Nature Abhors A Vacuum

If I'm not mistaken, I was recently caught bragging about how clean my shop area was. I really should have remembered that old saying: Nature Abhors a Vacuum.

I was at Michael's over the weekend, looking for a fine, detail brush for a ceramic piece I was glazing for the class I'm taking. I was also looking for glazes. I managed to capture one on the employees there and ask if they carried glazes. He said no, but a guy and his wife were standing in the same aisle and the guy asked me what I was looking for. I told him, and he said that not only was he getting rid of his glazes, but his whole setup for doing clay and ceramic work. While my eyes widened at this stroke of luck, I pulled myself back by my collar and reminded myself that I've been unemployed since October, and buying a bunch of stuff was probably not the thing to do right now. But I took down his number and let him know I was interested in the glazes, though I'd pass his number along to a classmate who might be looking for the other stuff.I followed up and called to set up a time to swing by his house and take a look at what he had. He again told me he had a kiln, pottery wheel, plaster table, glazes, and some clay to get rid of. I told him that I'd look at it, but I was pretty sure I couldn't afford the purchase right now. I mentioned that if he wanted to sell, to talk to his wife and come up with a fair price, and I'd talk to my husband about it. I again told him that I'd give his number to someone at school if I couldn't make the purchase myself. We agreed on a time for me to stop by the next day, and hung up.

I swung by his place after school the next day. I had already told Mr. ShellHawk the story, leaving out the part about the kiln, etc., because I was sure the price would be over $1000, and I wasn't willing to spend that. I'd been pricing kilns and I knew you could easily spend $1500 on one once you had added all the shelving and gizmos you would need.

Imagine my surprise when he told me he'd sell all of it for $400. He and his wife are cleaning up the house to sell because they want to move to Idaho, and since they didn't use any of it, he just didn't want it taking up space any more.

I bit my lip. I knew that was a fantastic deal. I stepped outside to call Mr. ShellHawk. (Unless it's for groceries, I won't make a purchase over $200 without consulting him first.) Couldn't reach him. Went back inside to talk to the guy and see if maybe I could leave a deposit to hold the stuff, when Mr. ShellHawk called back. I stepped outside again to talk to Mr. ShellHawk. He was glad I'd called to ask, and left it up to me. I thought about it for part of a second, and went in to tell the guy I'd take it. We loaded up the kiln in my Explorer, along with what turned out to be around 100lbs of different types of clay, some dried but unfired pieces of his, and some other odds and ends. He promised to load the table and the pottery wheel and deliver it to me the next day, which was yesterday.
Yesterday, as it happened, was also the first day in nearly a week that it didn't rain. One of the projects that has been on hold has been the planting of my hedge roses and various bulbs in the front yard. I got up, took a quick trip to OSH for rose planting mix (the soil in my front yard is hard clay, and the previous owners didn't believe in adding organics, just chemical fertilizers, so the soil quality didn't improve under their care.), and got home and got to it. I had planted five or six roses when my wheel and table arrived, and I had to stop and help unload them from his truck.

After he left, I stood looking at my new acquisitions. Mr. ShellHawk informed me that this would be my birthday gift (I love having someone who wants to give me gifts that I want), which I thought was perfectly fair. I really couldn't ask for anything better (except maybe a new Bucky, but I don't want to be ungrateful.) for my 41st, which is at the end of the month.

Not for the first time, I reflected on the old saying: Luck is when opportunity and preparedness meet.

On a spiritual level, I have been claiming my space as an artist. On a physical level, I cleared the space for that to happen, and began to prepare myself (take a class) for an opportunity. I have been speaking about art of various kinds, I've been thinking about it, I've been putting art vibes out into the Universe. I told the Universe, "I am an artist!" and the Universe answered back, "Yes, you are!" because the Universe always answers in, "Yes." I believe that you are an artist before you ever sell your first piece, even if you never sell your first piece. I believe that you don't need the money to validate your state of being an artist (or writer, or dancer) to anyone else. It's nice to have, don't get me wrong, and it sure helps to buy shop towels and carpet glue, but being paid doesn't make you a successful artist in my mind. Sitting down and making art does.

And I'm so looking forward to sitting down in my shop and making that big, messy thing called, art.

Starting the Good Work

For some reason, starting new creative things puts my mind into a sort of free-association; a thread of thought I can follow easily and that others may get tangled in. Here goes...

Ten years ago, Mrs. ShellHawk, though a different ShellHawk, was married to someone else who was a sculptor. This person was a sort of antidote to my creativity. (No blame here, after all, I let it happen.) I remember picking up his Sculpey one day and making a cute and fat little wizard that really didn't turn out half bad. I didn't bake it, not realizing I should, and it lived on my bookshelf for two days.

I came home on the third day and glanced at the bookshelf. No wizard. I asked him where it went.

He told me he had used it to fix the leak in the pipe under the sink! That it was the only thing around that could be used!

Mind you, there was an OSH at the end of the street that carried as much plumber's putty as anyone could ever want, for about $1.59 a crack. And he had another full box of Sculpey lying around. But no, it had to be my sculpture. I am ashamed to say that the ShellHawk of those days laid down and took it, in order to keep "harmony" in the household.

Later, after I broke myself out of the situation and had lots of counseling, I realized that the man was so desperately insecure as an artist (and a person) that he had to attack other people's art to make himself feel o.k. I remember a very talented artist friend of mine coming over with his portfolio, and the ex telling me after my friend left that his work was terrible. My friend's work has since been displayed in the offices of the Mayor of Los Angeles. Goes to show, huh?

So here I am, years later, with a supportive, wonderful husband (best one I ever had, heh!) and many, many fun experiences under my belt ( I was going to say, "things under my belt," but I know how your mind works), re-starting my artistic life.

So Monday, I had my first "real" working class in my new medium: clay. I am taking a course at the local community college, for credit, where the teacher has only one demand: NO COFFEE CUPS OR ASHTRAYS! I can respect that. My table-mate is an 18-year-old young man who shows a lot of artistic promise, rather like I did at that age. I find myself having to repress any phrase that starts with "When I was your age..." for fear of spouting about "Uphill. In the snow. Both ways."

After class, I came home, had a spot of lunch, then dove into further cleaning the garage (a long story), but had to stop because I suddenly started to feel dizzy. Turned out some decongestant helped knock it back. I woke up yesterday and still felt a bit dizzy, so I took it easy until I couldn't take it any more. I dragged my art table into the house, draped everything within a ten foot radius with plastic dropcloths, and started making paper mache pumpkins. I even did one layer of a paper skull, too. (Did you know that applying one layer of newspaper to a one foot tall pumpkin takes you through the first hour of Aliens? I found out that it does.) Even as I found myself thinking how glad I was that I could sit down and make these things, I was also thinking I'd start my 22" pumpkin today.

It's hard to explain to people who live in serious snow/winter country that January always feels like spring to me. Even though it's still cold (for California, that is), and it's our rainy season, the incremental lengthening of days makes me feel a lightening of spirit, a thankfulness to be alive, and grateful that I did the work to have the life that has room for creativity, deep love, and growth.

The birds are pairing up now, in preparation for starting their new broods. The bulbs I planted last autumn are coming up and soon will flower. Even though the roses have been given their yearly hard pruning, little shoots are starting to develop. I feel the same way, as if every little creative idea I have will be born and take wing before I know it, because I finally figured out how to lay the foundations for that to happen.

How do you start that kind of life? It's easy.

You just start.