The Reveal

I teased yesterday. Today, I reveal.

I am calling these "Ultra Pods" for their resemblence to seed pods, and the material they are made up (Sculpey Ultralight).

I must have put these silly things together two dozen ways before I started to figure out where I was going with this. But that is part of the creative process, isn't it? We get an idea, and start exploring it. Roadblocks are inevitable. I can't think of many ideas that went according to plan right from conception.

I could have said, "It didn't work. What was I thinking." But there was something there that intrigued me. I wanted to push it a bit further, and continue to play with it. Using various materials to string them, and multiple arrangements and methods. For me, this is one of the most engaging parts. It is frustrating at times to be sure, but it also is a challenge. A puzzle to be solved. Sometimes I would think I had it worked out, and then I would find out there was a problem with how a piece would lay or hang. A continuous cycling.

Even work that I have been doing for a few years now is cycling and evolving. Tweaking, playing, exploring the what-ifs. On one level it can be frustrating. There is little time to rest and settle. But on another level, it is what keeps me engaged in the work. It is not static. It is alive and vital as the process.

Have you given yourself a play day lately? Maybe it is time? And when you play, do you let yourself go down the dead ends without out recrimination? That is where the discoveries happen, and where the real fun can be sometimes. I have puzzles that are still unsolved. Some may stay that way forever. But others will resurface at another time, when I have learned something new, or seen something that triggers a potential solution for me. But the play is essential. The studio as laboratory. Playing. Experimenting. Learning and discovering.

Teachers

My daughter's school institute a new program this year. The principal had morning meetings with a small group of parents before school. It was a chance for her to meet informally with everyone, and have a chance for everyone to meet with her. It was a way to find out what was on the mind of the parents.

When I went to my meeting back in the fall I did not really know what to expect. To begin the conversation, she went around the table and had everyone talk about a memory of their elementary school experience. What revealed itself in that process was fascinating. Over and over again someone would talk about that special teacher. That person who saw and encouraged a talent or gift, or nurtured an interest. Someone who saw and encouraged a writer. Someone who nurtured a love for music. Someone who challenged them to do their best.

That special teacher for me was Mrs. Johnson in fourth grade. Mrs. Johnson encouraged my love of drawing. In her class, I loved writing. Somewhere between her class, and later classes I lost my confidence in myself as a writer or an artist. But she saw something in me, and nurtured it. I can't remember any other grade school teacher as clearly as her.

As I sat and listened to each story that morning, and recalled Mrs. Johnson, I could not help but suddenly realize how a teacher who sees us for who we are, and mirrors that back to us, can make a profound difference in our lives. I heard stories of lifes that took a new direction because of a teacher's intervention. Did you have a Mrs. Johnson in your life?

At that meeting I suddenly knew what I wanted for my daughters. A teacher who could mirror back and celebrate the very best in who they are. Having more than one such teacher in our lives is unlikely. But just one can make a difference.

Play Time

I spent most of the weekend playing. I had lots of work to get done in preparation for a show next weekend, and in anticipation of a photographer coming to take pictures in my studio. Instead I started exploring some ideas that had been playing around in my head.

It was interesting to see the twists and turns an idea takes when it goes from concept to clay. Reality has to be incorporated in unanticipated ways. But it engages me. As much as I knew I had work to be done, the idea of problem solving was more intriguing.

I will give you just a hint right now. I am getting close to working out some designs. But nothing is ready for photography yet. It is different from work I have been doing, yet complimentary to the pod series I started a few months back. I am using the Sculpey Ultralight, after being inspired by a conversation with Libby Mills. And the original kernel of an idea came from a book by Lark Books, The Art of Jewelry: Paper Jewelry by Marthe Le Van.

The bracelet on the cover was the piece that inspired me. I have ended up far, far away from that piece, but I am excited about the direction it is going in. I hope to have pictures later this week.

The Sculpey Ultralight is wild stuff. Libby got me intriqued when she told me how great it was for applying ink, pencil, paint, etc. She compared it to a high quality paper. I knew then that I had to play with this stuff. It is so very light and flexible. It feels a bit foam like. But the weight is fantastic for jewelry, along with it's clay like properties.

I love the book by the way. It is full of some wonderful work, and it gets my gears going about possible ways to translate some of it into polymer clay. When I first started working in polymer clay, each book about polymer clay was full of inspiration and new ideas for playing with clay. Yet right from the beginning, I found I was experimenting with translating ideas from other media to clay.

How do you look at a book? Is it a book of projects or ideas to play with? I enjoy seeing the projects as launching points. The project is an entry inside one person's head to understand how they work. But invariably asking and exploring what could be done from there.

It feels good to have spent time playing and exploring. My muse needed this time. But I do have to get down to the real work at hand very, very soon.

Why Compete?

Competition.

For some it is a dirty word. It connotes all that is dark in our spirits. But for others, it spurs them on to new heights of performance. Some seem to pass that boat all together....and are not necessarily any worse off for it.

When I worked in marketing, a lot of what I did was looking at the competition. Understanding their product. Analyzing the strengths and weaknesses. Figuring out how to improve our position. It was really all about competition.

Now that I am a craftsperson, I look at the "competition" differently. First off, my competition at a show is every single artist, in every single media who is there. Overwhelming in shear size and scope. We all, on some level, are competing for the dollars of the buyers who come to the show. My competition is not limited to those doing similar work to what I do. It is across the board.

Given that scenario, worrying about what everyone else is doing, within a framework of competition is a complete waste of time. Instead, I try to focus my attention on myself and my work. Is my work the best it can be? What can I do differently to improve it? I listen to the input I receive from others, and process it along the way.

I look at my booth and how my work is presented, and how I talk about my work. Merchandising and sales. Am I doing all I can to make the work shine? Is my booth an inviting space? Am I listening enough to what people are asking me or telling me?

The focus is not on what others are doing, or not doing, so much as it is on what I can do. The beauty of this is that it removes the "dark energy", lol! I can enjoy the work of my fellow artists at a show. I can recommend shows or galleries that might be a good fit for them. I can share information I have learned about selling, merchandising, marketing, etc. without fear or trepidation.

Life is not always a zero sum game. One person's win being another person's loss. Sometimes it is more viral. Sometimes success breeds success, which breeds more success. Celebrating others work and wins does not diminish our own. Likewise, a defensive and competitive attitude can close off the sharing of others.

I enter my work into competitions. Winning is nice. But truth be told, my motivation is more from a marketing perspective. It is exposure. It is credentials. With or without the competition, my work is what it is. And given the creative process it is always in evolution anyway. One piece, at one point in time, with one set of judges, may or may not do well. I make my work because I have to. I enter it in competitions because it may generate some publicity for my work, which will help my business. I don't make work specifically for a competition. I have never, ever, once, sat down and said, "Okay, I need to make a great piece for such and such a competition." That would be the kiss of death to my creative process. It would be too much of an all or nothing mentality for me. Remember Art & Fear. If a deadline is approaching, and I have the time, I will look around at what I have and decide what might be a good piece to enter. Perhaps this would seem as if I am not investing enough into the process of making a piece for a competition. Maybe. But being over invested in a contest just is not who I am.

Competition is not necessarily bad. Nor it is always so great. But in perspective and proportion, it can motivate. Are you driven by competition? Why do you compete? When and where does it feel safe, and when do you want to avoid it?

I have several pieces in competitions that I will learn about later this month. That may seem to have been the motivation for this post. But it wasn't. It was seeing someone whose work I love getting the recognition it deserved, and feeling thrilled to see it happen. Not only do I love her work, but I like her. She is a kind and generous person, with wisdom and humor. Seeing her achieve recognition for her work is exciting. Having kids gives us that experience over and over again. But it does not have to be limited to our relatives.

Celebrate someone else this week. Send them an e-mail or a note to convey your feelings. It will be viral. It will help them feel a little more special for the moment that the sun is shining on them.