Do we own our objects or do our objects own us?

A few weeks ago I was talking to Michael Strand, a ceramic artist who lives in North Dakota.  He said something that I’ve been thinking about ever since.  He said there are two things that are important about an object, the aesthetics of the object and how the object was acquired.  This made me think of this story.

I’m not sure when it started but I can’t remember a time when my grandmother didn’t think she was going to die.   Every day, that very day.  Ever since I was a child and we would visit my dad’s parents it was always the same conversation.  Grandma Guyot: “You better tell me what you want.  I’m not going to be around much longer and if I don’t know what you want, you won’t get anything.”  Me:  dead silence. 

It was an uncomfortable concept especially when I was young.  I believed that if I picked an object that I wanted from her house this sealed her fate and she would drop dead right then and there. This went on for years.  Yes, there were other anxieties.  She went around the house and unplugged every appliance during a storm.  She wouldn’t drive a car because of an accident in the 1950’s.  And most prominent were the borderline hoarding tendencies that, unfortunately I have inherited.  It’s possible that this last anxiety was responsible for what happened next.

When I was in my mid twenties my mom and my sister and I visited my grandmother by ourselves without my dad.  My grandmother asked the question again as she always had.  This time, I decided I would answer her.  There was this little tea set that sat on top of her kitchen cabinet.  It was really high up there so I could never get a close look at it but I always thought it was beautiful.  It was a teapot and a cream and sugar set that had an Asian scene painted on it.  So I spoke the words, “Well, I guess I’d like to have that tea set.”

Grandma Guyot said, “That’s something you give somebody you LOVE not just to give away.”  Oh yes she did.  Needless to say I left in tears while my sister hauled boxes of china out to her car.  My mom said we were never going back there without my dad again.  But we did.  After my dad passed away and my grandma went into the nursing home I would make the three-hour drive a few times a year to visit her.  Sometimes I would break her out of the home and take her back to her house.  I didn’t do it because I wanted anything or because we had a close relationship, I did it because it was the right thing to do. 

After Grandma passed away my uncle and I were at her house and he asked me if there was anything I wanted.  I marched into the kitchen and pointed and we got the tea set down.  I felt like I had won.  My husband calls it the Spite Tea Set.  He’s right.  I have no idea of the significance of it or how my grandmother acquired it.  After I cleaned 40 years of grease off I realized it is actually pretty hideous.  The painting is crude and doesn’t line up properly and there is a little clay shaving inside the teapot that is permanently glazed and fired there.  It’s poorly crafted and it now sits inside a cabinet where I can’t even see it.  It has bad juju. 

So I think its time to get rid of it.  I think I’ll box it up and take it to Goodwill today.  Except there is this…That really is something you should give someone you love, not just to give away.  I mean, it was my Grandma’s. Maybe I’ll take it in next week.

Hey Mr. Kotter....

view from the dining hallI just returned from spending a week at Penland School of Crafts in North Carolina.  I had the opportunity to be a visiting artist during Kathy King’s Spring Concentration.  While I was only there for a week, Kathy’s students were lucky enough to be staying for eight weeks in this inspirational place.  During their concentration, the students will be hearing lectures, seeing slides and watching demos that focus on the history of ceramics.  They will also be touring artists’ studios and visiting area galleries which feature ceramic art. 

The opportunity to be immersed in this studio environment up on a mountain while having all your meals prepared for you is pretty incredible and I was feeling a bit envious that I was not a student in this class.  I have taken a workshop at Penland before and had such a great time that I literally cried when I pulled into my driveway at the end of the two-week workshop.  It was a fantastic experience.

the pines dining hall
While I enjoyed my time last week demonstrating and participating in discussions about professional practices, after it was over, I felt a big sad.  I thought how different my experience as a student and my experience as an instructor had been. Yes, it was a great opportunity.  Yes, all my meals were prepared for me too.  Yes, the students were fun and I had a great time working with them.  But I wanted inspiration too.  I wanted an opportunity for my studio practice to grow. 

And so on the last night I returned to my room a little sorry to pack up my stuff.  I put in a David Sedaris book on tape.  I got out my journal and a funny thing happened.  Ideas just started flowing and I started sketching.  I stopped listening to David and filled up five pages with ideas for new work.  Where had this inspiration come from?  I had been teaching all week.  How did this happen? 

There is just something about being in a place where everyone “gets” what you do.  How often do I get a chance to take a break from my life, from the news, from my meetings, my dog, my house and studio and just “be”?  Student or teacher, I was still immersed in art and craft.  I was surrounded by makers and people who support makers.  I ate, I danced, I walked up some serious hills, I saw some amazing ceramic art, I talked with great people and I drank a lot of Gingeraid.  I connected.  In short, I was inspired.  Teacher or student, it really makes no difference.  We are the same.

view from upper clay studio