Hibernating bees, frost on the fallen leaves, and an influx of squirrels eating acorns on every flat surface here at Idlewild starts to nudge me: it’s time for the slow-down.
The cold weather will prevent me from working in my pottery barn. My hands will not want to be plunged in a bucket of water. The clay doesn’t even engage well in chilly temps. We would both much rather mingle in the heat.
I bought a loom in September, and I haven’t touched it since it came to live here. I have visions of rugs to weave. Undoubtedly I will miss my hands in clay. I say I’ll take some time off from pottery, but I also know that I can’t stay away too long. This is the time of year that I have to see what the weather brings us and move accordingly. Here in Virginia we have had a 70 degree day in January and I will make a beeline to the studio.
The wood stove produces just fine, but I have a strict studio rule to work with all 8 windows open for lots of ventilation and fresh air. That also helps me feel close to my surroundings outside, which is the muse for my work. Honestly, it’s something I can’t compromise on. Breathing clay dust over years and years is not good and it can settle in my lungs and cause problems I don’t want. So I have heat, but it stealthily slips away into the atmosphere.
I know I talk a lot about the weather and the seasons on here, but it affects my entire practice, which affects my business. That does not frustrate me. Our relationship is a trifecta of symbiotic give and take and frankly that endears me even more to all it. Natural state is my favorite state.
So after the holidays, here you’ll see stops and starts of a tempered, yet bound-by-love clay practice, a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants weaving journey, lots of stark wintry landscapes, maybe some poetic stops and starts. I will do another wintry Idlewild Village, slowly, at the pace the atmosphere allows me to.
Thank you all for being here. It’s been quite a year and your likes, followings, supports, and hurrahs are all so meaningful to me.
peace,
Deirdre
]]>Equanimity collection is live in the shop.
A small curated collection of mugs, tumblers, and spoon rests for warm + cozier beverages, taking ceremony with our tea, stirring soups …
Fall is a deeply meditative shift for me. My internal clock, and thus my work, are always guided by the seasons and Fall flows stronger and more poignantly. I feel myself and the earth winding down and letting go after a season of renewal, bursting, and growth.
This collection is me, and nature, preparing for winter. Introspection runs high. I crave grounding. There is a turning inwards.
Nature is speaking, but it is a whisper.
Some of this collection is darkened, as the equinox has been readying us. But look around and you’ll also see glimpses of summer’s last gasp.
Be well. And thank you for being here.
Deirdre
]]>I have mixed feelings about glaze day.
My other potter friends agree.
On one hand, it’s such a satisfying and affirming step, and an all-around hopeful landmark. Hey, we’ve made it this far. You’ve been with this piece since inception and you’ve seen enough success that you’re able to glaze it. (It’s kind of like getting your kid to senior year in high school.) You’re almost there. The finish line looms. Keep going. So far so good.
Yet. The glaze color lies. It lies so bad. What you paint on or dip into is not really the color you’ll end up with. You’d think painting would be fun - and yes that’s true. But, visually, it’s disconcerting.
You never really 100% know how it will crawl and fire and burn.
I still catch myself holding my breath on glaze day. Sometimes I have to leave the house.
Add in humidity, water, firing twice, and the reality that the clay and the fire and the glaze are all
going to do what they’re going to do. Irregardless.
Risky business.
I’m stoked as hell that I got this mug to Glaze Day. Truly. It’s the last day of the almost there step and I’m ready to start building again. Honestly, building gets me out of bed in the morning. It’s the part of this whole thing that I love.
Dreaming.
Conjuring.
Experimenting.
Communicating
Smoothing.
Imprinting.
Rolling.
Raising.
But food-safe stoneware & all the button colors require glaze.
Happily, however, something good has happened and that’s the whole point of this whole rambling. I’ve noticed that I’ve been working on changing my perspective and it actually worked. I don’t dread glazing as much as I used to. Experience has gifted me confidence. And yes, patience too.
I walked out to the studio this morning to face the glaze. Not weary about glaze day and not frustrated with the lying glaze, but accepting this next-to-the-last step that requires faith and belief and the biggie: a release of control.
Instead of: Aw man, I hope this works.
It’s now: Well let’s give the Big Wheel a turn and see what happens.
Almost there, I whispered.
Tomorrow we fire.
peace,
Deirdre
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I had a failure,
eruption,
subsequent smolder
O turn your head around;
hark, a re-set.
Who was that man that said:
there are no mistakes only lessons.
Hell, maybe it was a woman.
Mistakes used to
create fragmented and
and an ever-reproducing fount
of scattered shards.
Order-defying detritus
was the name of my game.
You and me
fumbled,
winging it
blindly,
past commencements
and hollow jackpots.
And secretly coveted,
mapped out,
schemable futures.
Or
(consider this)
were those bootless attempts,
the proudest of leaps,
worth
such far-flung
miscalculations
of my shruggable,
foolhardy
youth?
Oh Failure:
now I take thee in my arms.
We’re old hats now;
no shame to lose.
Mystified feels wilder,
perplexed whispers comfort.
Hello, chagrin …
we meet again.
Nay, regret.
Now, life:
habitual
with its occasional
paltry eye-opener.
Riding with fidus Achates,
mostly predictable
and well-tread.
Worn and chasmic tracks,
leading home to
Self.
Embrace me, mistakes.
Kiss me, lessons.
Love me,
mistakable you.
Yesterday: standing in front of my drying shelves, surveying my present work, deciding whether to bisque fire or glaze fire. I picked up this mug to feel if it was cool to the touch (still incubating - not ready to fire) or leather hard and warm (ready to cook - it was not). I noticed a slight crack down the side. I pushed gently on it and the wall caved in.
My first feeling likened to an anvil falling on my head - (all that work, I whimpered silently). But it stopped before I watched myself tumble down the hill. I grumbled a hrmph. Added a shrug for effect. Set down the broken pieces. Went back to the shelves.
This is pottery.
That is growth.
And onward.
peace,
Deirdre
am I so bold to label my work desirable?
yes, I think I will.
will they accuse me as pompous?
it is desirable to me.
bubbling up from a mysterious, elusive wellspring
that fluctuates and ebbs,
overflowing then silent,
then back again.
flows at will
not by demand.
likened to love,
peace,
the seasons,
and intimacy.
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Greetings on this First Day of Spring. The vernal equinox seemed like a good day for my very first blog entry. Does anyone read blogs anymore? I suppose this is the way to find out.
Today at 4 o’clock EST I am releasing a small collection of notions dishes. I’m finding that I love being a potter because obviously the clay, but also that it satisfies my desire to make and have holders of things - rings, soap, drinks, buttons …
I’ve named each piece after a place that has meaning to me. If you’ve been following me on IG, it’s no new news how influential Place is to me. I’ve seen what I can produce in a wooded forest … but I’m growing curious and ready to stretch my wings. I hope to be able to place myself in some varied landscapes this Summer & Fall with the intention of exploring how those landscapes directly affect my work.
I’ve found myself slowly moving back into the pottery barn. The March sun warms the planks up now and plunging my hands into a bucket of water isn’t as chilling as it was in January. I’ve been finishing up a couple wholesale orders. And planning a vessel release in April. I haven’t decided on the collection name yet, but I’m close to getting there.
Thanks for following along on my journey here. Your likes and loves and orders are truly appreciated.
In mud we trust,
Deirdre
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