keeper, so Linus may not be as intrigued. There are a lot of links between now and February (or March? or...) In the mean time the basement, which will be Lynsi's temporary home, has been completed. Also known as the Man Cave, it has bright blue and yellow paint on the walls, a new bathroom with a shower, wood laminate flooring, a genuine pool table, fooz ball table, comic book cover paintings and a pop-bottle collection from the 1960's. I think she'll love it! The studio's fawcet continues to drip to prevent the pipes and the geraniums from dying, but I have taken all the clay out so it won't freeze. Ideally the studio should have a wood buring stove just like JD Jorgenson's in Minnesota, but no such luck-- for now. We do plan to start renovating the front room and to implement other weather/pest proofing for the entire studio. The Meditation Room will have wood laminate floors, walls painted in the colors of a sunrise sky, and a heater that works. Houseworks, owned and operated by Will & Miki Martindale, will begin work on the studio in January some time. They are also the force behind the Man Cave. As for other projects, I have continued to work on poetry and illustration. My works from 2009 are now collected in a book on blurb. The proofs have come back and there are still some issues to correct. I plan to revise and upload a paper version. I have to say that the software created by Blurb is somewhat user-unfriendly, so I am looking to find something else for my next book project-- The Bunny Series. I currently have an unsolicited audience of one (thank you Alan) for my poems, but who knows what 2010 will bring. Some poems and photographs have already surfaced in the new year. As always you may find them on flickr. There are some paintings on the edge of mental fingertips that force me to promise no more new posts until I have evidence that I can still paint. Until then, may 2010 be kind to you all.
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Minnesota 2009 (Fri, 20 Nov 2009)
The land of lakes and potters was fertile ground for me on this trip. I had placed Minnesota in the back of my memories from college when I first trained with Marlene Jack at William and Mary. It was a fabled land where hearty craftspeople eager to be off the grid went to make pots in a magical community of like minded people. JD Jorgenson's Pottery did not disappoint. Humbled by the stories of Lynsi's internship in this closed system studio where she had helped build a kiln and fire pots, I planned to make this trek some time this past summer. Near the campuses of St. Johns/St. Bennedict, JD Jorgenson's pottery sits on pretty land with a three chambered wood fire kiln, a straw bale contstructed studio, a wood fire pizza oven, a wooden hot tub and an old farm house that is home to JD, his wife Sara and their two adorable children Micah and Ofelia. The studio was a pole shed filled in with straw bales and plastered over with a special concrete to make it weather proof. I had heard and seen the early stages of this kind of construction when some friends in WV built their home. To stand in one of these completed structures is impressive. Heated by a recycled wood stove from a friend of JD's, the inside was inviting and snug. JD's pots line the simple shelves on the wall, there is no sink, but there are huge trash cans full of clay that has been dug in Minnesota and North Dakota. JD alternates between a beautiful black porcelain-like body that is part Minnesota clay and part North Dakota, a white porcelain body and a white decomposed granite from North Dakota. I have more to learn about the process of collecting clay and hope to collect some at Smithfield, where all the bricks for the 1824 manor house were made and fired on site. The kiln lives under a simple tin roof pole shed, and it is a miracle of construction and science. The three chambers were purposely designed to allow JD flexibility in the number of pots he can fire. The smallest chamber alone can fire 400 or more 3 lb pots. I can't imagine what the entire kiln could fire. The structure feels like an alien brick ruin of some culture that is long dead. It was built all by hand by JD, two apprentices and potting friends. Many recycled bricks from a local brick company, hand built masonite molds for the arched and vaulted chambers, and countless other resources that are hard to recall. Requiring 3-4 days to fire it is a magical process that requires many dedicated people to make happen. The Korean style kick wheel was a challenge I could not resist-- but only with the knowledge that I could fix my back at Dr. Hudspath's when I returned to Virginia. You have to simultaneously kick and center clay. I had never experienced such immediate muscle fatigue in my life. After three tries I managed to make one centered pot. JD sat down to throw off the hump and made it look effortless. I was never so thankful for my electric brent wheel. Playing with the rich black clay that is part Minnesota and part North Dakota was delightful. I wish I could have brought some home. Our time with JD and his family made a delightful heart of the trip. After some home-made wood-fired pizza and a couple glasses of wine, we sat around to talk about a future connection between JD Jorgenson Pottery and La Capretta Pottery. In between the first and second visit to JD's, Lynsi and I went to the Northern Clay Center in Minneapolis. There were too many pots and artists to list in this blog, but you can see them on my flickr page . The best discovery was Laurie Shaman's work. Her electric-fired hand-built earthenware pieces are one of the biggest AHA! moments I've had in a while. I can only make an educated guess at how these are created. She mimics the effects of atmospheric firing with pale washes of underglazes (or oxides). Then she makes detailed drawings on top of these backgrounds with a slip trailer. Her subjects include rabbits, birds, insects, Italianate cityscapes, and stylized Roman statue-like figures. I could not wait to get home to try some experiments with Little Loafers and underglazes at cone 6. After the bunny pot, and looking at Laurie's works, I hope to get back to a place where I am making clay art that can satisfy the painter and sculptor in me. After such a tremendous trip filled with uncanny moments that have turned me more definitively toward making La Capretta work, I am overwhelmed. I hope to start translating this inspiration into new work soon. Lynsi will be gone til February, so I have a few months.
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Off to Iowa and Minnesota (Wed, 11 Nov 2009)
Lynsi and I are frantically preparing for a trek to Iowa and Minnesota to see her folks, friends and JD the potter. In midst of Thanksgiving frenzy that is fall here at Smith Meadows, it is difficult to uproot and leave-- but we're gonna do it. Lynsi will be staying "home" until she comes back to us in February. Her adventures will include learning to tile with her dad, a seasonal gig at Target (yuck!), a wedding, possibly a trip to Montana, and even a small internship at the Women's Studio Workshop in NYC. I am very excited for her. Lynsi has been a tornado of activity in the last month. She cleaned my mom's house top to bottom, finished making our test glazes, fired the tests, reloaded and fired again, enjoyed fall-like festivities & potlucks with her climbing crew, and managed to write her application for the internship in NYC. She is amazing. As for the farm... the apartment for Lynsi is now at the drywall stage. When she returns to us in Feb she will have the distinct pleasure of living in our basement. The contractor and I are currently figuring out how to get West Virginia blue and gold tastefully on the walls down there. The basement will also double as Forrest's man cave/entertainment area complete with pool table, collectable pop bottles from the 60's, and poster-size paintings of his favorite comic book covers. We'll report on this experiment with photos later. As for me... I have continued to dabble in poetry, photography, drawing and painting. Oh, and of course-- the bunny pot. Although the painting is a nice translation of the original bunny drawing, the pot itself is lacking in many respects. (Pardon the horrible photo above.) Surprisingly the solitary bunny on the opposite side presents a much more intriguing figure. When I return from our trip I hope to get some more bunny pots together. In the mean time I am eagerly anticipating some time in a coffee shop to dive into my new red moleskine. Sadly, the moleskine of the last two years/plus was lost on a recent trip through Romney,WV on the Potomac Eagle. Needless to say, I was distraught. The only real value was the transition from essay writing to poetry that has been my most valued development in adulthood. Oh Well! Hope some turkey in West by God is able to understand some of what I wrote. To prevent such future heartache I have protected the new moleskine with the following. Not only does this Hamsa contain my left hand, but also my star shaped scar and left eye. I dare anyone not to return this if it goes missing. Lynsi and I will soon report with photos from the test glaze firing, and our trip to our relative North West. I will pack a lot of long underwear and sweaters.
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look out hallmark! (Sun, 27 Sep 2009)
Nancy and I decided we should make some greeting cards out of our artwork... Not quite a long time coming, but it has been a few weeks since we began this endeavor: after several visits to several stores over several days this past week, I'd say we're finally on to something! We figured out the printer (sort of), we found the right cards and paper to print on, we bought a few key tools like a paper cutter (I bought some prismacolor stix!), and we went into sweat shop mode, slaving away over what we hope to sell. Nancy chose several farm photos, water color paintings and sketches to print, and I took the next step with my colored pencil drawings: using those crazy puzzle piece squares (scanned, resized, printed, cut, and bordered). I worked on these cards for a solid 12 hours on Saturday, not even realizing how the time flew by... whoops--guess I was a little focused. Getting the website updated is a bit slow (as always), but for a preview of my cards, check out La Capretta's website and check back soon for Nancy's!
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Inspiration (Wed, 23 Sep 2009)
A piece from the exhibit More Than Skin Deep La Capretta took a field trip last Tuesday: Nancy, Lynsi, Joy Bridy and Lynsi's visiting friend from college Jenna. Baltimore Clay Works. Kid in candy store? Yes. Unlike the many other times I have overdosed on vitrified narcotics, however, I walked away feeling lighter-- not only for a lack of literature and that my purchases would be mailed to me, but also for the knowledge that I was more than an aspiring artist. What exactly is it that I have aspired to and accomplished? Hold your enthusiastic curiosity--artist statement to follow. One of the many staircases that felt haunted The brick building that houses Baltimore Clayworks is far from plumb, with crooked stairs and halls that wind you in and out of rooms with all but the haunting ghosts of former residents. Each turned corner held a strange, new gift. The Member Artists' Gallery was full of pieces that ranged from affordable to outrageous. The hook was Yoshi Fujii's carved celadon pieces. Predictably I touched them first-- heavier than expected. The love affair, surprisingly, was with miniature jewelry boxes from an artist unremembered--everything from curly-cue feet to pea-pod handles. I tore myself away from the store, only because I was jealous that my friends were off to see even more clay. When I walked into Matthew Hyleck's exhibit, the transportation to my past was complete. The reduction gas fired tea bowls and field platters were a monument to all I craved as a student. The surprise pool of crackled green in the bottom of an unassuming shino. The white slip striations made infinitely deep by the cast of ash. The shadows of Japan at once heavy and light. To my surprise I walked away after buying only two of his tea bowls. Christmas comes when Fed-Ex brings them to my door. Venus by Jason Briggs Next was the exhibit "More than Skin Deep" curated by Mary K. Cloonan. At times the pull to see everything was like the tense determination to make it through a really scary movie-- especially with Jason Brigg's work. So sucked into his masterfully crafted porcelain flesh pillows with enough of the uncanny to make me slightly nauseated, Lynsi had to drag me to the next piece. Thankfully Eric Seritella's birch bark tea pot reminded me obsessive realism could still be wholesome. Birch Bark Teapot (?) by Eric Seritella In the past I would have hung on for an hour or two deeply sighing in between sessions of furious note taking on techniques and artists. By the grace of maturity I have put my days of art history in the trash, content to take away pleasant memories rather than a calloused middle-finger and a heaving heart. My romp through the exhibit culminated with Leigh Taylor Mickelson's conversation pieces, and Jenny Mendes' psychologically strained stories on clay tablets. Mickelson had ten to fifteen pairs of part alien, part plant life pods hanging in balance with one another. Each pairing felt like an intimate tete a tete between friends, lovers or even animals with their food. Untitled (?) by Leigh Taylor Mickelson Mendes' work was much more erie. In essence they are a nod to Ancient Greek black and white figure ware. In a sparse landscape of obscure symbols, one or two figures engage in inexplicable activities and interactions. The muscular calves, miniscule ankles and dancing feet are what particularly remind me of Greek vase paintings. I confess that my interest in her was made more acute by a sneak peak at the works in progress next door at the workshop that Mendes was conducting. Untitled (?), by Jenny Mendes And now the artist statement. As I payed for my Hylek teabowls, the assistant behind the counter asked, "So what do you work in?" I was surprised to hear myself say, "Oh, I'm not a clay artist. I'm a painter and writer." What!? For years I have been telling people that I am a painter and a potter, and not just for the alliterative way it rolls off my tongue. After my casual comment I walked through the rest of the field trip in a cathartic identity crisis. Was I abandoning my clay in the overwhelming guest studios of Baltimore Clayworks, cluttered with tools, unfinished pieces and some works that would never sell? I felt claustrophobic at the thought of my future in clay. To ease the constriction I congratulated myself for making strange drawings of bunnies. At least these could easily slip into a slim black portfolio when my narcissistic hubris wears off, and I realize no one really looks at this crap (except for you, Alan--thanks!). Listening by NPP, pen on paper, 2009. Although I felt lighter as I walked to lunch, the sense that I was no longer a clay artist gnawed at my insides-- almost like walking away from a lover. The next morning when I yet again pondered what the heck I was going to do with all the bisque-ware pre-fabs from my majolica days, it occurred to me. I loved Mendes and Mickelson because they made stories and conversations in clay. What do I love about my bunnies, other strange drawings and poems of late? They are all conversations that I want to have with people. When I sit down to write a poem or draw bunny, it often starts with, "Now what would I say to so and so if they owned a pair of ears, or I had a pair of balls." Then Lynsi's recent suggestion floated up to consciousness-- "Why not paint the bunnies on these pots." And so this week it started. Armed with my thermos of decaf coffee splashed & sweetened with goat milk & turbinado sugar, and a timid euphoria, I dragged down some pots and my jars of underglazes. My close friends will laugh at the clouds, and cutsey flowers, but I plan to make things edgier this time-- don't you worry. I can't wait to see Bunny's ambivalent face and impossible eyes on the sickening sweet backdrop of close-to-kitch painted teapots. How better to tell someone, "... and the Horse you rode in on.", than to give them kitchenware that will haunt them everyday. Da Nessuna Parte by NPP, pen and marker on Paper, 2009. So, not really an artist's statment... At least the depression with which only closet art supply hoarders like myself are often paralyzed is gone for now. I will report back soon with progress. Til then, look at my bunnies, dammit!
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Sigmund Critique (Wed, 26 Aug 2009)
Sigmund is complete, and some words should be said over Sigmund. It sounds like he's dead, because pots do die for me for a while after the last touch. If they are strong pieces they will resurrect themselves in my imagination years from now, when I can't possibly remember how I made them (except in my muscles somewhere). After the Blue Bottle from 7 years ago, I stopped this trajectory of thought only to pick it up again in Sigmund. It was so new and complete an expression as I started to make my sea monster. But it began to crumble as I painted it with oils. The exits and entries felt forced and incomplete-- when they had felt so fluid when in the wet stage. Fortunately I got lost in the painting process as I thought about Monet's Water Lilies series-- tickled that I had somehow painted pond water on my pot. The final stage of modpodge killed it again. It was now just a shiny mess of suggestive holes with too obvious sutures. This is when I started calling it Sigmund. The only way to evaporate the sense of disappointment is to make another pot. Next time: spend more time thinking through the holes so it can't be compared to a strawberry pot, exorcise the ghost of Georgia O'Keeffe, spend more time molding the "ears" to make them feel more fluidly organic, paint it without modpodge? I won't know exactly until I am again possessed to plunge through the whole process again. The key is not to be too worried about pieces from the past-- not just mine but those of teachers as well. This is why commission work can be the best for an artist. Once it is in the client's hands, you can no longer worry about it. Linus didn't commission this piece, but it is most definitely his. Looking at the chick-shaped shadows the monster casts on his ceiling as I sing him to sleep each night, I will forget the frustration that is a completed and dead work.
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a BIG day! (Sun, 09 Aug 2009)
New to La Capretta: In the garden--a sandbox!! Linus is clearly very excited about it. Bisque #2 was finally fired and unloaded! Fresh out of the kiln, we've got a night light, carved feather cups, doily slab cups, and stamps for teabag dishes. Now if we could only get those glaze ingredients... I have an idea: let's make a plaster table to dry out slurry. That shouldn't be too hard or time consuming at all... Many hours of fussing with cardboard and duct tape, crisco lubing, and 5 bags of plaster mixing and pouring later, we almost have a plaster table! To be continued...
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Mulch... (Sat, 11 Jul 2009)
Mulch..., originally uploaded by Nancy Polo Pritchard. A regular crew of avid amature gardners: Lynsi (rock sculptress and hauler), David (our lawn care and bed creating specialist), Benson (sod remover extraordinaire), Linus (head screamer and dreamer), and Nancy (the fearless and somewhat clueless leader). With lovely free-mulch from a local dump, La Capretta is shedding her mangy appearance. The plants now have cover from the brutal summer sun. Some paths are starting to form. Next steps: hose hook-up, loading dock facelift and more transferred plants.
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(Tue, 07 Jul 2009)
Here is a slide show of photos via flickr of our most recent planting. Weber's Nursery in Winchester, VA was having their 1/2 price summer sale, and Smithfield is overflowing with plants to divide. So Lynsi, Linus and I started this mega process this past weekend, by buying $20 worth of purple and mauve salvia, 2 coral bells, 2 butterfly bushes, 2 each of 2 kinds of ground cover that I can't remember and 2 of some strange plant with pakisandra style leaves and green flowers. This is (unfortunately) how my gardening mind works-- not very well. Lynsi surprised me on Sunday by planting over 20 salvia plants in front of the 2 southern windows in the new bed. My part of the planting started at 5:40 this am-- notice the shot with the moon on the horizon. I still can't believe I was motivated to get up and dig that early. Lynsi joined me some time around 6am. We finished planting most of the purchased plants and then headed over to Smithfield's Main House grounds to dig up Dutch and Japanese irises. The results: 2 back-aches, a border of Japanese(?) irises under our windows, beautiful clematis ready to climb, 2 centrally placed butterfly bushes, some chaotic placements of perennials to contrast with the two distinct rows of salvia, and the resolve to post ad on craig's list for plant bartering-- Will Trade Plants for Weeding Labor.
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And the results are in... (Wed, 01 Jul 2009)
Mizue and I unloaded last Thursday, but I didn't get a chance to look at my pots very closely. To be honest, the first glance is always the toughest, so it was much easier to set them aside and look at them later. A suspenseful opening: A close up of a few of my pots in the kiln: On Saturday, Mizue, Donna, and I cleaned up the kiln and shelves and gave all the pots a good inspection. Turns out mine aren't half bad! Here are the most photogenic of the bunch: I'll have to try again to get better pictures, but I'd say these are a good teaser for now. Look for more pictures posted on La Capretta's gallery as well as my personal website very soon.
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Making Something New (Thu, 25 Jun 2009)
For the first time since 2001, I have started a sculpture!!!!! A play on my blue bottle from that year and nowhere near finished-- but it is well on the way. The first attempt collapsed sadly when I got overly aggressive with the holes. The one above is the effort from today. The pieces were thrown on Monday, and assembled on Wednesday (today). For a glimpse of the process, here is a link to the slide show on the La Capretta website. My house is a mess and I have eaten frozen food for the last three days, but I haven't been this happy about getting filthy with clay in a long time.
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Some like it hot... (Sun, 21 Jun 2009)
...When it comes to wood firing that is. Clyde lit the kiln at 5am. Donna and Mizue were on shift when I arrived around 1pm. Splitting more wood and stoking was the name of the game until I left at 1am (I would have stayed later, but I had to get up before 6am to watch Linus--not much sleep!). The firing went fairly well, although slow and long--Mizue ended up staying up until 7am! A 26 hour firing has become more common for Mizue's kiln although it was originially built to be an 8 hour firing (can you believe it?). I guess we didn't quite make it to temperature and the cones never went down, but we'll see how it went when we open her up on Saturday. Mizue thinks we were at high temp long enough for the pots to be okay, but only time will tell.
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--Will split wood for kiln space-- (Fri, 19 Jun 2009)
I'm starting to realize that if I were to name my own blog, it would be called "will work for..." seeing as I'm working in exchange for a place to stay and studio space, not to mention food, and am now adding splitting wood to the list in exchange for kiln space in Mizue Croswell's wood kiln. Lucky for her, I'm a hard worker: check out all that wood I split last night! Of course, there is way more where that came from though... Lucky for me, I get to woodfire! 8 bowls, 10 mugs, and 1 spoon plate: Mizue finished loading her work while Donna Downing and I glazed ours. I used Mizue's glazes, including temoku, tea dust, shino pearl, and the risky scrap glaze... Then it was wadding and loading time until the kiln was full: Mizue finishing up the loading, which includes of course her work, but also mine and Donna Downing's: , And don't forget to brick up the door! Tomorrow morning, Clyde (Mizue's husband) will start the firing around 5 am... Fingers crossed; here we go!
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The first bisque of the season! (Wed, 17 Jun 2009)
After finding Nancy's firing log, we discovered that the last bisque at La Capretta was in 2004! Loaded on Monday, we crossed our fingers as we plugged her in and set the dials to low. Everything seemed to go well besides my accidental turn down instead of turn up within the first hour--oops. Luckily, Nancy checked the kiln and fixed the switch not too much later. Pictures of each shelf as I unloaded the kiln on Tuesday afternoon: Check out more pictures from the firing on my website.
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