a new page

When some people want to change something in their life, they may buy a membership at the gym, join a like-minded group, enroll in a class, or get a therapist.

Me, I buy a notebook.

This is a collection of my notebooks. In the interest of full disclosure I will say that this is not all of them. All have been acquired within the past 3 years, with the exception of #12, my wedding notebook that my Aunt Shelly sent to me back in 2001 when I got engaged to my husband. She knows the power of the notebook.

I have always wished that I were the type of person who could carry around a moleskine notebook and jot all of my thoughts and ideas into that one place, and when I was done, file it and buy another exactly like it. And when I needed to refer back to something, a genius thought or creative idea-- of which I have many-- I could simply crack the moleskine. My inner creative life could be documented in a linear way that would create a beautiful pocket of order in my universe.

But that's not me. I am addicted to the new beginning a fresh notebook represents. When I decide I need to make a change in my life, such as getting more exercise,  a new notebook must be purchased (#15) so I can use that notebook as a way of tracking myself. I can't write down my daily exercise in notebook #10, which holds my grocery lists and menu plans, or notebook #21, which lists all the annoying household things that need to be taken care of, and certainly not notebook #9, which lists my studio to-do's for the day. Crossover creates confusion.

And it's not just lists of things that I like to have going. #14 is my daily journal (always spiral bound and college-ruled). #13 is strictly for pottery ideas and drawings, while #3 is for other creative ideas, like papercuts. #4 is dedicated to happiness and happiness resources á la Gretchen Rubin, and #7 stays in my purse for moments when I am struck by inspiration when out to dinner or a museum (empty except for notes on directions and places to eat). #3 was for when I decided to start doing sketches with little stories underneath, of which there are two in the past year (sketches, not stories), and somewhere in there is a notebook related to money, but I'm not sure which.

I'm going to confess what you probably saw coming from the beginning of this post: the only notebook that regularly gets any use is my journal, my day planner, and my sketch books. In large part, the rest of the notebook are testaments only to my ambitions, desires and goals. 

For people like me, who believe in the strength of words and writing, notebooks and paper hold a powerful sway over our psyches. As I was writing this post, and reading about notebooks and moleskines, I found this notebook, and my heart started beating a little faster. Maybe this is the ultimate notebook. Maybe this is the one that can change everything.

old blog posts, new thoughts

I received a new comment from another potter on an old blog post the other day that brought up some thoughts I wanted to share it with you all:

I'm still trying to figure out my message. My (blog) posts have a tendency to be all over the place. Some about pottery, some about my daily health struggles, and some just because! Do you really think that it is beneficial to narrow the point/audience of a blog, or will the "wide net" approach I've got going on work?

When I first started this blog just over 7 years ago, I knew I wanted to share my world with people, but I struggled with distilling my world into interesting blog posts.  My biggest mistake initially was thinking I had to maintain a professional facade for the sake of potential customers. Like my blog is a fancy store or I'm going to sell you an appliance or something.  I wrote about a dozen polite, very restrained, heavily edited posts that I hoped gave the impression that I was a serious artist with deep thoughts. By the way, only click on those links if you are feeling suicidal and think being bored to death might be a painless way to go (it's not).

Then, I had a terrible weekend at a bad retail show and I let loose in a blog post how I felt about it. I was completely honest about my anger, discomfort, and disappointment when I have to stand around like an idiot all weekend and people don't buy my work, or even talk to me.

That post was a lot of fun to write, and I was so scared to publish it because I was afraid of what people would think of me, complaining like that.  But I did publish it, and it was the first time I had more than one or two comments. I made the great discovery that people pay branding companies lots of money to manufacture for them: authenticity creates connection.

Authenticity is scary. Knowing who you are deeply enough to show your authentic self is work in itself, and you also have to accept that some people are not going to like you and what you have to say. And you know what? Fuck them. Not in a personal way, people aren't bad for not liking you. In a general way, fuck the people who are not into your world. The people who love your world can't wait to see what you do next, and they are the people who matter.

The question about narrowing the point/audience of a blog vs. wide net is not what needs to be considered, that's approaching it from the back end. The front end approach is  honing your point of view through writing and sharing. If you don't know what your point of view is, keep writing until you figure it out.

the re-education of whitney smith

Now that my studio re-model is done, I have been easing myself back into the studio. I have not done any serious ceramic work since the beginning of the year as I have dealt with my burnout issues. I spent at least 3 days trying to figure out what I should work on first. That was fun, arguing with myself about where to begin. Finally, realizing my inclination to make things hard so I feel like an effort is worthwhile, I decided to start with the easiest thing, which was an order for a cake stand.

I'm treating myself like someone who has been injured and has to be handled very delicately, and I'm watching every thought, every move to check for signs of burnout, boredom, disgust, and despair. As those things come up, and they do, I have to pause, and check myself:

• Am I trying to move fast when I need to move slow? (Years of production has made me hurry all the time.)
• Am I giving my process a chance to work out the problems of this piece? (Sometimes my lack of patience makes me give up quickly when I  think something isn't working.)
• Am I following my impulse with the direction I want to follow with the piece or am I trying to force an outcome? (This is all about trusting my instincts as an artist.)
• Am I deciding how this piece will be accepted or not accepted in the world before I've even had a chance to finish it? (I compare this to parents who have decided what their children are going to be when they grow up.)
• Am I staying present with what I'm working on, or am I drifting off into thoughts about the past, the future, or just not paying attention at all? (Hello bad habits.)

Asking myself these questions helps me adjust my pace, attitude, and internal dialogue. It takes discipline and patience to stay on top of myself like this, like trying to teach a child. An angry, drunken child. It's the re-education of Whitney Smith. I have this little sign on my studio wall, courtesy of rae dunn, which are serving as my current watchwords:

open studio

My Open Studio + Holiday Sale is THIS WEEKEND!

I will have LOTS of beautiful work on hand for all of your gifting desires.

I hope to see you there!

Holiday studio hours:

Saturday, Dec 14: 10 am to 4 pm

Sunday, Dec 15: noon to 4 pm

539 Athol Ave

Oakland, CA 94606

making things happen

I loved a recent post from one of my art heroes, Elsa Mora. The title of the post is "Making Things Happen," and it's about, well, how a busy artist can make so many things happen the way Elsa does. The steps she names go like this:

• Think: sit down with a piece of paper and a pen and think about what to make and why. This helps to clarify the mind and gives you focus and purpose.
• Make a Plan: figure out what the big picture goal is, and break it down into small steps.
• Start: the hardest part-- do not abandon the project or plan. One foot in front of the other, and begin.
• Manage your time: try to work in 2 to 3 hours bursts with no interruptions (internet, phone, people) followed by a break.
• Discipline: set a deadline, hold yourself accountable to finishing the project.
• Have fun: Elsa believes projects are more likely to get done when it's fun, and a project stops being fun when one step has not been done correctly.

This formula has been incredibly helpful to me as I get back to working on creative projects. Like Elsa, I am very impulsive. Often when I get an idea, I run headlong into trying to make it, leaning heavily on my creative abilities to carry me through and not thinking about a concrete plan. My studio is littered with unfinished projects that seem to hold promise but stopped being fun to work on.

Her post inspired me to work on a large scale papercut for my front window at the studio. It's something I've been thinking about since the springtime, but I was hesitant to start because I know my penchant for starting big projects and then not finishing. I didn't want to let myself down or have some lame bullshit in my window. I followed each step, including the working for 2-3 hours at a stretch. This piece took about 8 hours and it about 3 feet by 3 feet:

The thing I really learned through this process is that I have a tendency to rush through "tedious" details. For instance, I wanted to somehow cheat on cutting the scallop frame properly.  I noticed that I wanted to rush, or get bored with the process, but then I remembered the plan, and that the scallop frame was really important to making the piece pop on the window. That helped me re-focus on it, enjoy it, and do the work so it would look great and not sloppy.

I've started using this technique with every project and I'm hoping it will continue to help me finish great projects. Stay tuned.

be uncomfortable

I received a timely email the other day:

Hi, I'm a 15-year old thrower, I've been throwing for 2 or 3 years now. I think your work is *perfect* but lately I have felt like what is the point of this.  I truly enjoy throwing, but I can't get out of this rut. Have you ever had these feelings? How did you conquer them?
CL

Dear CL,
I wish I could say I have no idea what you are going through. Unfortunately, I know your feelings all too well.

Your first question-- what is the point of this-- is a larger existential question that I can't answer for you, you have to answer it for yourself. My answer for me is that the point is to bring beautiful, artful objects into this crazy world, and that's pretty much it. I would like to think that creating beautiful things changes the world, so I'm doing what I can to change the world. I don't know how far I'm getting there.

So, you're in a rut, maybe your first. Being a creative type means that you will not always be inspired and have ideas.  It's great that you have the opportunity to experience a creative rut, recognize you are in a rut, and ask for help at the age of 15. When I was your age I would go through creative ruts too, but I just saw that as a sign that I hopelessly sucked as an artist.  Then I would smoke a bunch of pot, write in my diary about how the world did not understand me, and cry. You may do all of those things too, but I never thought to ask for help. It's very brave of you to do so.

You are in a rut because you are bored. Maybe you are bored with your forms, your processes, your self-imposed limitations on the wheel. The opposite of creative is not un-creative, it's boredom. Boredom will smother everything creative within you with its droning, relentless voice about how you're not good enough, that idea sucks, other people are better than you could ever be, and eating a big giant bowl of ice cream is easier than going through the trouble of making that thing you thought you wanted to make.

You can't "conquer" boredom, because it's part of the process, the ebb and flow of being a creative person. Boredom is a message from your internal self that you need to grow. What that means is completely up to you to figure out, but here is a hint: We often resist growth because it makes us uncomfortable. To grow we have to start from a place of not-knowing, and it's much nicer to be in a place of knowing.  But being uncomfortable is not boring, so in my book uncomfortableness is okay for an artist. Maybe you should think about what makes you uncomfortable, and head toward that.

I'm uncomfortable with being less than perfect in my work, which means I don't experiment enough because I'm afraid of making ugly, imperfect work. I'm uncomfortable when my sales are slow, which means I'm constantly pushing myself in production, another creativity killer. I'm uncomfortable with ease, which means I don't value my work unless I struggle. I'm uncomfortable with pursuing other artistic interests for fear of depleting my creative reserves, which means my creative self usually survives on a plain clay diet.

My advice to you is to think about what makes you uncomfortable, and adjust your approach so that your creativity can incorporate those things. I've had to address my issues in order to have a better creative life. For me this means taking the time to try new things and make crappy work, make work that is not production-oriented and and may never sell, not immediately dismiss work that seems too "easy",  and work in other mediums I love such as drawing, painting, and paper cutting.

My dear, I hope that helps.

wandering the ruins

There is a zen axiom which basically says-- heavy paraphrase here-- do not regret what you did not do yesterday, do not imagine what you will neglect tomorrow. Do what you can right now by living in the present moment. Even if that means you screwed up yesterday and probably will again tomorrow. Do what you know is good for you right now, because now is all that matters. This is a great phrase to keep in mind as you attempt to overcome yourself.

My life has been deeply affected by some events in the past two years, and I have not written about them on this blog. Then, more stuff happened, and because I did not write about previous events, I continued the pattern of not writing about the newer events. Then even heavier stuff happened, and I felt mute. How could I write about this, but not write about these other things that happened? I didn't know where to draw the line, and I clusterfucked myself out of writing anything.

That's part of the reason I have not been writing much on my blog for the past couple of years.

And this has made me a little crazy, not writing on my blog. I love writing my blog, and I have felt a sense of failure as I have continued to neglect it. A few people-- well, one-- told me it's okay I don't post on my blog because no one reads blogs anymore.  I don't even care. If only one person read my blog (my mom) I would still write it. So, right now I am just going to write about this, and no regrets about the other shit I haven't written about. Yet.

This is my friend, Kaeti, who killed herself about 6 weeks ago.  It's an old picture of her, from when she was maybe in her late teens or early 20's. This picture breaks my heart, because it captures so much of who she was: beautiful, sensitive, vulnerable. She was also a brawling, ass kicking extrovert, which this image captures quite well:

Kaeti and I met when I was 19 and she was 20. We met because we both have connections to Delaware, which is a rare thing in California. We did not become friends immediately because I am naturally wary of people who try to be my friend, and Kaeti wanted to be friends. I like to pick my friends and resist being picked. It's weird, but there you go. Also, she was so beautiful I found it annoying. I was still overcoming my adolescent insecurities. A few months later, we ran into each other again in a random setting, and somehow this immediately cemented our friendship.

At the time, we were both recovering deadheads, and she had an inch thick dread on top of her head, with beads and string and maybe even a feather sticking out of it. I met a lot of girls who looked like her on tour with the Grateful Dead in the 80's and had a certain expectation of what she would be like: Smart, a little lost. Like me. So when she whipped out this deep, timeless, melodic singing voice out of her little hippie front, I about fell over. It was comically incongruous, this voice, defying all of my expectations in a moment. It was like seeing the depth and breadth of her all at once, through her astonishing voice. I realized immediately I had totally underestimated her. Little did I know then that she would sing at my wedding 13 years later, and everyone would cry. Listen to some of her music, these are a few of her songs from an album she made. This one is my favorite. This one is my second favorite.

I cannot go through my old pictures right now to find the ones of us together. Or look for the picture of her floating in a hot tub, tucked into a lifesaver float, smoking a cigarette, stark naked, hours after she sang at our wedding. I wanted to bring them to her memorial service on the east coast last weekend, but I could not bring myself to do it. It was like trying to lead myself into a fire. I also cannot bring myself to look up our last email correspondence from about 2 years ago, where she asked if she could call me, and I did not answer.

I wish that I did answer, and that she did call, because in my fantasy, this would somehow save her.

I don't let go of friends easily. With Kaeti it took some work. A crazy fight, a few misunderstandings,  a difficult move back to the east coast (hers), tenuous and brief get togethers thereafter. We did not have a falling out about any one of these things, but those are the reasons that I told myself that it was okay to let the friendship go. And when Kaeti let me go too, I did not get on her ass and ask her why. Our friendship had run its course, is what I told myself. And maybe it did. I don't know. All I know is that the moment I understood she was dead was like a kick to the head and heart at the same time, which fucking hurts.

The fact that she committed suicide puts a spin on events that is difficult for me to comprehend. Knowing her as I did, I know she suffered from depression and a sense of unworthiness which she cleverly disguised with her intelligence and unique brand of irreverent bravado. As we got older, it seemed security and stability continued to elude her as she pursued her music in tandem with nanny and waitress jobs. I always felt that a solid music career belonged to her, but I have no insight into this world, just my own awe of her musical ability. Watching and listening her sing I name as one of my greatest pleasures in life. Her voice always brought tears to my eyes, no matter what the setting. When she sang "Buckets of Rain" at my 20th birthday, I insisted she sing it again. And again. I could never get enough of her voice.

Her death, and her decision to make it so, is a mystery to me.  I'm not angry at her, nor do I feel she is selfish for killing herself, or that she did this as an act of hostility. These are all things I've heard are common emotion when a loved one is a victim of suicide. I think she was desperate, and that makes me feel nothing but sadness.

My other fantasy is that I am a time traveler, and I can go back in my capsule, and fly to Kaeti, and convince her that she needs to live, that she wants to live. Kaeti loved life, nature, and animals with a wide, generous, and tender perspective. Despite our ups and downs, I always loved her, and I believe she loved me, despite my many annoying personality disorders. And she forgives me for being a foolish ass, the way I do her.