Barbara's work will be on display in the gallery and front window throughout July.
Artist's Statement
Clay has sung its siren song to me nearly from the cradle, though I didn't start potting until I was 15. I’ve lost and found myself in its intoxicating melody on and off for many years. Mud is in my soul, you might say.
Clay touches me on a few different levels. First, feeling the underground cool of its earthy bulk restraining my fingers as it works its way into my skin, under my fingernails, over my wrists and onto my clothes, both mushy and crusty, smooth and scratchy.
And that smell. Some days, when I'm walking to LaMano, I can smell it halfway down the block and I smile. Clay carries the musk of ancient soil, which might sound dramatic, but to me, it’s a soothing, primordial, this-is-where-we-all-came-from scent. It smells like home to me.
I’ve always preferred wheel-throwing over handbuilding, primarily because of the instant gratification factor. Watching and feeling the clay turn under my hands mesmerizes me and sends me into blissful alpha state, so it’s like meditation with my eyes open. Over the years, I learned and honed my skills, which never matched the passion I held for the process. I’d watch other potters with envy, as they turned out matching sets of mugs or plates or vases and marvel at the level of their skill. I’d get all inspired, and toss a big, fat lump-o-clay onto the wheel with the intent of beginning a series of masterpieces and then....play with it.
Thoughts of overcoming the clay with my will fly completely out of my head as we dance and breathe together. Clay is first and foremost my friend and never are we each other’s taskmasters. I guide and persuade it, tease it and cajole it, but ultimately our best selves are brought forth during our silent, intimate conversations over muddy water and a spinning wheel.
Creating pottery has saved my heart and soul on a few occasions. When I was in my 20s, I was married to a man who knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. This moved me to try to find that same certainty in myself of who I was going to be in this world. I’d been away from the clay for about 7 years, but it was the first thing that came to mind to do. I didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I knew that throwing a pot made me really, really happy. I worked at it for a few years and then, for some long-forgotten reason, stopped.
I began again in 2002, when a boyfriend told me about a new studio in town. When the bf and I split, it was clay - and the other artists in the studio - that saved me from the Bad Breakup Abyss of Misery (heh.). It was then that I began to find my identity as a potter, discovering my style through failed attempts at mimicry. A key moment came when a lovely vase I'd thrown fell on the floor and as I reached to smush it, another potter cried, “Don't! Look what a cool shape it has now!” That opened something in me and my work took on a different direction. It freed me to make mistakes, force errors, poke a hole in a perfectly balanced cylinder if I felt like it. Sometimes I'd take a tool and randomly hack away at a piece, just to see what might come of it. And some mighty cool things emerged.
When I found LaMano last year, I also found fresh inspiration in the skilled and outrageously creative ceramic artists here. So much talent and love of mud in one place feeds my potter's soul. I couldn't ask for more.
The pieces on display in LaMano's gallery reflect a few different phases I've gone through and some I'm just beginning to explore. The clay bodies and I hope you enjoy them. Thanks.
