I'm not much of an artist. Don't get me wrong, I love to sing, dance, act, photograph...but the actually making kind of art, with hands and tools and stuff, has always eluded me. I feel most comfortable with some brightly colored sharpies and doodling paper, finding beauty in simple class-time meanderings, while most of my friends, and family as well, subscribe to and excel in more formal artistic boundaries. I have especially vivid memories of posing for hours with my foot sickled for my sister, Anna, to sketch, color, and paint a neon-tinged replica while I gazed in wonder. The cramps felt wholly worth it when I saw the piece collected among her college application pieces and in her portfolio.
So, when my friend Antonette ("Toine") invited me to throw with her tonight that familiar pang of excitement returned with zeal. I couldn't resist! Nevermind the fact that it was 11 PM...she needed an escort across campus and the company, and I had never tried sculpting...maybe this is my craft calling, I thought!
No such luck. After mere minutes of trying to center my clay I gave up, choosing to photograph the process, chat with Antonette, read, and even sleep, as we waited for our pizza, which arrived at 1:30 AM. My stomach will be happy when I graduate from college.
I meandered about the studio as well, taking in my favorite part of art...the process. I love seeing all the unfinished scraps, crumpled lumps of clay discarded in angst, and colorful swatches of inspiration. Art-making facilities fascinate me! As Antonette layered her pieces with slip we found ourselves joined by a strangely colored dog, a coda to the night's bizarre events and reminder that we should go to bed...things were getting strange. Good night!
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