earthquake dreams

20 years ago today, I was a few months past turning 19, and had been living in Santa Cruz, California for just over a year. I had moved myself to Santa Cruz from the east coast because I wanted to live in California since I was a kid, and Santa Cruz sounded like just the place that would fulfill my fantasy of living next to the ocean, in year-round temperate climate, with the added bonus of being surrounded by cute surfer boys, cute boys being the biggest weakness in my life at that time. Like most childhood fantasies, the reality of my still-new California life was proving to be more difficult and not as exhilarating as I hoped. I moved without any relationship ties or connections to my new hometown, and many of my new relationships seemed tenuous, some were even troubled.  I was struggling with loneliness, depression, and post-adolescent angst at how complicated life was on my own. Also, I still had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, other than this vague hope to be an artist. And, I was totally broke, living in one of the most expensive places in California. I was not attending college yet, but working full-time at a popular flower shop one block off the Santa Cruz Mall, the downtown strip that was the center and hub of Santa Cruz, and was within walking distance from my teeny-tiny studio apartment where I lived alone.

When the Loma Prieta earthquake hit on October 17, 1989, I was working at the flower shop and happened to be on the phone with a friend when the building I was in jumped with the first roll of the earthquake, along with all the glass shelving inside the shop. It was like an explosion as glass shattered and the sound of the earth shifting and moving beneath my feet-- a sound I would become very familiar with over the next months—filled my ears. I screamed-- always my first fear response-- and dropped the phone. I rocketed out of the front door of the shop. I heard that one was supposed to stand in the safety of a doorway during a quake, but there was no way I was doing that. I am a former gymnast and I remember stretching my legs beneath the skirt I was wearing, leaping and bounding across the sidewalk to the parking lot across the street to put as much distance as possible between me and the building that I was in. I was certain it was about to collapse. It was like trying to run while drunk, the ground was shifting so intensely under my feet.

Once I cleared the street my next concern was to stay away from power poles that may be falling over. Also, I was alert to the ground just opening up and swallowing me whole. While I was working on keeping myself alive and unharmed, I was also taking in visuals that were making no sense to me. Like, the brick building that housed Ford's Department Store across the street from the flower shop was rolling and shaking as if it were made of jell-o. It collapsed in front of my eyes. The large picture window for the Spokesman bike shop next door to the flower shop also seemed to be made of liquid, I never knew glass could be so... flexible. The parking meter next to me was shaking and vibrating so hard I thought it may pop out of the cement of the sidewalk. For some reason, this parking meter scared the hell out of me, it seemed alive and dangerous.

All of this happened in the course of 15 seconds. You never really know how long a second is until you go through those seconds thinking you are about to die. Or, if not die, get really, really hurt. When the quake stopped, my initial reaction was to start screaming and running around in a circle. Really, to me, that seemed like a reasonable reaction and totally appropriate for the moment. Thankfully, the people on the street around me remained utterly calm, which made me calm. I didn’t start screaming, but locked up the flower shop and walked the half-block to the corner of Pacific Avenue with my co-worker, at the very top of the Mall. I couldn’t see beyond a half block, there was so much dust in the air from disintegrating and damaged buildings. Down here, people were screaming, and injured. The sight of people digging through the collapsed Ford's store for humans buried in the rubble directly to my left was one of the grimmest sights I have ever witnessed, and made me instantly realize I had no business walking around, that I needed to go home immediately. That is, if I had a home anymore.

My home was marvelously intact, as was the rest of my life. This was suddenly a miracle, as I measured my survival against those who did not live through the quake, several of whom lost their lives on the Mall that day. There are many other things I will never be able to forget about that day. The neighbor who woke me up screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night because she was having a painful heart attack brought on by the stress and excitement of the quake. Trying to call an ambulance when the phone lines are not fully operational is the very definition of panic, and another deeply grim memory. The weirdness of the street lights not coming on when the sun went down. The heavy smell of gas in the air and the blocks of houses on fire. The party-like atmosphere around water trucks, and frankly, the liquor store.

What had the most impact on me was a complete shift in my perspective on life. We all know that the only thing that truly matters is having your health, family and friends, alive and safe. But to know that mantra, and then to have an experience which really makes you understand what it means are two different things, and up until that point I did not understand what the concept meant. This sudden knowledge freed me from many of my everyday worries and concerns as I experienced the intense rush of appreciating being alive and focused on being a support to others. The community of Santa Cruz bonded in the days after the quake, and I felt the love and concern of my friends and neighbors in a way that I never had before. The experience cemented many of my new relationships, including the one with my neighbor, JT, still one of my closest friends. JT and I became roomies for about 6 years after the quake because his house fell apart and we both hated our rent-gouging landlord. Probably the hardest thing for me about the Loma Prieta quake, aside from having to wrestle with my own terror of realizing what it meant to live in earthquake country, was the disappointment and feeling of loss as my community gradually went back to normal with the passing weeks and months.

I don't have a neat ending to this story. It's just a part of my life that I consider one of the most important things that ever happened to me, and I like to share the story with anyone who will listen. I kept a detailed diary during this time, that is where these images are from. You can click on them to read them more closely. The last thing I wrote was dated 12/7/89:

I'm having flashbacks constantly. Wherever I'm at, and the earth moves with aftershocks, I can see in my head the vases of flowers falling down, the glass cases crashing, a terrible noise with the earth roaring. However, my terror has subsided immensely, leaving only anticipation.

my real job

I've written before about how many hours I have to spend on the computer with work-related stuff, and how it makes me feel like I'm wasting time, and I get resentful. Not only do I sometimes resent computer time, I also resent lots of other tasks, like packing and shipping, glazing, popping and cleaning molds, and sweeping the floor. A lot of the time I find myself gritting my teeth and mumbling, "Where is my dang intern/assistant/slave when I need them? Why am I doing this job?"

Since interns come and go, my assistants are usually busy with a million other tasks I assign them, and I have yet to source any clay slaves, I've realized that my resentful attitude about daily tasks is not helpful to me. In my quest to improve my attitude around my work, I've started thinking of all of these mundane duties as not annoying little things that get in between me and my real job--making pottery-- but as an integral and important part of my work. Everything I do that is related to my work is my job, my real job.

Since I usually only count making pottery as working, and the rest of it is just stuff that I do, I always think I'm not working enough. This is a self-defeating mind set because I always attempt to do more than I possibly can, then I blame myself for being a slacker when I get behind "schedule," which is pretty much every day. Really, what is happening is that I think I can walk into the studio and just make stuff, not taking into consideration that I have to perform a bunch of other tasks to get there. It's like the bee who gets mad that he can't deliver the honey before he gathers the nectar. That's a dumb bee. For me, and probably for you too, it's time to start thinking like a smart bee.

your move

When my husband and I first met fifteen years ago, we moved almost immediately to Hawaii for the summer to work and live together. Obviously, we didn’t know each other very well, so it was like trial by fire. There were a lot of challenges those months as we negotiated the terms of our relationship while (mostly) residing in a tent and dealing with the realities of living and working on Maui. That summer, Andrew and I got addicted to chess. We were so addicted, that sometimes we would play a match before even getting out of bed. We had a little travel board, so whenever there was some downtime, we would pull the board out for a game. Andrew often won, because I was basically a reactionary player. Whenever he would threaten one of my pieces, I’d panic while trying to plot an escape, and often end up losing a piece. And then eventually the game.

I remember suddenly figuring out that when I was cornered, rather than escape being my first move, I needed to go on the offense. Threaten Andrew to keep him busy for a few moves so I could maneuver myself back to safety. Manipulative, yes, and highly effective tactic to start winning chess games against my brilliant then-boyfriend. It was a complete turnaround in my mindset. This is a great lesson when dealing with the problems of a production studio, or probably any problem in life. I’ve learned that my game plan for the week is basically like my plan at the beginning of a chess game to take Andrew’s king —it’s just a hope for a particular outcome. Attacks will come from all sides: stock will run short, things you were counting on to come out right won't, or you will get food poisoning and be in bed for 24 hours and lose a whole day of work, like what happened to me last Tuesday. You can squirm and howl as you try to stay on course, or you can just start walking in a new direction.

I was thinking about the chess thing a lot this past Wednesday as I tried to recover from losing a day in the studio when I really can’t afford it. One, the big Japan order sitting in my studio like a silent lumbering Tortoro. Two, I was about to take 5 days off to go to New York City. For fun. How can I take off like that when I have this big order looming? That’s just how I roll. Not really, but I love that expression and I never get to use it. Generally I don't roll; I wobble around, fall over, then spontaneously burst into flame. And Wednesday, I was combining that with convulsive jerky movements and shallow breathing. Then, I realized I was trying to do double the work in half the time, and even under the best of circumstances, that just never happens. I needed to change my mindset, re-strategize what I was trying to accomplish, go on the offense, and stop fucking scrambling. Turns out it was easy—I just needed to pay one of my helpers in for an extra day of work. As soon as I realized that I really didn't have to do it all by myself, the jerky movements stopped and I started breathing again. And then on Friday, I hopped on a plane to New York City.

pace yourself

I've been learning a lot about my making process as I work my way through the very large Japan order. It's interesting that no matter how long you've been doing something, there's always more to discover. I learned so many hard lessons with the five-figure order and I've been determined not to make those same mistakes. The biggest mistake I made was not being organized and plotting out my production schedule. I procrastinated, and then backed myself into a very uncomfortable corner when there were glaze issues at the very end.

With the Japan order, I've been totally organized. I made a production schedule. I inventoried my glaze and ordered the extra I would need. I made a list of all the parts I would need: 180 individual cherry blossoms, 60 birds, 80 small cake stands, etc. I called my man Hector at the factory and gave him a heads up that I would need extra attention and pieces right now. I hired some extra hands and put them to work. No procrastinating.

What I've learned in the past month is the importance of pacing yourself. When the order rolled in, I got anxious and busted out almost half of the bell jars I would need for the order in one afternoon. The problem was, with all the other stuff that needed attention-- including other orders not related to the Japan order-- there wasn't time to trim and decorate all the bell jars I made. We only manged to deal with the ones I would need for the first round of glazing and firing, the rest have been wrapped up tightly in plastic and have been waiting their turn for over two weeks. So really, that afternoon I spent making all of that stuff was not really time well spent, all it did was temporarily assuage my anxiety. Which was maybe worth it for that day, just so I could prove to myself that I could throw the entire order in three days, if I wanted to. Which I don't, really.

Pacing yourself is totally related to organization too. Knowing what I need, as well as when I need it is part of the whole picture; not getting too far ahead in one area, only to fall behind in another. It's been challenging to stay on course, because I generally set my stride from instinct, rather than going by a tightly paced list of needed items. I think most artists are probably the same. But it's working for me; by Thursday I should have 50% of the order glazed up, which gives me four more weeks for the rest!

writer's block

Every once in a while when I'm writing for my blog, I get writer's block. Usually, it's because I'm writing when I'm tired, or I don't have a point, or the subject I'm tackling is just to fucking big for a blog post. Blogs have limitations, and I think the biggest limitation of blog writing is keeping it short-- no longer than three paragraphs, if possible, unless you are writing something incredibly compelling. This last week when I've been writing for my blog, I keep writing, and rambling, and going on and on about... all kinds of things. I can't seem to wrap it up into a tidy little blog post. There are too many things on my mind right now. And not in a bad way at all, I just can't seem to get my compass pointed in any one direction. Which makes for some really boring blog writing.

I could just let it ride, and not publish for a couple of weeks, but I don't want to do that right now. I'm all about September being back-to-school mode, a time to build momentum and get some shit done. I've had my vacation, and I want to write. But I need some help. I need some homework, an assignment! If you have a question, or a subject you want me to write about, right about now is a good time to tell me what that is. Post here in the comments or send me an email.

open studio...

... is happening, again. On Saturday! I'm hoping to clean the studio tomorrow, because it's a disaster right now, clay and dust all over everything. There will be all kinds of good stuff, some beautiful one-of-a-kinds and some of the standards as well. And of course, the ever-present seconds...

I also signed myself up for a show at the Museum of Craft and Folk Art on Sunday in San Francisco. So if you can't catch me in Oakland, swing by the Museum show in Fort Mason that will be featuring some other great artists as well. Hope to see you there!

attitude adjustment

This past week I've been working really hard, trying to get ahead of the overwhelming order, while also catching up with my orders from August. I haven't worked hours like this in a long time: yesterday I was in the studio at 7 am and stayed there until 4:30. I had to immediately go and drink a martini afterward, but after a long day I think the reward system should be in full effect. I almost forgot it was possible for me to work a straight 8-hour day.

I've broken the overwhelming order down into its smallest parts, and I keep looking at it, looking at it, and looking at it again. The more I look at it, the more I feel like I may actually pull it off. As I've been spending hours and hours with myself in the studio, I've started working on my attitude. Part of the reason why I took a month off from the making work was to get some perspective. My stress levels have been getting cranked all year from studio issues: not having enough assistance, nagging glaze issues, misbehaving cake stands and the relentless orders for them... all of it has made me feel like failure is the default setting, while success is something always just out of my grasp. Talk about lack of perspective... for every failure out of the kiln, there are probably 20 successes, but when you start losing your mind, all you see is the failure.

The failure mind set is completely debilitating and also totally self-fulfilling. As I deal with the overwhelming order and a few others that came in on its heels, I've been asking myself how I can think about my situation in a more positive light, starting by just appreciating that people actually want to buy my stuff at all. I also try to see all the pieces finished on time, perfectly fired. And normally I would hedge a big order by making a bunch of extra pieces. I recently read a brilliant article by Sequoia Miller in the current issue of Studio Potter magazine about this very practice, and what a waste of time it can be. I really don't have time for hedging right now, I want to count on things coming out right the first time.

So right now it's all about long solid days in the studio, deep breathing, positive visions, 8 hours of sleep, and not toooooo many martinis!