Pottery, Poetry & Dirty Laundry
I am an artist, a poet, and a mother of four incredible humans. When I’m not plastered in clay, you’re likely to find me sitting in the sun, with a hand-made cup of a favourite spirit (usually a stupidly expensive single malt), grappling with questions about love, sex, marriage, parenthood, mental health, physical disabilities, creativity, philosophy, the meaning of life …ya know, the small stuff .
“Pottery, Poetry & Dirty Laundry” is where you’ll be privy to my inner ramblings
I’ve just finished writing ‘Love Is’ in 22k gold on four hand-made ceramic mugs. I was pondering what comes next in the sentence – The scent of strawberries on your breath? The reflection of moonlight in your eyes? The silvery stretch marks around your centre? And then it clicked. That is the full sentence. Love is. It’s a declaration of existential proportions, and one which I want to repeat ad infinitum. I can hear my soon-to-be-ex murmuring ‘kitsch’ under his breath as he rolls his eyes. But I don’t care. In fact, it is he that inspired the series. I look back at the photo from my first blog post where I placed a sticker saying ‘game over’ comically over his face. Indeed, the game is over, but that’s only the epilogue. What came before that were many chapters brimming with that ephemeral, transcendent, often fleeting state which is love. Painful as
Once upon a time, in a duplex apartment, in a faraway land lived a girl who couldn’t hold a grudge. No matter how hard she tried, her pains and grievances were swiftly swept under the closest rug/towel/item of clothing in the corner of a room (she had become so skilled at this, even a sock would suffice) and were thrown in the laundry on her next ‘high functioning’ day. Rinse, repeat. The End. Isn’t that a good thing? (You might ask) Why would someone advocate holding a grudge? And, why in the world would a ceramic artist talk about this in her first blog post?? Processing emotions is important for everyone (so I’ve been told), but it’s especially significant to creatives. As an artist, a poet, a mother, etc. Processing emotions is imperative, for without facing my emotions, yes, even the yucky ones, I am a backed up drain, sputtering