Dirty, messy love of mine

I am the creative one of the group.

No, I don’t mean I can put together Pinterest-worthy parties or make chic decor from glitter and vinyl stickers. I am the messy and chaotic free spirit. At any given moment I am either covered in paint or clay from head to toe. I am the living embodiment of “trust the process” and “it will make sense when it’s done.”

I am a ceramic artist. My work is more than what I do, more than just a casual rendezvous, it is a full-blown integration of the soul and the elements around it. When I’m in my studio, I am connected to earth that I mold, water that smooths and perfects, air that dries forms, the fire that forges. My craft is a career that stemmed from a slightly tumultuous love affair and grew into a relationship that brings me peace and happiness; though as with any relationship there are the occasional moments of frustration and aggravation. When I am joyous, I sit at my wheel and sing along to whatever music may be my flavor of the day. When I am angry, nothing helps more than hauling a 50-pound bag of clay to be divided, and standing at my work table to wedge and fold the pliable mounds until I’m covered in sweat, and exhausted. Whatever emotion I’m feeling when I step foot in my studio, it flows into a satiated pride and wonder at how these hands could create something from nothing.

Aside from the clay, my process revolves around the tools of my trade. Every horizontal surface in my creative space is littered with tools of all shapes and sizes. Long wires attached to wood spools, metal bent in loops and twists, combs and ribs made of both wood and plastic, Exacto blades in various lengths, and 3 pairs of scissors that are not allowed to leave my work table.

Let me elaborate on that bit a little more: I do crafting of all sorts, including (but not limited to) sewing, painting, woodworking, and jewelry making. My kids are also in to exploring their creative side. In this house, scissors are the one thing that tends to walk away on their own and disappear. Whether they fall into the black hole of my daughter’s art desk or get shoved in a random model-making kit in my son’s room, the scissors are always the first to vanish. That’s why one of my rules is that my studio scissors do not move from the home I have made for them on the wall beside my most used table. I would prefer them to not join the multitude of pairs I’ve lost over the years.

There is nothing more thrilling than the sound of a sharp pair of scissors slicing through the packing tape on a new box of clay, I would akin it to opening up gifts on a holiday morning. Cutting through the ties of the plastic bag the 25 lb block of wet clay is wrapped in is equally rousing; that crisp “snip” and the gentle smell of earth rising to meet my nose.

Some days the clay goddesses and kiln gods are on my side and I can work fast and focused, steady and proficient. Some days nothing seems to come out right and my fingers stumble around as if they have never felt the slick coolness of clay spinning on a wheel. There are days when my drafting book is full of ideas just jumping off the page, other days that fill me with a block and void and no direction on where to go. I would be lying if I said every day in my studio was easy; those are the days where I pour an extra cup of coffee in one of my own mug creations, giggle at whatever dirty joke or snarky statement is decorating the vessel, and just reflect on the unyielding gratitude I feel for being able to turn my crafty hobby into a career.

My personality certainly flows in each piece I make. Though I always have a supply of mugs or serving platters that would gain the approval of the proper Southern and God-fearing lady that is my mother (she is the “Saints” part of my business name), my preference is crude, colorful, and in your face humor for all to see (I would be the “Sinners” part of my business name - ha!). As an example, my most recent line of mugs was titled “Dirty Hands” and each had its own four letter word gracing the front of the mug body … but with a bit of a good karma twist. All the letters were drawn in American Sign Language, with a part of the proceeds being donated to The National Theater of the Deaf. Isn’t it fun to swear and be a good person? That’s pretty much the thought process behind most of my creations.

Here’s where I’ll toss in a quick shameless plug for myself: if good-natured yet slightly offensive humor is something you like with your morning coffee, you should certainly hop over to the land of the ‘Gram and have a giggle over the pictures of my pottery that I post. My handle is SinnerSaints_Ceramics, and I’d love to see you there. As always, and like I end every thank you note that goes with my pieces to their forever homes …

Have a bangarang day!