Musings at Minkiewicz Studios LLC

I Am My Own Doomsday Device

2012-01-10T22:44:00.000-07:00

It could be said that 2012 started off with a bang for me. Or rather the sound of body parts busting a cog at Christmas. The short version is this: I overworked myself during Christmas production and the bod and brain went on strike in protest. But I also have to say that 2011 was a very difficult year on a personal level. I guess everything just came to a head. That said, however, suffering near complete physical and psychological exhaustion is an interesting experience, and it's one I never wish to repeat.

Being of the same mind, my doctor put me on prescribed "pasture rest" though I'm slowly making my way back in the studio with welcome help from Mom and Ham. All in all, it's taken nearly two weeks of total rest—of doing absolutely nothing—to recover. Wow. Let it not be said I don't work hard or don't suffer for my art! And in the same breath, let it said I'm a total smeghead.

Cuz hey, I admit it: I did it to myself. It's a curse and a blessing to love what you do so much, you literally cannot stop doing it. Add in bad nutrition (apparently eggnog and Christmas cookies aren't found on the food pyramid), hosed up sleep patterns, barely any sleep on top of that and then constant, grinding stress, and well...after two months it catches up to you. Especially when you're 43!

Now my cheeky life's philosophy has been, "let my life serve as a warning to others" (and I surely need this poster in my studio), yet never before has that come to bear so profoundly than during this past Christmas. It was our worst on record.

On the upside, though, the whole silly escapade inspired resolutions designed to ensure it never happens again (one hopes). So in that spirit, let me share new wisdom gleaned from my own private chartered whitewater rafting trip into my own personal Apocalypse Now. "The horror. The horror." Grab a paddle.

First: Dreams Need Schemes My mind is in creative overdrive pretty much all the time. That's just the way it works. Ideas instantly spawn new ones and set me chasing after them in a Lamborghini, wheels a–squealin'. And that's a problem.

What I learned then is that immediately springing on new project ideas full bore can actually be counter–productive so, instead, the first impulse should be to jot them down for future reference. Stay on target. That is to say there's an important difference between perceived creativity and actual creativity, and the distinction between the two is critical for a working artist.

Anyone can have lots of ideas, but the real trick is managing them. Actual productivity requires a plan. Flipping it over then, choosing not to act on new ideas right at this very moment doesn't mean they won't ever materialize. Quite the opposite really, as learning how to delay, prioritize and schedule them actually improves their chance of materializing, and often in smarter ways, and better still, without me dying in the process. A studio can be a mad place, but there should be method, too!

This may be old news for far wiser folks, but for me it's a bit of a revelation. See, in the past, my creative options were limited: realistic equine sculptures destined for resin casting. That kind of work created its own pace because of the logistical nature of the work. However, introducing ceramics into the studio changed everything, literally overnight, and in two fundamental ways.

First, the previously limited, narrow options were instantly transformed into infinite, myriad possibilities. Before I realized what had happened then, the pace of my creativity exponentially increased and took my body with it because I forgot to pace myself in the process. It never occurred to me that a new media would usher in new ideas about effort and progression. At the time it was just a new media, not a new way of working.

Second, the process of creating ceramics is markedly different than that of oil or epoxy clay sculptures. Ceramics are created in a sequence that requires a fair bit of preplanned scheduling that also includes long lag times (such as those for drying and cooling)...and therein lie two traps. For one, the timing of those deadlines is really important. Miss or miscalculate one, and the finish date for the entire project can go wildly astray. Now if other projects are timed too closely, what you then end up with is a bottleneck of work requiring very very long, hard hours of ceaseless work to meet the deadline.

Secondly, there exist mad flurries of intense activity nestled within long periods of down time in ceramic production. It's in the down times where peril lies because it's so incredibly seductive to cram more projects into these "empty" time spans. And similar to the first situation, if all this work has similar deadlines, you can imagine the compounded workload at the tail end of the process. Imagine having two months to plan your giant wedding, a funeral, a surprise birthday and preparing to give birth, with all of them occurring on the same day. Yeah.

So this year, I'm instituting a production schedule for each project, with strict, suitably staggered deadlines. And I will not over schedule! There's always next year, despite what the 2012 doomsayers say.

Second: The Theory of Seasonality My giftware lines are sensitive to seasonal buying patterns. As you can imagine, the holiday season is the busiest time, but things also pick up in summer. When you play your cards right, collectors come to expect specialty items at certain seasonal times as well, and so the whole mechanism takes on a life of its own. This is really exciting and super inspiring, but...

It's really quite new to me. 2011 was only the second year of active selling through my Etsy store. In the past, selling my realistic equine sculpture has been more or less a rather steady endeavor throughout the year, with it actually dropping off around the holiday season.

But this new cycle of intense production and selling in very short bursts—during an already busy holiday time—is one I've only started to understand properly. Indeed, I only discovered how not to do so just last month! Considering how the giftware lines are expanding so quickly, and with jewelry quick on its heels, careful production management is going to be pivotal for keeping my sanity.

Altogether then, I learned that if I'm going to deal with the crazy holiday time in my personal life, I must start holiday production much earlier in my professional life. The two cannot coexist. For that, the production schedule will be designed with seasonality in mind. Sure, pressing Christmas ornaments in July will feel weird, but I clearly see now it's necessary.

Third: Health is Wealth Your art depends on your well–being, simple as that. So take care of yourself first—physically and emotionally—because if you collapse, your art will collapse right alongside you. Learned that the hard way! Identify what stresses and drains you, and minimize them. Then identify what replenishes and rejuvenates you, and seek those situations whenever possible. You owe it to yourself and your art.

For a working artist, in particular, this is really important. I mean, let's face it, I don't get paid for sick days or personal days, and there's no one to fill in for me if I can't make it into work. I'm all I've got, and I only get paid for what I create—and all of that depends on my well–being.

I realize now that I must become far more protective of myself because I'm the only one who can. What did surprise me, though, was just how quickly I reached my limits because now hard work and stress are cumulative. Age does matter! Each hour of running on empty adds up nowadays, and when the inevitable vapor lock comes, it takes a lot more than a good night's rest to bounce back. Point taken.

The fact of the matter is that now "taking care of myself" applies to each day because an aging body and stressed psyche have a harder time compensating. There's nothing wrong with that, of course—it's a part of life—but it occurs to me now that I'm a young person in a middle–aged body wondering what the heck happened!

But I'm also reminded of Tony Bennett's comment about "sinning against one's talent." That idea resonates with me. I've come to realize that my life isn't entirely my own—I share it with family and friends, yes, but also with my art. I live a symbiotic life in more ways than one. For my work to flourish then, so must I.

Me thinks the old adage applies here as well, that even "too much of a good thing is bad for you." If I want to reach my artistic goals during my lifetime then, I can't be the hare anymore, I gotta be the tortoise. I gotta work smarter.

But it's also no coincidence that my other favorite chestnut is, "the only way around it is through it." If you're in my house for any length of time, you'll probably hear my husband's daily mantra of, "why don't you listen to me?" followed by mine, "Oh, I do listen, I just disregard what you say." So there he was, warning me for weeks about my pace and there I was, blithely ignoring him and augering headlong into my very own custom–made crater. Mom just rolled her eyes. She knows all to well the howl of futility when faced with my bullheadedness.

And what a crater it was! So at this stage in my life, I need to strike a new balance because not only is my art changing, I am too. Never thought that how I created my art would evolve as a function of how I'm evolving, but, well...live and learn!

Fourth: KISS of Life This whole ridiculous debacle finally proves to my inner OCD workaholic that I cannot do it all, all the time. The clock just isn't that flexible anymore because I'm becoming far less tolerant to stress.

So to minimize stresses, my life must be simplified, at least until I figure out this new balance. So I decided this year to focus on getting my business back on track via immediate strides, both for financial and psychological reasons. Keeping my eyes on one prize, while also minimizing disruptions, will (hopefully) inspire a more reasonable pace, keeping bottlenecks at bay and not piling my plate quite so high. "Manageable bites" will be my motto in 2012.

So for one, my book is on hold until these transitions even out. For another, workshops and field trips I planned for this year are now off the calendar. More still, certain projects must be completed before I start new ones. How I run my studio will be streamlined, too, with some rather long–delayed changes now moved up on the priority list. Travel will be greatly limited because I cannot afford the stress. Award commissions and donations will be suspended, and I'm only going to focus on three new R&D projects rather than dozens.

In the end, I hope these temporary sacrifices will pay off and I'll come back stronger than ever this year. I'm also happy to report that all the chaos in my personal life appears to have leveled off (knock on wood), so I only have to really focus on my professional life. Lemme tell ya, that's a relief in and of itself!

So in that light, creating a disaster like Christmas 2011 isn't so foolish. Hey, we all do really dumb things with the best of intentions! The foolishness is not learning from our implosions to doom ourselves to repeating them over and over. What did Einstein say? Oh yes, "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

So my greatest challenge this year will be sculpting myself into a better, updated version. It won't be easy—I know how stubborn and dismissive I can be. It'll be interesting to be my own Inquisitor, but I suspect Mom and Ham will carry concealed cattle prods to motivate me along the right path. So yes Ham...yes Mom—I'm listening now! Regardless, though, I suspect more Hammies will be born in the process, so I suppose it's all good in the end.

"The reward of suffering is experience." ~Aeschylus

Carousin' with the Chemo Critters

2011-12-29T15:40:00.000-07:00

Ten Little Critters, pink n' pretty...I'd rhyme more, but I'm not that witty.

Earlier this year my friend, Lynn, had to start the arduous process of combating cancer. Wanting to cheer her up, I got to work on a special project, one I'd never attempted before (and I sneaked a peek of one of pieces in this April blog post).

When I heard the worrisome news, the idea for the project just popped into my head—ten little animal totems done in a caricatured, happy style. What kind of animals those ten would be also just popped into my head, those being a raven, a bear, a rattie, a frog, a tortoise, a bunny, a penguin, a bluebird, a ground squirrel, and a cat. Each one kinda symbolized a specific thing I wanted to say, becoming a fun clinky friend as well as a reassuring message.

Creating these wee ones was a blast! Sculpting the different body forms and the happy expressions was addictive. I wistfully thought of what it would be like to work for Disney as I sculpted in those smiles. But I did set one steadfast rule for myself: none of the critters could take more than two hours to sculpt. I set a timer.

The reason for this was two–fold. For starters, I knew my penchant for fiddly realism would seep in if I gave it enough "fiddle time." Not that that's a bad thing, but for this project, I thought that level of fiddliness would distract from the whimsical quality of these critters. I also didn't want to overwork these pieces into oblivion, and the timer made sure I had to prioritize what my hands did.

And second, I think sculpting totally outside a familiar zone is a healthy exercise, especially for someone so specialized in realism. I have great admiration for artists who can "cartoon" things because it's so difficult for me. My brain just works too literally. Now, however, I wanted to encourage it to work beyond its OCD habit and for that, a time limit forces it to capture the essence of shape and form rather than "literal–ness." And it seemed to have worked!

That said, there was a complication. Okey doke—for backstory—we try to avoid having thick, solid portions of clay to fire. Like, say, nothing thicker than a small carrot. If we do, we risk having a massive explosion in our kiln (and destroyed pieces) due to moisture that couldn't evaporate from the clay properly, or air bubbles that burst when heated to their explosive point.

But as I'm prone to do, I get carried away and forget about such critical technical imperatives. I just sculpt, happy in my muddy delirium, and don't really think through the process. So when I sat back and finished all of them—now back in reality—imagine how my eyes went AAAAAWOOOOGAAAAH when I realized just how big and thick they were! GadZOOKS! There sat ten little critters just asking for explosive trouble in Big Al.

But no problem I thought, shirking off the initial panic. I could let them dry a teensy bit, cut them in half and hollow them out, like I did with Mr. Pony. The only thing is...I got distracted. Big time. Certain family matters and projects with pressing deadlines caused me to completely forget about this critical step, and I missed the window. Once clay gets too dry, you can't really piece it back together well, and it tends to shatter apart or crack when fired. So I was now committed to firing them solid and thick. Great.

That meant they had to dry. Dry dry dry DRY. So dry, they'd put the Sahara desert to shame. So they sat for two and a half months. Remember, though—moisture was only half the problem. There was still the threat of air bubbles, but that was something I had no way of managing. If an air bubble was in any of them, there was no way of knowing. It was a gamble, and I just had to forge ahead on faith and hope.

The one thing that was working in my favor, however, was that these critters were sculpted in low–fire earthenware, a clay that's much more porous and forgiving in the air bubble department. Had they been sculpted in stoneware or porcelain, the outcome was potentially far more grim. Probably too grim to continue.

So came the big day, the bisque fire, in which the raw greenware clay is fired to make it hard. Being earthenware, this meant that the bisque fire would be the mature fire, the highest temperature, with the second fire for the glaze being the lowest temperature. So if these critters made it through this first bisque fire, they'd probably make it through the glaze fire, too. This was the moment of truth.

Taking precautions when I loaded them, I stacked kiln posts to form a kind of bomb shelter around each one. I thought if one exploded, at least the posts might contain the blast to help protect its neighbors and the inside of Big Al. Because, honestly, I fully expected to lose most—if not all—of them. But the only way around it is through it and so in they went, and "on" Big Al clicked. I fretted for twelve hours.

The next day, I trepidatiously opened Big Al's gaping maw, already accepting the worst, when what did I see? ALL of them...intact? In perfect white bisque? WHAT?! GLORY BE! It's a chemo critter miracle! I quite literally couldn't believe my eyes and even started shaking with pure excitement. What an awesome omen! Heck, what a relief! To celebrate, I promptly chomped down a big chunk of chocolate. NOM NOM NOM.

So the next step was glazing. Again, because I don't think things through most times, how these puppies would be glazed really didn't get hammered out entirely. Or rather...not at all. I did know that realistic glazing was out because I thought that would be too distracting from the actual sculpture. But beyond that, I was at a loss.

In hindsight, I'm rather irritated at myself for not having put more thought into the glazing aspect to be honest. Though I didn't know it at the time, deciding how to glaze these suckers delayed the entire project far longer than I intended. Hemming and hawing back and forth...art glaze? Solid? Directional? Splatter? Sponge? Airbrush? Different colors? What colors? Covercoat or tints? Overglaze? BAH! So many options!

I finally made a command decision and chose directional underglaze in three harmonious colors: blue, green and magenta. I figured that would accentuate the sculpture, be colorful and look cool together.

Here are some of them, getting their clear gloss glaze after being directionally sprayed with colored underglaze. The clear glaze is tinted pink so you can see how you apply it, but the pink disappears in the fire.

After all was said and done, they all survived the glaze fire just fine and came out cooler than I expected! I was tickled beyond pink and into blue, green and magenta! So without further ado, here are the chemo critters...

Here's the bear, scratching his paw. He's about 3.5" tall if I remember right. A solid chunk of 3.5" tall. Oy.

And the bunneh, about 2.5" tall. Those ears were a riot to tack onto that noggin! And who can resist a bunny tail? No one, that's who!

The cat. I'm particularly pleased with this guy. He was one of the hardest to sculpt, that feline body having so many unfamiliar curvy nuances...and the skull was tricky. Wow, cat skulls are complex! But he was a lot of fun and a great challenge, so I'd like to sculpt more stylized cats for those reasons.

The bluebird, who also happens to be the state bird of Idaho. I'd never sculpted a bird before, and I pondered over those feathers, let alone the birdy shape. Because of all that, this little guy was the most difficult piece to sculpt—he was just so waaaay outside my familiar zone! Boy, was I pleased to find that he turned out so cute! Lots of lessons learned from him (which I'll take back to my equine work). The biggest one? Just how effective a mere suggestion of something really is, such as "feather."

The perky purple penguin. I decided not to make his "arms" touch like some of the others since I liked the idea more of him softly popping his wings against his body. I envisioned him with that grin and doing that while rocking side to side with giddiness (and you can see that suggested by his tilted head position). That roll of goo was especially fun to sculpt!

And now for the froggie. Here's another one way outside my comfort zone. Wow! Frogs are wild to sculpt! I'm delighted with how he turned out, though, since I really wasn't so sure about it all. You know when you sculpt something so totally different, you kinda have no basis on which to base your confidence? Yeah, that.

The raven, who was about 4" beak to tail. If I remember right, he was the biggest piece. I really love ravens, and I knew Lynn liked them, too, so he was extra fun to bring to life. But I gotta tell ya...sculpting a smile into a beak is an interesting experience!

A happy tortoise. I adore tortoises! That shell was a thrilling challenge, but I especially loved sculpting his neck goo and his little face. Tortoises have such cute faces!

A squiggly ground squirrel. It's no surprise that two rodents infiltrated this crew. I mean, aside from the obvious association between me and rodentia, that body type lends itself so well to caricature. I really like how this little guy turned out, too, especially through his scrunched up shoulders and neck goo.

And, of course, a rat! What actually surprised me about this piece was that I sculpted him from memory. I really didn't think my brain was processing rattie form all these years, but apparently it was!

After all this, I off–hand discovered something rather interesting, shown in these next three images. Now obviously there was a learning curve since all this was new to me. But to tell the truth, I really didn't know what to expect of myself.

Despite all that, though, I anticipated a smooth and gradual learning curve, progressively demonstrating increased skill in each successive animal. Did I get a big surprise! How this project kicked off proved that a learning curve can be abrupt and nearly instant.

To back track for a moment, the first piece I started was the rat, since he was the most familiar, or rather, the least intimidating. Then I sculpted the bear and then the bluebird. But after I stepped back from these first attempts, I decided I didn't like them. They just didn't have the qualities I was going for and they were too crude.

So I immediately started each one again from scratch that very same day. Here's where things get curious (the first attempts are in the top row, with the second attempts right below)...

Clearly, there's a big jump in evolution from the first try to the second try, as shown by the ratties. This caught me by total surprise, and what's more, I only realized this after I compared the two later. In other words, I wasn't cognitively aware that my brain had made this leap while I was sculpting the second attempt. It just happened.

Here we see the same effect in the bear. Night and day.

And the bluebird. That's a dramatic difference! Like two completely different people sculpted them! And in a sense, that's true.

Now this isn't to brag. It's to illustrate something important about creative development, which is: try again. That may sound simplistic, but it really digs into some useful ideas. For instance:

The way we look at things is subject to as much creative evolution as our practical skills. Moreover, this applies not only to how we perceive our subject, but how we perceive our sculptures, too.
New abilities develop unpredictably. There isn't a "right way" of learning, so we shouldn't be surprised if some things come faster than others. Learning can happen sideways, too, when we aren't even realizing it's happening.
The only way to advance is to do and redo. Again and again. The more times we redo, the more opportunities we give our brains to refine and rethink what we're doing. Which brings us to...
We must finish what we start. If we rarely complete our projects, we don't give our brain the opportunity to complete its learning. Doing and learning are the same thing!
Though we may not like our first attempts, we shouldn't get discouraged because they don't indicate what we're really capable of! We can always try again. Learning is a process, and we need to give our brain the opportunity to put new lessons to work.
Even failures are worthwhile endeavors. We all have to start somewhere and we all need a baseline from which to grow! We shouldn't be afraid to dive in, or follow the wisdom of our hands.
Try something new from time to time. Keep your brain flexible and able to see the subject in different ways. It's fun, too!
And lastly, even experienced sculptors struggle and surprise themselves. Please don't feel inadequate if you're struggling because that's just part of the journey! Struggling means we're learning, so embrace it!

All these pieces are one–of–a–kinds (AAOK), so there are no molds to create duplicate castings. Do I plan to revisit this idea, to make more critters? Perhaps. It would be creatively healthy for me to veer off into caricature-land from time to time, plus sculpting other animal forms is an enticing prospect. So I can't rule it out. If you see similar little denizens pop up from time to time then in my Etsy shop, you know what inspired them!

All in all, I'm happy to report that just as this project had a happy ending, so has Lynn's year–long ordeal! We have so much to be grateful for, and so much to look forward to in 2012! Just keep forging ahead and shore each other up. And don't be afraid to be silly and have a bit of fun, even when things seem bleak. Above all—love love love. These critters were made with love for a lovely lady, and I hope they bring her many years of smiles and warm fuzzies!

"Most of us would be upset if we were accused of being 'silly.' But the word 'silly' comes from the old English word 'selig,' and its literal definition is 'to be blessed, happy, healthy and prosperous.'" ~ Zig Ziglar

Dirt, Sand and Metal

2011-12-02T14:48:00.000-07:00

Detail of Petals and Ponies, one of the festooned Dancing HorseTM tiles still available in my Etsy store.

I believe all art is about the elements—the elemental state of nature, the elemental sentience of existence, the elemental essence residing in all life, and the elemental ties that bind us together. The inner core. The base ingredients. Art is about life itself.

This is one of the reasons why working in ceramics is so appealing. What can be more elemental than dirt, water and fire? Mix it with imagination, dedication and passion and we rouse what is elemental within us. Art is forged in the gut. It's good for the soul.

Along with its elemental simplicity, clay also represents an ever fascinating, dichotomous blend of low–tech and hi–tech, serendipity and mastery, partnership and submission, function and art, timelessness and regeneration, of old and new. Ceramics evolve, yet remain true to its base elements.

I believe the the same can be said for the work of any dedicated artist, no matter what type of art they create. Indeed, it's a philosophy I apply to all my work, and just as much to my giftware.

This four–piece Prancing PoniesTM set, River n' Rock, was one of the many popular magnet sets offered. Each one is about 2x2" and based on a shape of either a circle or square. New upcoming designs will incorporate the triangle and oval to make the whole collection synch with the Dancing HorsesTM. Next time I may festoon these little guys, too. Tiny tiles + tiny beads = big fun!

Speaking of which, it was a madhouse here these past two weeks with beading, packaging, photographing and uploading. Why? Well, for Fuchsia Freakday, of course! Last Friday I opened my Etsy store for a big ceramic giftware sale, featuring my Dancing HorseTM tiles and Prancing PoniesTM magnets.

Offered was the usual undressed Dancing HorseTM tile, this one being AC-1 ("AC" meaning "Artist Choice"). This was my favorite tile from the entire fire, using an oxide that was rubbed off to reveal the design. I was very tempted to keep it.

In particular, there were some unique features about this sale that one could regard as landmark. For starters, this was the first time I offered my Dancing HorsesTM festooned with beadery. Mud and glass together at last! I've been a lifelong worshipper of glass beads. Hey, they're wearable bits of art glass! I've collected quite a gleaming mass over the years, like some sort of devout Bowerbird, especially during my PMC workshop last year at Shipwreck Beads.

So it was a thrill to finally combine two loves into one shiny pile of giddiness. Learning how to make my own glass beads is actually on my five–year "to do" list so I can incorporate them into my giftware and (future) jewelry. My friends Jonathan and Joy sell their gorgeous handcrafted beads and beaded creations on Etsy—how cool is that?! With inspiration like that, who can resist?

Also new to this sale was the offering of undressed tiles with different hole configurations, this one having three holes. Collectors are encouraged to festoon their undressed tiles in their own special way and different configurations provide more options for their creativity.

Another landmark feature was a predetermined store "opening," a specific date and time when it would be instantaneously stocked and opened for shopping. Based on the rather stressful situation with my previous porcelain sale, this time around I wanted to hide my items until they were all uploaded, then "unhide" them at the appointed time to open the store. Many thanks go to Amanda for her astute instruction on how to do that, and it worked like a charm! It was a far more pleasant experience for both shoppers and myself. Thanks tons Amanda!

Still, I'm not exactly a deadline kinda artist. I'm much more free and fluid and free-flowing and...and...oh heck...OK, I'm prone to distraction. From too many ideas and too many ongoing projects. I've become a real–life Jeremy Hilary Boob.

But I can say this: having an opening deadline wasn't only really exciting, it was a healthy exercise in time management. Or to put it more accurately: it was a mad rush! Midnight oil was burned by the barrel and early morning coffee was chugged by the potful. Sometimes ya gotta bust yer artistic gut to clean out the creative gears!

Another landmark aspect of Fuchsia Freakday was the debut of the Prancing PoniesTM magnets. I really love a cool, unusual, handcrafted magnet as my decorator crab-like fridge, metal shelves, and file cabinets testify. They're a delirious blend of function and art in a tiny package, and they're a super means to test new glazes to boot. So I was tickled to see the huge response to them—they were snapped up like acorns by a rampaging squirrel army! The sets were particularly popular, so that tells me I'm on the right track.

After all the hard work and preparation then, I'm delighted to report that the sale was a wild success! Thank you! It was so successful, in fact, that I plan to make Fuchsia Freakday an annual event to coincide with Black Friday. Next year, I'm even going to incorporate an exclusive, day–specific item! Spice it up a little. There are still some items available, and being handcrafted, unique pieces of art, they make novel gifts and stocking-stuffers for the discriminating horse lover.

Here's one of the two-hole festooned pieces, Whirligig. Not only is it fun to come up with beading patterns, but titles, too! And this glaze is one of my very favorites - consistent, easy to apply, pools well and has a rich, smokey lavender color. If you look closely, it also creates a 3D effect with the swirls. So cool!

I'll be actively expanding my giftware items in 2012, introducing new designs, new lines and new items (including jewelry and mosaics). So amid the ongoing chaos from porcelain ornament production, I'm also finalizing loads more stamp and tile–pressing designs, along with creating more bas–reliefs. Like I said—Jeremy Hilary Boob.

A Cool Cocktail, one of the three-hole festooned pieces off to a new home.

The thing is, though, many of these new tile designs were actually done last year. Well, at least the equine figures were. That's the easy part. It's the logistical production part that's hard. For instance, what will be the flourish or theme? How will the designs work together but stand alone, too? Will I use a stamp or tile press? That's a pivotal decision because it predetermines the design, production and nature of the final piece. Then what size? What shape? What clay? What will be the target price point and how will production be designed to meet that? Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, how will all this limit or expand various other applications of the design? It may not seem like it, but this process is actually tremendously difficult.

Here's one of the four-hole festooned pieces, Dancing in my Dreams. This piece is still available!

Interestingly enough, though, creating the pieces for Fuchsia Freakday clarified design issues and resolved production problems in roundabout ways, so all those previously stalled designs are now flowing smoothly. At last! Blarg! I can't tell you how good it feels to finally have forward motion on them!

All that Glitters demonstrates that the fun can be doubled when tiles are festooned together!

There's also nothing like a first–time sale of new pieces to teach you humility. Leading up to the big day, I had all my ducks in a row...or so I thought. All the boxes, promo flyers, listing methods and verbiage, packaging...yada yada yada. All was at the ready! Go me!

I soon discovered that no amount of prep can prepare for the actual play of events. In the scramble to jump through my own self–made loopholes, for example, I was forced to make many a return trip to my local box supplier, each time thinking, "OK, I have everything I need now—I'm all set!" Aaaaaand each time returning for something I never imagined I would need, with Mike (the owner) quipping, "You forgot something again didn't you!"

It doesn't stop there! We can add more! Here's Bouquet.

Now some of you have asked how I come up with my ideas and, well, going back to the elementals, they're born from an alchemy of imagination and spirit, with a bit of whimsy and style thrown in for good measure. But, essentially, the bottom line is this: What kind of horsey gift would I want to give or receive? From that perspective, coming up with ideas is really quite easy. When we create from the heart, isn't anything?

Finding a rich, pretty golden yellow Cone 5 glaze that also pools well has been quite a quest, but I finally found one! Here's The Bright Side, one of the four-hole festooned pieces that sold on Fuchsia Freakday.

But giftware designs are also guided by specific goals necessary to create a coherent line. I put quite a bit of thought into each one to build something cohesive, continuous and versatile; to be able to evolve, yet stay true to its core. For that reason, these ten goals guide each new design:

These "Ten Commandments" make giftware a load of challenging fun to concoct, on every creative front. I mean, not only is the process a logistical puzzle, but designing these pieces asks me to see the subject with totally new eyes.

Giftware thus opens the door for expressing the subject in so many different ways, and that keeps my body of work fresher while becoming an addiction of perpetual inspiration that pulls from multiple outlets, not just realism. All this congeals into a positive feedback loop that informs the rest of my work in ways not possible by other means.

I'm Finally Warm, in response not only to the color of this piece, but to the space heater now residing in my office. It's still available in my store!

Just as importantly, giftware spreads the accessibility of my art while also revealing a side of me otherwise not so obvious. So while my sculpture work is a dialogue between me and the subject, my giftware is a dialogue that includes the collector, too—and that's a really cool conversation!

Here's the grand-daddy of them all - a "four up," Rosemary & Thyme, inspired by the wonderful British series I was watching at the time.

I can also say that Fuchsia Freakday is my rebuttal to Black Friday. I mean, geez, "Black Friday?" I get the point, but it sounds so dreary! I have such a blast creating these pieces that I figure my version needed a bit more pep. I also choose to offer handcrafted, one–of–a–kind pieces made right here in the good ol' U.S. of A. with heirloom methods, in contrast to the typical items shoveled out by the crateful on Black Friday. And you don't even have to park your car!

The Dance, my favorite of the festooned pieces, and one of my most favorite things I've ever created. I held it back from the sale, at first tempted to keep it, but then realized it needed to live with a certain someone special I had in mind.

So all in all, this sale has been a joy, a reaffirmation, and a learning experience. Speaking through an elemental language is gratifying in more ways than one. It's a blessing that teaches new lessons and inspires new ideas, permeating the studio with the wisdom of core ideals to invigorate and reawaken. Yeah, I'll be busy next year. Just the way I like it.

"Ad hoc, ad loc and quid pro quo. So little time—so much to know!" ~ Jeremy Hilary Boob

The Creative Stewpot

2011-11-12T12:30:00.000-07:00

It's funny how some things are just meant to be, and in their own time. Life's a mystery, a wonderful thing to be sure. Indeed, a couple of weeks ago I discovered just such a mystery languishing right under my nose for...oh...about seven years.

Back story. Okey dokey - I had a 1:9 scale Morgan family in the works some time ago. I started with the mare, but from Day 1 she was a battle. Nothing worked. And I mean nothing. It was one big sculptural Bataan Death March. So I stopped. I've learned it's just better to stop and switch gears rather than force things. Either I'm not ready yet, the planets aren't aligned, or the conflict originates in my inability to listen at the time.

On top of that, I later decided they needed to be in ceramic as well, and so they needed scaling down because at the time ceramic production was infeasible with pieces larger than 1:12 scale (albeit not anymore). Really, the mare's torso alone was a good 9" long, not to mention the neck, head or tail! Back then - before large pieces were slip cast in pieces - that meant the wet, loaded mold would have weighed enough to snap one's spine in half like fresh celery.

So I made new scaled-down armatures and shelved the original versions in the dark recesses of my studio closet.

Here's the second generation scaled-down Morgan mare armature. Her torso is only about 6" across. I enjoy creating family sets because I can play with one theme in different ways while also infusing interaction between the pieces.

However, stewing long before all this was the compulsion to sculpt a Lipizzan stallion. I keenly remember the Royal Lipizzan Stallion show Mom took me to eons ago when I was a wee tot, I think when I was in elementary school. Let's just say it made quite an impression.

However, what stopped me in the ensuing decades were the lingering doubts about my ability to truly capture the cavorting white steeds romping around in my imagination. For one, Lippies have a very distinctive look and presence while also imbued with the feel of a living relic, a horse from another age. The breed has a high degree of type variation, too, but despite this, it's surprisingly easy to sculpt them as too-Andalusiany, -Furiosoy, -Morgany, -Arabiany, -Kladrubery, or -Cobby and I risk missing the mark entirely. There's a delicate balance of key features needed to create a piece that immediately and unequivocally reads "Lipizzan." Complicating matters, these horses also incorporate nuanced ideas about anatomy, biomechanics and horsemanship due to their "old world" build and schooling.

Altogether then, one could say that the Lipizzan extravaganza Mom took me to all those years ago was a primary impetus for the development of my art career. Why? Welp, in the truest sense, portraying this breed incorporates everything one needs to know about realistic equine sculpting. But that meant the Lippies who paraded before my tiny, awe-filled eyes had to wait patiently in my head for 30-odd years before I'd come to understand how to do them justice. Some projects really just need to bubble and burble in a creative pot for a very long time.

Here she is, just as I recently pulled her out of the closet. A GapoxioTM wad of frustration and self-doubt.

As these things tend to do spontaneously, all this smashed together in one of those Big Bang moments of seeming destiny. I was digging through my closet on a totally different hunt (of course) when I came across that old, dust-covered mare. In an instant epiphany, I saw her reborn as a Lippie stallion. It was a literal flash. Quite a powerful moment, actually. Then like my life flashing before my eyes, I realized that's what was fighting me all those years ago! I was forcing this piece to be something it didn't want to be - something it wasn't supposed to be! And too soon.

Here he is, cut apart to be re-pieced back together. Unlike many of my colleagues, I create my full-body sculptures from a self-hardening epoxy clay rather than soft oil clay, or waxes. This means changes can be a real PITA, but it does provide a permanent archival sculpture. This epoxy also has superior characteristics for capturing detail and fleshy effects with ease, at least for me.

So here he is, pinned back together and quickly rough-sketched in Photoshop to distill the idea. Still debating the head and left foreleg position - perhaps the tail, too - but I'll let him guide me this time 'round. While I'd like to eventually sculpt Lippies in the haute ecole and "airs above the ground" movements, right now the "cavorters" have to get out of my head after all these years.

(Above segment) The original version, and (lower segment) the new version. He's going to entail quite a bit of work with tweaking, correcting, re-proportioning and getting things in synch. For example, I see already that his gaskins and hind cannons are too long. However, I work from the withers "outward" so I'll make all the necessary corrections as I go, essentially "cascading" the errors out of his nose n' toes.

Representing a culmination of my entire art career then, this piece will be a true test of how well I've mastered the art form. A heckuva challenge, but I cannot wait to get started! I figure I can work on him alongside my sproinging Arab mare to usher in 2012 with a bang.

But oy...he's gonna be big. My largest original to date! Heck, he's already the size of my HR Metalchex! This makes him a sharp departure from the smaller scales I've been creating lately, but it's fun to spice things up every so often. And while I don't know how his size will translate into resin or ceramic, I do think bronze is a definite must.

I'm so grateful that Mom encouraged my passion for horses at such an early age - look at the journey it started! A blessed path. What a wonderful thing to look back upon and reflect, and then be able to infuse into this grandiose and thrilling piece! The past and the future, stewing together within the joyous moment! Thanks Mom!

"It has happened more than once that a composition has come to me, ready-made as it were, between the demands of other work." ~ Amy Beach

Variations on a Theme

2011-11-07T14:06:00.001-07:00

If you follow this blog, you've probably picked up on a theme by now: my infatuation with serendipity. That is to say a fondness for variety, diversity, change, moment, uniqueness. The things that make each of us individuals and each second a complete universe.

Creatively speaking, this translates into a gaggle of things to create paired with various ways to create them. Said another way, I not only have affection for variety in media, method and composition, but also for the various expressions of the equine form. Not talking about breed, gender or age differences here. Those are obvious enough. I'm talking about the more subtle differences in how anatomy manifests between individuals that make them individuals and how anatomy changes between moments that make them individual, too. Pour in expression and soul, and that's the fun stuff for me. The rules are just a means to the end.

Now granted, the rules are important. We strive hard to learn equine anatomy (to include biomechanics) as beginners and continue to refine our understanding throughout our career. Deeper than that, however, is the individuality of anatomy. No two individuals are alike and no two moments are alike. So applying the same habitual anatomical interpretation to another sculpture isn't the best plan if we seek to convey this animal's experience with authenticity. (I hinted at this effect a bit more in Parts I and II of my anatomical chart discussion if you're interested in more discussion on the subject.)

Also, when I see a horse, I don't see "a horse," or even a [insert breed]. I also don't make value judgments of "good" or "inferior," "beautiful" or "ugly." What I see instead is a unique individual, much like how I'd identify friends and family. Having evolved away from objectification in my art and towards exploration, I'm far more interested in those qualities that go deeper. How does the saying go? "We like people for their qualities, but we love them for their flaws." Well, I believe the same applies to equines.

Because of this, sculpting "perfect" specimens isn't very interesting to me. I mean, you're not lovely and worthwhile because you don't look like a movie star, centerfold or model? Nah. I don't find your value in how beautiful you are on the outside. And it's so subjective! Indeed, it's those things that make you different that allow me identify you as you! Isn't that much more fun?

In a similar way then, repeatedly sculpting the same anatomical formula doesn't light my fire either. Sure, it's comfortable and safe, like all habits are, but the serendipity found in living anatomy entices me far more. The irony is that I've been telling folks all this time that I don't sculpt portraiture, but only now do I realize that's exactly what I've been doing. Only I just create portraiture of my own making.

Anyway, this direction came into sharp focus these past two weeks in the ceramic studio. As I mentioned in the previous post, I got a wild hair - as I'm prone to do (perhaps too often) - and cast some Reflective plaques in porcelain slip. I actually bought the jar of this magical stuff some years ago and it sat lonely on the shelf until I was confident enough to swim in its silky goodness. The Joy ornament from last year eroded any trepidation I had, so I figured it was time to swan dive.

Anyhoo, the mold cast easily and the two initial castings were a dream to clean. Greenware porcelain is interesting. You don't really clean it like you would earthenware, terracotta, or stoneware. You really just touch it with water and it "self heals." (In this case, a soft artificial paintbrush dipped in water.) It melts into exactly what you want. It also carves beautifully and holds detail like nobody's business. Imagine mixing talcum powder with butter - that's how it feels.

Elsie supervised the entire endeavor, taking period drinks from my water cup. Yes, I love tapioca pudding, so I have lots of those cups.

Which got me to thinking. Reflective in porcelain was exciting enough - yeah, great. But why stop there? Claybody them! Never mind that I've never worked with porcelain slip before. And let's just ignore the fact that I've never claybodied the stuff either. Don't even mention that I've also done zero research on the process and had absolutely no idea what I would be doing. Perfect! Let's go! Hey, the only way to learn is to stare looming failure in the face and cackle madly. 1.21 GIGAWATTS?!!

But there was a monkey wrench. Unbeknownst to me at the time, porcelain slip dries fast. Really fast. Way before I expected it - even in a cool, damp garage - these two castings were too dry to claybody. Once clay is past a certain drying point, the likelihood of added changes taking well plummet dramatically. In this case, they'd probably just pop off in the fire or create cracks*. So I opted instead to carve them rather than add alterations; to subtract rather than add. Thankfully, it was far easier than expected and terrific fun to boot!

[*In hindsight, little did I know about porcelain's vitrifying properties and how they can be manipulated, but they may have lent themselves to claybodying even these too-dry pieces. But I'll leave that for the next post.]

So here are the results from the subtractive claybodying, pieces #1 and #2. With them, I simply carved away what I wanted to change rather than adding anything. On the top one, I detailed out those braids and on the bottom one, I made them smaller and more "cigarette-like," as well as removing them from the tail in dressage fashion. On both, I changed the facial features, especially in the muzzle area.

So having had such a great time with those two, I decided to go one step further: Cast three more for additive claybodying. To do that, I popped each fresh casting into a gallon-sized ZiplocTM baggie with a damp wadded paper towel in the corner, carefully squeezing out most of the air before zipping it closed. This keeps the casting wet, something necessary for additive changes.

Here's #3 - in the middle of the claybodying process - in the "wet bag" to keep it damp. You can put your in-process piece back in the bag to come back to it later. It can "keep" in there for a couple of days, but not indefinitely. A spray bottle filled with water and set to a fine mist is also a useful companion to keep the piece evenly damp during the process.

For additive claybodying, I need "slab" and "paste" porcelain rather than runny slip. To do that quickly, I simply pour some slip onto a plaster mold and let it dry enough to still be damp and flexible, but no longer runny. I can keep it as a slab for manes, tails, or bridging expanses, or I can turn it into paste by smooshing it in my palm with some water, as follows...

I make fresh paste each time - it just works better that way.

You can keep slabs fresh in the wet bag, too, or you can prepare them for paste in the "mushpool," or damp cup. Anything left over after you're done gets put back into the dump bucket to be used again for future castings.

Here's #4 in the works. To add on pieces, like manes and tails, both surfaces need to be well "scored" with a sharp tool, then both surfaces are slathered in slip (the same slip used for pouring the piece in the first place). Only then can they be stuck together, squishing firmly to really marry them together and to remove any air pockets (which would cause the piece to explode in spectacular fashion during the fire).

Oh nose! You can also cut apart the piece and reglue it back together in the same fashion. Here you can see #5 getting a reset nostril after scoring and slipping. I cut it away and reset it lower, so I could carve the skull downward for a more Iberian build.

Using both these techniques, here you can see #4 with his roughed-out mane and tail glued on, along with his reset ear and resculpted jowl and nasal bone. All other changes were done by subtractive sculpting.

Likewise, here's #5 during the "ugly stage," using these techniques.

And here's #3 during the ugly stage. You have to keep your eyes on the prize at this point because it's so easy to get intimidated!

As if all this wasn't enough - guess what. I got another wild hair. Yeah, I told you. I get them a lot. I've been intrigued by the various ways other sculptors rendered the eyes on their sculptures, actually carving in pupils and even the "eye dots" (or omlats), to denote light reflection rather than just a blank orb. I've always wanted to try it and figured - why not now?

Here you can see what I mean by "sculpting eyes" rather than blank orbs. Initially it took creative acclimatizing - it's definitely a very different way of interpreting de peepers. But I really like how they turned out! "Sculpting with light" this way was a thrill, and I'll definitely consider it again where appropriate. And truth be told, I also wanted to discourage the painting of these pieces down the line by others, to instead be appreciated purely as a sculpture.

Here's the fired result on #3 - fun, huh?

The beautiful thing about slipcasting porcelain is that it allows me to present my work as pure sculpture. I've always been more of a sculptor than a painter, so this is both pivotal and inevitable for me, having developed towards it over the years. I've lost the compulsion to "color" my sculptures, realistically or otherwise, and even clear glaze interferes with light reflection on a bisque piece, especially with finer details. Yet earthenware is too porous and stoneware a snidge too grainy for some of the projects I intend to tackle. For this goal then, bisque porcelain is perfect - it's vitrious and captures light brilliantly. It's also universally accepted in the "hierarchy of media," making it ideal for submitting work into art shows, and one I can produce in my own garage no less.

So as a bit of foreshadowing, this project (and those like it) has an agenda: to train me for one-of-a-kind pieces in porcelain, in bas-relief, bust and full body. I've long wanted to see if I could do this, and these baby steps are a good beginning. Lots to learn, lots of mistakes and lots of surprises, but what would art be without adventure?

Similarly, this minimization of "coloring" is how I intend to approach my bronzes and OOAK hand-built ceramic pieces, too. So extreme, in fact, that I'm also toying with the idea of sculpting in pinto and appaloosa patterns, and perhaps even markings. The eye treatment I gave to these claybodies opens up the door to that.

So here's the whole group in greenware. In the top left is the original version, right outta the mold. Again, forget about the different manes and tails, ears and breed types - those are just superficial differences. Instead study the different fleshy bits, such as around the muzzle and eyes. No two horses manifest flesh in the same way, so no two sculptures should manifest flesh in the same way either. I'm looking forward to tinkering with the eye and ear anatomy more in the next batch.

Here are some muzzle and cheek close-ups of #2, #3, #4 and #5 to clarify the point (after firing). The musculature and features in these areas are different on each piece because they're different on each individual in life. Can't wait to expand on this theme to cram my mental library with even more tidbits!

Anatomy may be the rules, yes, but nature bends them with each of us. If it didn't, every horse would look exactly the same, as each of us would, too. So because every equine is a fresh take on a theme, it's a joy to apply a fresh eye to each sculpture as well.

During the point of vitrification, porcelain becomes gooey and flexible, and so thin, suspended bits tend to sag. To prevent this, I could either stilt the area (something a bit beyond my skill level just yet - but stay tuned!), or a substance called "porcelain prop" is commonly used. It's a cotton-ball like substance made from inflammable glass-like materials which can be shaped to support those prone-to-sag-bits without becoming fused to the piece (in this case that sticky-outy ear). It's also reusable. Just be super careful with it, as it does have asbestos-like qualities. I also learned to use only the tiniest point of contact with the piece, and put it just below the contact point in order to "catch" the area at the point of sagging. Heat builds up between the two surfaces, which can cause a regional point of over-fire. Lesson learned!

Cone 6: 2232˚! Big Al's hottest yet! He seemed quite pleased with himself. I could hear him bruxing. I think I even caught him boggling those peephole plugs, too. Happy kiln, happy heart.

So here they are after the mature fire of Cone 6:

To see them in their creamy porcelain goodness is such a treat! It's also interesting to see how the clay softened and where during the fire, and where it kept its crispness. Mental notes for next time. The shrink rate was impressive - I wish I took a measurement photo of them in greenware so I'd have something to compare them to after firing. Next time!

Anyway, #2-#4 will be available for sale today in my Etsy store. #1 and #5 will be available a bit later - I have a couple of hiccups to fix first. Yes - you can fix low-fire porcelain after the fire! I learned this by serendipitous accident (literally) and I'll walk you through it in the next blog post.

The many incarnations of Reflective: (left) bare white resin (middle) earthenware [in process] and (right) claybody custom bisque porcelain. Can't wait to apply this to future pieces!

Nonetheless, claybodying isn't just for fun. When approached from this deeper angle, it's an extremely useful artistic exercise that stretches the Eye. Applying different anatomical interpretations to the same piece encourages us to search for the mercurial and serendipitous in life. We're compelled to pitch formula and adopt variability. This not only turns the depiction of this animal into a far more fascinating endeavor, but it adds individuality and "living moment" to our work, letting it spring to life in ways no other approach can.

So you can bet that more claybody customs (often shorted by the acronym "CBCM") on my bas-relief works will be forthcoming, and I'm so jazzed now to create more expressly for this purpose! The Fates were shining down on me the day Joanie introduced me to clay - Joanie, you rule! Go raibh maith agat a milliún! ("Thanks a million" in Irish.)

"In ordinary life we hardly realize that we receive a great deal more than we give, and that it is only with gratitude that life becomes rich." ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer

A Passion for Porcelain

2011-11-06T15:01:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in the previous post, I'm having a torrid love affair with slipcast porcelain. As I also mentioned in that post, I got a crazy hair beyond just casting the unicorn. My eyes wandered over to my other bas-relief molds and gave me fiendish, Grinchy ideas. Hey, why not? What else are fiendish, Grinchy ideas good for?

So ta-da! Here are the fruits of our passions...

Here's a set of my Rune Horses in porcelain, beaded as a set.

Here's a selection of the four Rune Horse "C" pieces, beaded in different ways. Two great things that go better together: porcelain and glass!

And here are the three Rune Horse "B" pieces given the same treatment.

A note about those Rune Horses: these designs are being retooled for tile pressing rather than slip casting. This means they'll be redesigned into the standard 4" circle (and another version will be reset onto a 4" square) to allow for greater versatility with the end product and to open up the the possibility of installations. That means these staggered smaller sizes will be discontinued very soon because the molds are near their end and I won't be making replacements. Anyhoo...onward...

Here's a trio of busts, now in porcelain and beaded as a set.

Here are more, only sold individually. The piece on the far left has a hook in the back for easy hanging on the wall.

Finally, here's the selection of small rectangle plaques with beadery. Each will be sold individually.

Its so exciting to be slipcasting my bas-relief work in this marvelous stuff! It opens up new ways to offer these and future pieces, which is such a tantalizing prospect for the bas-reliefs coming down the pike. All of them will be available for purchase in my Etsy store tomorrow, so stay tuned!

Also stay tuned for the Reflective plaque in porcelain, to be debuted in the next post...

"All we are given are possibilities – to make ourselves one thing or another." ~ Jose Ortega Y Gasset

The Myth Made Real

2011-11-04T16:26:00.000-06:00

All packaged and ready for new homes!

It's been a steep learning curve here the past month, exploring the nuances of slipcasting porcelain. Phew! The cliff notes to this two month epic: I'm passionately in love with this stuff. A torrid, shameless love affair! Wanton! My passions were aflame, my breasts were heaving, my loins were...well, OK, I'll spare you. But this clay is definitely as magical as the subject matter I chose for my first foray - a unicorn.

I made an open-face plaster mold and just poured the slip in, letting it dry and firm up just enough to pop out easily. Using that "button" technique with a piece of porcelain clay really helped matters, too. I was able to cast about five unicorns a day with this approach.

The tools of the trade, with some greenware made earlier that day. The extra greenware porcelain is put back into the dump bucket and used for future castings. Ceramics are wonderful - very little waste and lots of recycling!

Here they are all lined up, (left) original oil clay from which the plaster mold was made, (middle) greenware casting and (right) fired porcelain casting. Pretty impressive shrink rate between them!

Here's a close-up of a greenware casting (left) and the finished fired porcelain result (right). Each piece required a great deal of cleaning and tweaking to get just right. A labor of love.

And voila! The finished result! Well worth all those long hours and determined effort. I decided to leave the piece bisque to showcase the sculpture itself and preserve all the details - I vastly prefer bisque porcelain to glazed for this reason. To my eye, it's an ideal medium for highlighting sculptural aspects, so elegant and lovely.

All packaged and ready for Etsy this weekend!

I am absolutely thrilled to have completed this ambitious project successfully! Slipcasting porcelain opens up entirely new horizons for my work, especially for my bas-reliefs. In fact, I got a bit wild n' crazy along those lines, but I'll leave that for a (soon) future blog post. I also found that certain post-fire flaws can be fixed, along with contriving a solution for the warping problem (again, I'll leave that for a future post). Indeed, the experience was so positive that I decided to make this unicorn ornament an annual series, so next year I'll come out with a new design.

I gotta say, though, this project relied on my aggressive naivete and militant optimism. I had no idea what I was doing, simply forging ahead with what I knew about slipcasting earthenware. What surprised me after it all was how non-scary and accessible slipcasting porcelain ended up being. I still have some glitches to iron out with bigger pieces, but overall, you can bet more of this luscious stuff will be popping outta this studio!

Now, back to the mud for more tiles, that Friesian ornament and other clinky goodness! MUSH!

"One of the things I learned the hard way was that it doesn't pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself." ~ Lucille Ball

Trouble Comes in Pairs

2011-10-10T17:38:00.002-06:00

Shavings ruled the day with the "Suncorn." Lots of 'em.

This past weekend, I dove into that project I mentioned in a previous post - a pair of unicorn plaques with a sun/moon motif. You'll find that motif pop up in my giftware quite a bit because I'm attracted to the the idea of paired opposites. Of one not being able to exist without the other. Yin and yang - that sorta thing.

Anyway, this was my first expedition into sculpting pairs, and I thought it would be a cinch. No biggie. No big whoop.

But it turned out to be a project that involved far more royal-PITA work than I ever imagined, and all because they were paired. I didn't realize it at the time, but being a pair presents challenges not found elsewhere in sculpture, and which tend to complicate the cogs of creativity in truly maddening ways.

OK, here's the moon version roughed out, in the middle of the process (left) and at the end (right). Took a day - easy as pie. Now I had to sculpt its partner, the sun version. Here's where things get stickier than bubblegum on a hot sidewalk.

The encouraging, pristine block of cut-out clay for the sun plaque. It seems to be smiling at me, benign and enticing. Oh, how it lies!

Using a pair of locking calipers, I measured the side rim of the moon plaque and locked it, then used that to calibrate the thickness of the sun plaque by punching "measuring holes" along the rim. Being a pair, both had to be the same thickness. Seemed simple enough, but - wow - did it prove to be more annoying than I anticipated.

So here's the blank being shaved down. I start along the rim first, using the ridged side of a "squared" sculpting tool. However, I don't pare down directly to the measurement, leaving a little bit extra for wiggle room.

For the middle, I used the half-round because it rips off more clay faster.

Once all that's done, I laid a printout of my sketch on top of it. Using a stylus (any kind will do, even a dull pencil works well), I trace along the lines, pressing firmly. All my bas-relief pieces start from simple line drawings this way.

Traced in. Now I could have pared the block down completely and added clay "inside the lines" to build up the "outy" features - and in hindsight that perhaps would have been the better strategy. But squishing on sticky oil clay too much can make my finger tips sore, even blister them, so I often opt to pare down rather than build up.

Starting to cut out the design.

I used an old airbrush needle to poke holes at certain points in the moon plaque, and used a Sharpie to mark the needle for depth. I swear, I could write a book on the 1,001 uses for old airbrush needles.

I then poke that needle into the sun plaque to compare depths, and add or pare down accordingly. This process takes a surprisingly long time.

Here I am rechecking. You have to recheck constantly because it's easy to veer off-track without even knowing it. As for the outer border, I really liked the flat-side of the squared off tool for evening it out.

So I get almost done with the sculpting the unicorn, but I somehow got off-track and made him way too thick. It happens. I remeasured with the needle and ended up having to pare him down almost completely, erasing all those hours of work. Argh! But it's important not to get too married to anything in sculpture, because if it's gotta go, it's gotta go. And well, those front legs are looking weird to me, too. Hmmm.

To complicate the deal, they not only have to match in terms of thickness, but also in dimension. BAH! Comparing things side-by-side works, but well...our human eyes just aren't that precise. I used my calipers and developed suspicions, but I wanted to be absolutely sure, mostly as a means to train myself. The more hardcore I was in this, the more my Eye would have to learn. So I took a picture of both plaques and loaded them into Photoshop for direct comparison. Here I've used the paintbrush tool to trace along the lines of the moon plaque in black (in a new layer so I could copy it and overlay it onto the sun plaque).

But it doesn't end there! No siree. Along with all the matchy fiddly work, I also had to stay true to the original design. All these constraints! Ack! I want to pull my brain out! So I loaded the original design into Photoshop and traced along the design with the paintbrush tool in white (also in a new layer).

Through a series of Photoshop comparisons, between the two unicorns and between the sun plaque and the original drawing, I could objectively discern where I went wrong and decide where to make adjustments. Interestingly, the dimensions between the two unicorns was very close, but I was way off compared to the original drawing. This was why the front legs looked so odd to me. (Here the colors were switched, white being the moon unicorn and black being the sun unicorn.)

What's handy about having a sized drawing to work from is using it as a template for shaping clay. Here I'm using snakes of clay to outline the flow of the tail.

Here are some of the tools I used. I love the loop tools for clay, with "U-turn," round and square tip shapes. But I also use that curved blade a lot, especially for carving edges or cutting in eyes and mouths. That longest one is my standard sculpting tool for all media. Its simple shape is deceptive - I find it a perfect sculpting tool for practically everything!

Another challenge I encountered with this project was "handed-ness." Unless we're ambidextrous, each of us are "handed," either left or right handed. Well, the same applies to sculpting - we usually have an "easier" side sculpting, especially when it comes to detailed bits like the head. This is why you sometimes hear a sculptor imply one side was easier to sculpt than another. In this case, I had to sculpt essentially the same unicorn, but flipped over, as each plaque had reversed unicorn designs. This definitely proved to be interesting.

It's easier to get around this glitch in a 3D sculpture because we can move it around to gain better access with our tools. Not so with a flat bas-relief. The backing tile totally gets in the way and so our handedness is shoved in our faces rather shamelessly. Indeed, sculpting that sun unicorn's head and mane became a real chore. Interesting.

Anyway, after much trial and tribulation, I finally finished the pair. They each measure 4.5" and are destined for tile pressing, which is why they've been sculpted in flatter style. I also aim to resin cast them, probably in colored resin to be sold "as-is" while still remaining paint-able by cold-painters.

I didn't want to make them exact, but slightly different, to be individuals. Even their horns are a bit different. But as a final check, I overlaid the sun plaque onto the moon plaque in Photoshop (hooray for the "opacity" option) and both were of near exact proportions, and surprisingly exact in the head. Woot! Mission accomplished - finally. BLORG. I debated about sculpting flourishes inside the border, or even motifs, like stars on the moon plaque and flowers on the sun plaque. But in the end I decided that would be distracting and such motifs would make them too kitschy, something I definitely wanted to veer from with unicorns. Simplicity often works best.

All said and done, the sun plaque took twice as long as the moon plaque, and only because of all the matchy-matchy adjustments. It near drove me nuts, though it was a good exercise. I've never had to do that before and it taught me quite a bit about process and perception. I think it's important to learn the discipline of sculpting, and there's no better way to learn than having to duplicate things, especially in reverse.

"It's a true test of discipline to remain in control and to not let the temptation of color force unwanted decisions." Scott L. Christensen

Tips for Taking Reference Pix

2011-09-30T14:01:00.000-06:00

Blinking their eyes as they turn into the sun, note the curve in the grey's body as he does so.

Introduction

It occurred to me, as I snapped photos at the draft horse and mule show, that discussing the shooting of reference photos might be helpful.

As I mentioned in that last post, face time with the living subject informs our work in ways no image or video can. So getting "down in the dirt" gifts us with two essential benefits:

We get up close and personal with the living animal.
We can capture specific aspects we want.

Two great things that go better together! Also mentioned in that previous post was that sculpting realism requires a vast interdisciplinary knowledge base, one that's developed through (unending) hours of life study and and research. In turn, photos freeze life's information for us and so become an essential supplemental tool. If we teach workshops or write, we already know the usefulness of a good photo as instructive examples. When teaching folks who tend to be visually oriented, like artists, a good one can provide an astonishing degree of insight.

But reference photos go beyond the basics. Every animal has his own physical idiosyncrasies that make each one as unique as each of us. His flesh, motion, coordination, posture and hair also contort in all sorts of interesting ways in every fleeting moment. All these temporary conditions can be overlooked or forgotten no matter how keen our observational skills, which is precisely where our friend the camera comes in handy. For this reason, it's smart policy to have a good camera and the know-how to use it, since the images it'll produce will become important guides once back in the studio.

But when we're on site, it's easy to get caught up in the thick of things and lose sight of that. We may start snapping away, capturing everything in sight willy nilly. When we get home, however, we may be sorely disappointed in our day's labors, and that's a lot of wasted effort. To avoid this situation, here are some ideas to maximize your efforts...

Tips for Taking Reference Photos

Be prepared Have all the paraphernalia you need before you arrive. This includes cables, batteries, memory cards, lenses, filters, tripod, flash drives, laptop, or anything else you need. Always plan to take far more photos than you think. And running out of memory or power in the middle of a golden opportunity is a headache in the making!

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Based on this Belgian filly's image on the left, we could assume she's a "clear" pangare chestnut. But on closer inspection (right), we see all those little different color hairs, both darker and lighter. Some in patches. I noticed this, too, on my Dar, who was chestnut, and even on his barn mate, Defiant, who was a bright, clear red chestnut. I've looked for this on all clear colors, including "boring" flat red bay, and found the same effect in varying degrees. This may be why my "clear" paint jobs don't read quite right to me - they're too literal. They "think in pigment" rather than biology. I need to figure out how to integrate the dark-medium-light graininess in my paintwork, at least in some measure. In a word: BLORG.

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Have a goal Decide ahead of time what types of shots you need. For instance, know the holes in your reference library to use that opportunity to fill them. Or perhaps you need certain postures, gestures, angles or features for the piece you're going to start. It could be specific conformation or types are the ticket. Whatever it is, be sure to actively seek it out and snap away.

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This mare is doing something really interesting with her left shoulder-humerus-elbow mechanism as she's backing up. Among many other things between these two! Wow!

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If you don't already know how, practice on anticipating the next moment with equines in order to capture that needed aspect. This may mean anticipating a certain gait phase, movement, posture or revealing of behavior. It doesn't always work, but when it does, it snatches a gem for you!

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A really interesting movement as this Belgian pivots on his hind end and steps over in front. Note the lateral curve to his torso and the dainty pointed front toe. Horse spines are rather quite rigid, so this degree of bend is impressive. Despite their size, they aren't clunky creatures!

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Above all, shoot from a sculptural point of view, looking for features that either illuminate, inspire, or can be integrated into future work.

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I was lucky enough to not just snap this motion once, but twice - and in two different types of equines (a Perchie on the left and a mule on the right). I've long wondered how a horse would bend his body and legs when pivoting like this - I had assumptions, but well...life proves repeatedly that assumptions are a slippery slope. But now, I have an answer! Note how much those hind legs are angled in the direction of movement, even when only one is weighted (in the case of the mule). Again, note the similarities and differences between the two, asking yourself, "why?" I also like the angulation of the Perchie's lifted fore hoof. Interesting.

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Take images in high resolution The higher the resolution, the crisper the image, so don't be shy! Just buy big memory cards. However, you don't always have to shoot in maxed out resolution. I usually take mine at 2816 x 2112, a step down from the highest on my camera. I just don't anticipate enlarging my images beyond anything bigger than fourteen inches for sculpting or printing purposes. (However, if you're shooting for color or pattern shots, crank that resolution as high as it'll go.)

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This is the same mule as above (who also gave me a host of yawning pix). What I found so interesting about this motion is how the hind legs are, again, oriented in the angle of the direction the hind end is going, especially the one that's really pushing off. Unexpected and really cool! I don't dare say this is a rule - nature is too full of possibilities. But I can say it's an option I didn't know existed before.

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Take multiple angles Remember that you're a sculptor and not a painter. You have to account for the full mass and topography of the subject! Wouldn't it be a shame to get "stuck" on the other side and angles simply because you neglected to capture them when you had the chance? Don't forget the up and down angles, too. Think in terms of a 3D laser scanner - if you have a gap in your knowledge of topography, here's your chance to plug it!

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With each touchdown of the hind leg, the ends of the loose tail went swish over it. It was so pretty and jaunty, like a swaying tassel. The force of the swish also told me quite a bit about the density and texture of their tail hairs even before I ever got to touch them. This is an important detail for sculpture, in terms of physics, moment and composition.

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Leave yourself open to opportunity Serendipity is a wonderful thing, and equines dish it out in spades. So if you see something odd, snap it. Indeed, the odder the position or gesture, the better because it's in those moments that all sorts of new information is revealed. A handy trick is to think in terms of "moments," parcels of time that encapsulate posture, motion, physics, gesture, expression, or situation.

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Here's a wonderful moment of serendipity - that's quite a bit of inspirational material! Also note the lovely tail movement on the right mule - wouldn't that be beautiful on a sculpture?

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Find continuity As artists we need to fully understand how the equine body functions, a complicated morass to be sure. Equine bodies move as regional systems yes, but they also move as a series of complex interwoven systems, and then as a whole system. This means that a change in one area has a cascade effect throughout the entire body. Equines also express with their entire bodies, so a shift in attitude can change their whole posture in the blink of an eye.

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Another sequence shot, with that same directional angulation of the hind legs in the right Perchie. What I liked about this sequence (aside from the neat stuff going on with the left Perchie) was that it showed how a horse can swivel his hind legs back into normal orientation.

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So while it may be tempting to snap away in tight shots of certain areas, it's better to leave those shots for very specific purposes. Rather, think about including surrounding areas in order to capture system continuity. Doing so also provides later clues about the movement or gait that produced the feature in that shot. Another approach is to snap an establishing shot before taking tight detail shots to orient yourself - I do this a lot and it's very helpful.

Remember, back in the studio months or even years from now, you may forget that the tight neck shot you took was on a standing horse and so you sculpted it exactly into your cantering sculpture! Whoops! So think about how you'll be using these images in the future and frame accordingly.

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I used the continuous shutter option for these images, and when I first saw the image on the left I thought, "What the heck is that right horse doing with those hind legs?! Limbs akimbo!" Welp, she was hopping her hind end over to plant that right hind leg in preparation to back up, as revealed in the sequential right photo. Life is full of options! And she knew exactly what to do even before she was asked.

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In a similar way, sequential images can be useful for capturing biomechancal or behavioral changes for future reference. This is the reason why I like the continuous shutter option on my camera because it produces a sequence (it's also the reason why I rack up so many images). Small moment to moment changes such as balance shifts, coordination adjustments, or mood changes can be really illuminating. I don't use the continuous shutter all the time, but do actively incorporate it into my overall strategy.

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This is another interesting image: note the two mules facing the camera, showing their full left sides. Very similar foreleg positions, but note the very different hind leg positions. They were all trotting. Again - options! Here we also get to compare and contrast those front ends as related to the different back ends. For instance, note the different forearm muscling, and the very different muscling between the points of shoulder and the tops of those forearms, along with the pecs and the triceps. Cool!

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Find modes to compare and contrast Try to capture similar moments or motions between different individuals, if possible. This allows you to compare and contrast, a terrific means to insight. Being able to ask, "what's shared, what's different, and why," are remarkably powerful questions because it's these kinds of distinctions that will deepen our understanding and provide countless options for sculpture. They also help us avoid the comfortable formulas and patterns our brains are hard-wired to favor.

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This is an incredibly interesting image, providing a pile of information especially of the compare-contrast variety. Note the similar motion but the very different postures, pelvic motion (which is really spinal motion) and coordination. Horses are living, organic creatures, who make their own rules within the confines of their anatomy, and that provides endless design choices for sculpture.

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Now sometimes that continuous shutter will synch with the gait of the animal, capturing the same position repeatedly. While this would seem a waste, it's actually useful by providing an opportunity to compare and contrast similar stances but on the same individual. It's amazing what a slight shift in balance or mood can do to musculature and posture! It's these little details that can add so much life to our work. Every image has something new to teach.

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Here we can compare how the shoulder and pectoral muscles are similar and different, and why. Lots of good info in this image!

The wash rack provided a great opportunity to compare and contrast the hind ends of the different types or breeds, scaled to be of equal size (more or less). Aside from all the other cool stuff, it was interesting to note how the mule's hip joints were slightly more closer set, an important tidbit for future mule sculptures. This may be why mule hind ends tend to appear so top heavy, or "muffin topped," when standing at ease. I suspect they get this from their donkey parent.

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Understand lighting Try to avoid blown out photos. Sometimes you can't avoid them, so do your best. When it comes to digital images, clipped whites mean that the information within them is permanently lost, and no amount of photo editing will magically reinstill what isn't there.

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Don't be so quick to dump blurry, underexposed pix. Note the beautifully defined tendon of the levator labii superioris propius muscle on the right mule.

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This is why I tend to take my photos slightly darker than needed because I can always lighten in Photoshop. But it's definitely a balancing act since shooting too dark results in a grainier image that can also destroy detail. So tinker with your camera in different lighting conditions before going to the shoot to figure out corrective strategies.

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The original underexposed image on the left (because of evening low light) and the correction on the right. Photo editing lets us salvage underexposed photos to some extent. Had I allowed more exposure into this shot, those mules would've been blurred and it was their different skull structures and expressions I wanted.

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Shade or low light is a similar problem - I had to really battle that at the draft show. The problem is that in order to capture more light for a better image the shutter speed is slowed and/or the aperture is opened, which results in a fuzzy image, or blurred motion. In those cases, I tend to shoot dark and hope for the best - I'd rather have a grainy image with something useable (even if in outline) than a big blurry smear. Another strategy is to shoot a bit farther back, avoiding close ups. This tends to allow more ambient light into the camera for a more salvageable image, albeit at a loss of close-up detail.

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Again using the continuous shutter, I caught this sequence of mules stopping, backing up and starting to walk forward again. I really focused on these kinds of transitions because they reveal a wad about moment, biomechanics and coordination.

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Ideally, the best light is sunny in a strong directional to pick up the anatomical features without large patches of shaded portions. A bright overcast day also is very useful, especially for reference shots of coat patterns. Morning and evening light can be dicey, however, since they can stream directly into the camera and block out your subject entirely. But if you can get your lens perpendicular to the sun's orientation, that kind of lighting can work well, too. Again, think sculpturally, using light to "sculpt out" the features of the subject.

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The continuous shutter captures another gem: the sequence when this draft pivots, plants and takes off trotting in one stride. That's a heap of neat information there! For instance, it tells me that gaits begin in the spine and flow through the hind leg to initiate, as seen in #2. Look how firmly that left hind foot is planted in preparation to trot, even billowing up dirt. So when I create a sculpture depicting a gait transition, I need to think about this image.

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For our purposes, the general rule of thumb is: the faster the shutter speed and the smaller the aperture, the better the image. But do your best with the conditions you have because they aren't always ideal. You may even have to reconsider your target images if the lighting isn't suitable for capturing them.

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Note the difference in expression between these two mules, and the tweaky muzzle on the left one. Fun! We also get useful information about lateral fore leg motion and body coordination during a pivot.

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Plan your time Prioritize your shots and shoot accordingly. I wanted to take more shots of type and build at the show, for example, but ran out of time. I also didn't get as many photos of mules as I wanted, or of color. But I also understand this was my first time to this event, which brings us to...

Considering revisiting the situation Chances are you aren't going to get every shot you want. Perhaps the opportunity didn't arise, or the photo didn't turn out as well as you'd hoped. It happens. This is another reason why many artists trek around their cameras, to make use of every opportunity. So keep a tally of those images you still need and pounce when you can.

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Drafter heads are intriguing, since they tend to be quite different from the heads of other horses. In particular, the set of the eyes, the formation of the brows and zygomatic arches, the size of the muzzle, and the breadth and length from orb to schnoz are of special interest to me. Also some drafter heads seem "meatier" while others appear quite "dry" - lots of variation.

This simple Photoshop manipulation teaches me something invaluable about drafter heads - they aren't actually wider through the brows, they're wider and longer through the orb-schnoz span, giving them the long, narrow look from the front, and tend to have more pronounced zygomatics. Also note that the eye size is the same, which is why drafter eyes look smaller. It's not their eyes that are smaller - it's their heads that are bigger! These are all important ideas for my future drafter sculptures. Personally, I don't find drafter heads plain whatsoever - I find them irresistibly charming and noble. Beautiful!

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For example, I intend to return to the draft show next year, but with a new strategic plan. We're going to wander the barns more, particularly in between classes, and especially target the staging areas. We also now know which parts of the main arena are best for which classes so we can stake our claim early.

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Note the difference in head type between these two Clydesdale geldings - one is narrower and lighter than the other. Remember to note the gender of your subject because that really influences phenotype through secondary sex characteristics. Or you can do this by taking a shot of the same animal with his or her "parts" visible to provide a visual future note.

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A good reference library is something carefully built. It doesn't happen overnight. So take your time and be diligent...and patient.

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A valuable image of a horse backing up, seen from the front (the horse on the left). This is an image I didn't have before! Woot! It tells me lots of tasty info, particularly that horses tend to track wide of the median when backing up whereas they tend to track along the median when moving forward. Sweet! That has interesting implications for composition and narrative.

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Take many Working from only one or a few images for a sculpture is a disadvantage because no one image tells us everything we need to know. Not even a few do. Only a rather hefty pile begins to reveal the story, but even then we have to fill in the gaps with our mental library and book smarts.

So take many photos! You never know what you're going to need until you get to that unexpected point in your sculpture and find yourself asking, "uh oh...what do I do now?" You also don't know which photos will turn out best, so if you've put all your eggs in one basket with just one pic, that's quite a gamble. Also consider tweaking the settings on your camera to get the same pic with different effects - sometimes that compare and contrast can help illuminate some curious things.

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This cool photo reveals a whole lot about spinal motion that's immensely useful for sculpture.

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Remember the purpose Unlike other folks who snap photos for nostalgia or novelty, we artists have a purpose - we need our photos as tools. While that seems obvious, it's very easy to forget in the thick of things, so stay on target.

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Again, we have another opportunity to compare and contrast between similar positions. Neat stuff going on! Realistic sculpture isn't just about what's similar, it's even more about what's different.

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Seek aspects that challenge your perception Most of all, take images that challenge what you perceive to be true or "right." I'll get to artistic perception in more detail in a later post, but it really is the crux of what we do. We aren't actually sculpting realistic horses, we're sculpting what we perceive to be realistic horses. And therein lies a boatload of bias and blindspots.

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Another shot done with the continuous shutter option, capturing the moment between backing up and immediate forward motion. Look at the shift in "downhill" and "uphill" balance.

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So if something strikes you as weird or wrong - snap away! That might be a clue to an unknown blindspot. Or if you think you don't need to snap that photo because you already know that area well enough - think again. It may surprise you.

In Conclusion

A good reference photo is an amazing tool, useful in so many ways and an indispensable boon to artists and teachers alike. But it's important they be kept in context.

For instance, some artists take reference photos with the intention of directly creating a sculpture from one. That's fine, but it does paint creativity into a corner. Unless we have images from all different angles of that one position, what do we do? It also limits our compositional options, and that can be a big problem for sculpture because that's all sculpture is about. In this way, we can become a slave to our photos and is that really a place from which we want to create?

Instead, a more helpful context is to regard reference photos as a means to enlightenment and inspiration. Using them to better understand equine structure, motion and behavior tends to more fully exploit their potential rather than as literal "connect the dots" templates. In this light, we can also use them to "Frankenstein" a sculpture together, blasting away all limits to our compositional options while also helping to train our eyes to "see the next moment."

Indeed, one skill easily overlooked in the studio is the ability to understand the continuum beyond what's captured in a photo. To grasp this truth is to grasp the secret ingredient to compelling realism.

We can be lulled into a kind of daze within the confines of our reference images. They appear so complete and self-contained. But we should remember that's all they are - static images. No photo exists in a reality vacuum! Just as a photo is a frozen moment within an ongoing stream of cause and effect, so can a realistic sculpture be, as well. With this understanding, we not only begin to see the continuum in our images, but we can infuse that sense into our work, too, seating our piece believably inside a "living moment."

As cool as they are then, we shouldn't worship our reference photos. An over-reliance on them can be just as dicey as an over-reliance on our mental library or our book smarts. Remember - they're only tools to help us decipher reality, nothing more. But in that lies great potential, too. Coming back to our perception again, it tends to convince us we know enough, or already have things right. It's inherently biased, by definition. But no matter how much we think we know, we often don't know enough, and no matter how right we think we are, we sometimes aren't.

By objectively freezing a moment within a continuum, a photo can help us peel away the skews in our perception if we're open enough to seek and See them, and in our own time. This is why reference photos work in partnership with life study and research, a kind of realism trinity. Keep them in that context and you'll be in fine shape. So go out there and snap away!

"It's through my artist's eyes that I see wonderful things in nature that I never saw before." ~ Kathy Connelly

Walking Amongst Giants

2011-09-28T11:33:00.002-06:00

Bullet, a handsome Percheron gelding. What a mug!

As I mentioned in my previous post, we spent last weekend at a horse show. But not just any horse show - the 35th Annual Idaho State Draft Horse & Mule International Show in Sandpoint, Idaho.

I've been meaning to get to this event for years, but the daunting nine hour trek always seemed to kibosh it. With the advent of my book series, however, that excuse went out the window, since I want to use my own photos. And drafters and mules, being so unique in terms of sculptural concepts, warranted this expedition because I had none of my own photos of them.

The massive 2-Up class. I couldn't fit them all in my frame!

More importantly though, I'm at a point with my work where I need to start stretching and only the source can provide those pathways for me. Indeed, I've been meaning to sculpt a slew of drafters for some time, but wasn't confident I could capture them faithfully - in body or spirit - without adequate up close and personal exposure to a variety of them. They are so very different from other types of horses.

Lovely dapple grey mules pulling a restored vintage stagecoach on loan from the Pendleton Round-Up.

So I needed to observe them, interact with them and soak them in since no photo, painting, video or grandstand view provides an adequate base for me. I also had questions that only the living animal could answer, and I wanted to capture those esoteric things that are personally interesting to me for future work. I'm also at work on a special project involving a lovely draft mare (which I'll get to in a future post), but felt I needed more "face time" with drafters to do her justice.

Beautiful German Warmbloods giving a demo on Combined Driving. Ham was totally jazzed when I told him about this sport and so a trip to a Combined Driving event is in order! Woot!

I'm a firm believer that photo-dependent sculpting loses something in translation. Getting out there to connect with the subject, to experience the animal, is necessary to inform my work and remind me of deeper things. Our mental libraries aren't formed only of images, but of feelings, too.

A cool 8-Up mule entry.

And boy - did I get a lot of feelings that weekend! I'm not embarrassed to admit that I was moved to tears so many times that perhaps people just assumed I had an allergy. To feel the ground thump and rumble with each foot fall as they trotted past, to hear the bellows of their breathing and the blow of their snorts, to witness their majestic bearing...it was overwhelming.

A dramatic 4-Abreast team of Clydesdales.

Then to have them intently watching me, staring down from their 18-19 hands (that's a minimum of six feet at the withers folks), blocking out the sun with bodies so massive that only being alongside them truly conveys their size. A precocious boy we met at the show described their enormous feet as "cement trucks" - an apt description! Indeed, to my 5'2" frame they were monumental statues come to life. How something so enormous and powerful could be so gentle and gracious was humbling. A true testament to equine nature.

Two lovely mules watching the log skidding.

Then to have them look through me was an important reminder, and a horsey characteristic I happen to relish. So often we forget that horses live in their own world alongside ours, and I keep their world closest to heart as an artist. So it was a delight to watch them interact with each other, with every distinct personality clear as day. Even in the midst of work, they have their own "office chatter."

This is a line up of Belgian mares. The mare with the wide blaze was so put out by her brethren - she was still the boss mare even when tied up. They were an intriguing bunch to watch. Mare bands are considered among the most complex social systems in the animal kingdom.

I was also astonished to discover how nimble and energetic drafters were despite their size. Here were one ton creatures who possessed a degree of dexterity and grace that rivaled light horses. They also coiled naturally and pranced quite a bit, especially when doing something they seemed to enjoy. This was quite clear in the weight pulling contests - they often nearly dragged the driver to the sled and the moment they heard the clang of that pin...they were off!

Prancey and gorgeous after their weight pull. I believe they were up to nearly 7,000 lbs at that point.

These horses don't mess around! Doing their stuff in the weight pull.

It was also interesting to watch them fidget while waiting to flaunt their stuff, sometimes tossing their heads in anticipation, or impatiently stomping the ground. Seeing how they interacted with each other in harness was fascinating, too. Here were working partners who had to function as a team, but who also existed within their own equine hierarchy.

Two handsome grey mules.

Beautiful entries in the 2-Up mule class.

Above all, though, the intelligence of these animals was unmistakeable in their keen interest on the goings-on, their interactions with people and children, and their astute responses to all the voice commands from the driver who told them what to do - by name - through all the different driving courses.

Two beautiful Clydesdales in the farm class.

So let's just say it was a weekend of "verklemptsia." Of course along with all those impressions came a heaping wad of reference images and videos - all 9,951 of them. Sculpting 3D realism entails a vast sum of interdisciplinary information, gained by life study and research. Photos act in partnership with these by freezing information for later use. This is why most artists working in realism have such ponderous reference libraries.

We had breakfast here super early in order to be at the fairgrounds by 8am for the halter classes. Unfortunately they were all canceled except one, but we spent that time at the wash rack. Anyhoot - this place had super friendly service and really tasty "greasy spoon" food. A local hang-out with lots of character.

As for the actual fairgrounds, it was nicely put together and not so large as to be cumbersome. The main arena is against a beautiful backdrop of pine studded mountains, but that does mean it's always in partial shade. Great for attendees, but tricky for photographs! On top of that, the other half of the classes were in the evening with low light, again making it difficult for photos.

Friday's attendance was good, but not crowded. Lots of "grey hairs," which was great, but had us worrying about the future of shows like this. Though we did love the row of wheel chairs in front. Look at that bonnet!

But the grandstand was packed Saturday! With all ages! So we realized it was a function of school and work that kept the masses a bay the day before. Phew!

And they got quite a show with entries like these! Beautiful Belgians in the 6-Up horse class. The ground rumbled when they trotted by, like an earthquake!

The program was nicely done, as were the T-shirts - we each bought one, of course. And overall the schedule was well planned and the classes were very entertaining, even if you knew nothing about driving. We totally enjoyed all of them, but my favorites were the farm class, weight-pull, log skidding, Gambler's Choice, 6-Up, Tandem and 4-Abreast.

A fabulous blue-ribbon winning entry in the 6-Up horse class. That's the judge driving them now, which he did periodically as a perk.

Ham really enjoyed the weight-pulling. He couldn't believe those horses got up to pulling 8,000+ lbs on a wheel-less sled, stopping only because the judge cried uncle! And you could tell draft and mule folk have a good time. A hefty dose of humor was peppered throughout the show, and the grandstand roared with laughter at regular intervals. Mickey, in particular, was a fun entry into the farm class (below).

To add a bit of levity, here's wee Mickey in the farm class. He has fuzzy leg wraps, simulating the heavy feather of a Clydesdale. Apparently Mickey was "training" to be a Clydesdale and, of course, he was a huge crowd favorite.

It was also great to have the Canadian flag displayed alongside the American flag, and the singing of the Canadian anthem along with the American anthem. This show has a large proportion of Canadians who attend and participate, as Sandpoint is only about 30 minutes from the Canadian border.

America and Canada were both celebrated at this show.

So I was amongst some of my favorite things: Ham, horses, Canadians, and the best chocolate chip cookie I have ever had (gluten free to boot!) from Jupiter Jane's Traveling Cafe. The gals who ran the cafe were a hoot, and had some mighty tasty food! Try their popcorn! I thought my popcorn-poppin'-junkie hubby was going to pass out from sheer euphoria from their popcorn.

Jupiter Jane Traveling Cafe - a converted school bus turned into a fully functional cafe. So cool! And great grub - check them out when in the Sandpoint area!

Speaking of Ham - he was a blessing! He snapped photos and shot video right alongside me. He intuitively knew what kinds of images I was looking for, which made for some awesome treasures. He also did all the driving and made sure I consumed sustenance throughout the day because I'm prone to forget that with my noggin in high gear.

Look at all those grey mules in this awesome 8-Up hitch!

I was deathly worried he'd be bored out of his gourd on this trip, so was I thrilled to discover that he was as enthralled with these creatures as I was! He definitely considers the drafter his favorite horse now, and wistfully thought about having a herd of them one day. No complaints from me!

A cool 4-Abreast mule entry.

Personally I've always been far more interested in driving than riding (I'm also an abysmal rider), so I've been cogitating taking classes. Perhaps Ham would be interested, too? Anyway, he had no idea about their size and power, or the close human-animal relationship required for the level of driving at the show. How the animals worked with their people to accomplish the job fascinated him. So it all was doubly satisfying to find that he thoroughly enjoyed himself, too.

A scene inside the tack up barn.

He also saved my bacon - twice! And predictably, in a technical way. I'd bought some new memory cards for my camera in anticipation of the bajillions of photos I'd be taking. But worried I'd run out of space regardless, I wanted to download our photos into his laptop every evening to empty them for the next day. So - of course - what do I forget to pack? My camera's USB cable! I swear, if we were to trek through the Mojave, I'd forget to pack water. Luckily, being the techno boyscout he is, he packed his and it was one I could use, too. Sweet hallelujah!

A modern day work horse: a railroad cleaning car parked in our hotel parking lot! I'd never even heard of these things, let alone seen one. Ham knew what it was, though, and explained that those little metal wheels come down hydraulically for the truck to ride on the rails, cleaning them with a big brush thing on the front bumper. Crazy time! Apparently the Sandpoint area is a huge intersection for some major railways so a train could be heard about every 5-10 minutes! Note to self: don't camp in Sandpoint or Ponderay if a railway is near the site.

My second batch of bacon was potentially catastrophic: two of my cards developed a communication error. Never happened before, but it meant that the thousands of pix I took would be lost. I knew there were some truly awesome shots on them that I desperately wanted, so much so that I considered hiring a data retrieval company for buku bucks. As you can imagine, I was in a panic, to the point of almost collapsing into a buggy-eyed singularity. Until (cue trumpet), Ham to the rescue! In a flash, he diagnosed the problem and solved it with some random gadget, and then downloaded all the photos perfectly. Can I have another sweet hallelujah? He saved the trip!

Ham doesn't mess around - who else would bring a fifty foot ethernet cable to avoid the security nightmare that is hotel wifi.

As for those photos, this year we focused mostly on motion, though I also took shots of heads and posture, too, though not as many as I would have hoped. We just ran out of time. I also didn't get as many photos of mules as I wanted, or of color, or build. But we're definitely returning next year, and with a new strategic plan. For starters, we're going to wander the barns more (and in the morning when the light is better) and especially target the staging areas for the ring. We also now know which parts of the main arena are best for which classes so we can position ourselves early.

Party at the wash rack! It was really handy to be able to compare Belgians, Percherons and Clydesdales side by side.

We were able to hit the wash racks Friday, which proved to be a real boon. The wash racks are always the place where the party is, and wow - did it deliver! Sculptures galore! So we intend to hit the racks even more next year. Ham also suggested I bring my tripod, which is a good idea especially for the low-light conditions. I really have to figure out how to tackle that next year a bit better. We did miss the 8-Up horse class because it was on Sunday, so we'll save that for next year, as well. I figure we can't do everything at once; otherwise we have nothing to look forward to next time!

A smart tandem entry.

In addition to all that, we've really fallen in love with the Sandpoint/Ponderay area. Lake Pend Oreille is geologically incredible and so peacefully beautiful, as are the surrounding areas with all their amazing landscapes and geology. Great riding country, both horse and Harley! The towns are small and quaint with original old architecture, and the people are so friendly and laid back. So me thinks a nine hour trip is well worth it for such occasions.

An exciting 4-Up horse class.

We headed for home at 3am Sunday morning in order to be home early to decompress before the beginning of the week. This also allowed me to sleep for half the trip to keep from driving Ham insane with "when are we going to be there" questions. But truth be told - I'm still decompressing and processing everything I experienced and learned. And I'm definitely eager for next year's show. They're going to feature new classes, such as a chariot race, and I want to try some different photography methods.

Three at work in the log-skidding class.

Through it all, it occurred to me that draft horses were an equine version of Ham (or Ham a human version of draft horses). Large, intimidating and robust, but gentle and very sweet! No wonder why he likes them so much! No wonder why I like them so much! It was a weekend of Hammie Horses! Hey...me thinks there's a series in there...hmmm.

Anyway, I can say with confidence that herds of drafters will be galloping from the studio now - and I can't wait to get started!

"In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag." ~ W.H. Auden

The Eye of the Storm

2011-09-27T10:42:00.000-06:00

Nine little molds patiently waiting for the chaos to ensue.

By the skin of my teeth I finished the ninth and final mold for the 2011 Christmas ornament, pulling it apart from the original just twenty minutes before we left for a weekend jaunt to a horse show.

They have to dry thoroughly, so I could probably start pressing around October fourth. I'm determined to fully stock my Etsy store by the first week of November for Christmas shopping, but we'll see how that goes! As we all know, life seems to enjoy throwing ringers, and I'm certainly no help. I generate my own like a fractal equation. Wish me luck!

Here's my studio floor after mold-making, strewn with clumps of dried clay and plaster shards. The remnants of my madness, and a metaphor for what's to come.

"This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last." ~ Oscar Wilde

Spaghetti Monster Be Praised!

2011-09-21T12:45:00.000-06:00

Success!

Oh thank goodness - it worked! Above is the second press mold and it popped off easily with the tweaks. Seven more to go.

What a tease...the plaster looks like a block of Fluff!

Here's the ornament inside the mold box with freshly poured plaster (above). My mold boards are clear acrylic, which allows me to see what's happening inside. The boards are like a Chinese puzzle box until you get the hang of them, but this simple "L" design works great. I have this long version, but also a shorter version for small pieces. It's not technically necessary, but much handier.

The boards are placed alongside the edges of the backing tile and clamped into place. Then the seams, where they meet each other and where they meet the backing tile, are caulked with earthenware clay to prevent plaster from oozing out.

But placing the boards alongside the tile edge resulted in a mold a snidge too thin for my liking, even though I mixed three pounds of plaster. It'll work just fine, but I'll have to be careful. The forces involved with tile pressing are pretty strong thanks to Sir Squish, my tile press. This fantastic press works like a charm because he's geared, and so a modest pull on his lever results in a lot of force on the mold. So much so that I've unintentionally broken a couple of rather hefty molds!

But we want all that force because it ensures a good impression and a dense compaction of clay particles. This is my (silly) theory, and it is mine... ahem....AHEM...I think "shocking" the clay helps to dampen warp. I wonder if by smashing the particles through a slab roller (such as my Derby) helps to shock them into a new alignment, and then smashing them again in Sir Squish reinforces that alignment.

I suggest this for two reasons. First, I've noticed zero warp in my round ornaments, no matter how big they are, implying that a lack of the "suspension" span between any corners prevents a sort of "pull" those corners could exert - but it also implies something about the particles and how they were aligned in the process. And second, I noticed in the fire of the 2010 ornaments that only those pieces that lined the side of the convection vents between the broken shelves warped - all those away from those vents, in the middle, were perfect.

Here you can see the clay caulking along the seams.

Anyway, what I decided to do to create a beefier mold for the next pour was to pop the boards up onto the backing tile. It's something I've been meaning to try, but I was a little worried about the boards sliding around.

Oops! A bit of a spill there on the right. I need to find a new mixing bowl for plaster. The one I'm using is rigid and large, so spillage is unavoidable. I need one strong enough for plaster's weight and the effects of mixing, but also flexible enough to squeeze in a spout when pouring. It has to be cheap, too, which is why thrift and dollar stores are great suppliers.

I was so happy to find this approach worked great, so I'll be doing this for the rest of the molds. I want a really thick block while also minimizing the use of plaster, and this piggy-back approach delivered.

We don't want to get thinner - we want to get fatter! Mission accomplished.

You can see the difference clearly in the image above. The thicker block on the right will let me press much harder.

You may be wondering why I'm making so many molds for an edition of one hundred, which when divided, allots about twelve castings per mold (excluding the ninth back-up one). Well, the first reason is that I want to be able to choose the best molds for production, those with the least amount of bubbles or other hiccups that require clean up later. The other reason is that for some inexplicable reason, some molds work better than others in terms of pulling, and I'd like options in this, too. Same methods used in making them, but oddly enough, each mold has its own personality and you don't learn it until you use it.

Mostly, however, it's because of the clay itself. Clay is abrasive while plaster is rather soft, even when cured. So every time I press clay into a mold, the clay abrades the plaster, progressively wearing down the fine details and edges of the cast. The moisture in the clay also compromises the mold, and after about six or eight castings, it can be too damp to use and must be set aside to dry again. I want each casting to be nice and crisp, so I'd rather pour a few more molds to ensure each collector gets a faithful piece. I also don't want to be slowed down in the casting process - when I get in a groove, I go. Creativity has its own inertia. So setting a wet mold aside and grabbing a fresh dry one keeps production humming along.

Technically, I should be able to get about twenty five to thirty pressings from a single mold. Ideally, I'd be using Hydro-Stone® instead of regular molding plaster because it's harder and would yield more castings, but its mixing process is still something I have to perfect. So for now I'll leave that for another day and groggier clay.

I'm really excited to see how the black porcelain turns out. Black is a rather unconventional color for Christmas, I know, but can you imagine how it'll look with its purple ribbon and the glow from tree lights?! Fitting for a Friesian I think!

"The painting leads the painter, and it becomes an intuitive experience." ~ Ardath Davis

Last Sabotages First

2011-09-20T13:41:00.000-06:00

The one and only mold for the Unicorn.

This week is a mad dash to make ten open-face press molds before Thursday. One for the Unicorn (above) and nine for the 2011 porcelain Christmas ornament. They need to dry for about twelve days, then I can start casting.

The Unicorn was straight-forward. Mix, pour, pop apart. Done. Yes. No hitch. That couldn't be said of the ornament, however. Of course it couldn't. Silly me! It had to present a problem right out of the gate, in the making of the very first mold! Mix, pour, pop apart. WHAT. ACK!

Let me backtrack. I don't plan on making rubber masters of these ornaments because the integrity of the limited edition is important to me. So each of the 8-9 press molds needed for the edition of 100 are cast directly off the clay original. This means that if damage occurs to the original during this process, I have to fix it before I make another mold. Easy enough with oil clay. It does mean though that all I have is the original, so if it gets hosed beyond sensible repair, there would be no 2011 ornament.

On top of that, thinking it was efficient and clever, I simply resculpted the old 2010 ornament clay original, filling it in and paring it down to create the blank block I needed for the Friesian (which also means the 2010 ornament truly is done since I no longer have an original to mold).

What I'd forgotten, however, was that in the process of making the last press mold for the 2010 ornament, it got pulled off its backing, too. All the heat generated by the curing plaster and the subsequent pulling had eventually loosened the oil clay from the backing tile and that bond had to give sometime. But since that last mold was a back-up freebie, I slap-dashed it and simply affixed the clay original back onto the tile with double-sided tape, then proceeded to make that last mold. This trick works great for resin or rubber, but barely for oil clay, for obvious reasons.

So flash forward to now: as I pulled the first press mold for the 2011 ornament apart from that 2010 backing tile, this happened:

CRIKEY! There it is, stuck in the mold. Those bulges along the edge are the casts of my thumbprints from squishing the "caulking" clay into the seams of the mold boards. Kinda pretty. You can even see the streaks left by the double-sided tape on the clay.

Good gravy. It was wedged in there really good, too. When I screw up, I certainly do a good job of it. At least I can find satisfaction in that.

But what to do?! Tearing this thing out meant it was a wash - the damage would be too great and I'd be left with one, untested press mold. Great. I needed to do three things, and fast:

Get it out of there as undamaged as possible.
Affix it back firmly onto the backing tile without using double-sided tape.
Figure out why it got so stuck in there in the first place. If it happens now, it'll certainly happen with the porcelain, something we definitely don't want!

To attend to #1, I remembered Barb's advice about using the clay plugs to get the pressed clay out of the mold. So I warmed up some oil clay under a lamp* and gingerly duplicated that technique. With a bit of tugging (oi - it was really in there), I got it out with surprisingly little damage. Practically none. Phew! A thousand thank-yous again, Barb!

[*I heat my clay under a drafting lamp, using the bell of the light to contain the heat.]

Addressing #2 took a bit more doing. The backing tile is slick - glossy slick. This makes is easier for the plaster to be pulled off and for the tile surface to be cleaned in preparation for mold making. It also means that affixing a soft, smooshy clay piece firmly back onto it would be a tricky proposition. I just couldn't squish it on there!

So after thinking about it, I decided to do two things. First, I would smear a thin layer of heated, soft clay onto the backing tile in the rectangle mounting area. Really squish it on there good with a tool, too, then place it under a lamp to keep it soft and sticky.

Then I'd take a BBQ lighter and gently melt the backside of the original, avoiding sag or distortion, just until the backside became glossy and melty. Quickly grabbing the backing tile out from under its lamp sauna, I'd gently press the two together, like those glues you apply to both surfaces before attaching them together. When I actually did it, it worked like a charm. Phew x 2.

As for #3, it was clear the problem was a design flaw. As perpendicular and pothole free I thought the edges were, apparently they weren't. There's some degree of suction between the original, backing tile and plaster, which makes pulling them apart hard enough, but any edge not absolutely perfect has just enough extra grab to be a bigger problem. In short, any minute flaw along the side edge creates an imperfection for rigid plaster to grab.

Now I wanted to avoid the deep bevel the 2010 ornament had because it introduced some annoying problems for pressing. That was why I made the edges of this 2011 ornament straight up and down. After this mishap, however, it's clear that a bevel to some degree was required, if only for mold-making and demolding. Afterward the bevel could be pared down with a blade as a kind of mold flashing, and I suspect a dough blade would be the ticket. We'll see how that goes.

After all was said and done, here it is re-affixed, repaired, and retweaked with a slight outer bevel:

(Right) A new smearing of edging to create the slight bevel and to fill the gap between the bottom of the ornament and the surface of the tile. A gap will suck plaster behind the ornament, creating a "hand" that would tear the piece when pulled out. It doesn't matter if the edges are slightly wavy now, since they'll be cut away in the cleaning stage. (Left) All cleaned up. The glossy areas are parts that needed to be fixed and resmoothed with GooGone. So altogether - phew x 3!

This hiccup caused the loss of half of yesterday, so today will be busier than anticipated. And here I thought I knew just about all I needed to know simply from last year. I mean - how hard could this simple thing be? Ha! I have a sneaking suspicion that this piece has its own lessons to teach me, and trickier ones at that. That's ceramics for you. Let me just say it's a good thing I got an early start this year.

"Never play a thing the same way twice." ~ Louis Armstrong

Three Little Hammies

2011-09-19T19:07:00.000-06:00

The image above pretty much sums up the ongoing Cold War in our house. I mean that literally. My husband is a rather stocky, muscular man, a Tolkien dwarf come to life. I swear if I got pregnant, I'd give birth to a 12 lbs pot roast. Anyway, all that muscle mass generates a lot of heat and so he's always hot. So up (or down?) the AC goes. Indeed, a Ham in his natural environment would probably be during the last Ice Age, in "balmy" sub-zero "shorts" weather. In contrast, I'm constantly cold because of my freakishly low blood pressure. Since Ham doesn't appreciate, as I do, the hand-warming properties of his warm body for frosty fingers, I bundle up in my own house just to keep my core temperature up.

Anyway, in the whirlwind of activity, I've neglected posting about three more Hammies that were born recently. I've been taken by surprise with the popularity of these little guys - they may outsell my regular work! While they started as a ode to my husband, they've transformed into a shared ode to those loved ones who endure our quirks, and it's such a treat to hear of your stories relating to a Hammie. So for these three new ones, let me set the stage...

I'm not the type to vigilantly maintain my computer in lean, mean racing condition. As long as it goes well enough, I'm satisfied. I'm also not the type to fanatically stay current with an operating system. I tend to stick with one, get comfortable, and drive it into the ground, so to speak.

So here I was cruising along for years, doing all my records, articles, Boat publishing, photo editing - everything - and all while blithely neglecting to clean out my computer or update my OS. It could be said I just didn't run Tiger into the ground, I augered it in.

This would have gone on for many more years had Paypal shipping not become a thorn in my side. My version of Tiger became so outdated that Paypal shipping, among other things, became increasingly incompatible and inefficient to use. Even the USPS site became quirky. But being so spoiled by online shipping, the thought of waiting in line at the PO was (gasp) unthinkable. To rectify this I had to (finally) update my OS to Snow Leopard, and then to Lion.

To do that though meant some house cleaning on my forlorn Mac. Now my IT-guru husband religiously keeps his machines in fine shape, de-fragging and de-thising and de-thating like a proper, devout geek. So while his machines sing, my Mac sobs. Trust me - only a Mac could tolerate my shameful treatment! So. All this meant I had to empty the trash can.

For the first time in, oh...five years!

I clicked on that little magic trash can and lo and behold - over 13,000 items sat there, having patiently waited for their destiny with oblivion. Wow. That's impressive even by my incompetent standards. So I click "delete trash" and off it goes, finally doing what it's waited so long to do. It takes 30 minutes to delete the trash can.

I saunter back to Ham's mancave and nonchalantly quip that I'm currently deleting 13,000+ items from my trash can. He looks up at me with a blank stare...then this erupts:

Hammie #6: "You HAVE HOW MANY ITEMS TO DELETE?! HOW MANIEEEEEEE?!!"

But it doesn't end there. Of course not. In the process of deleting the trash can, I somehow managed to delete my browser. One that he'd spent some bit of time setting up for me months earlier. I still don't know how I did it, but it apparently had to do with icons and hard drives. Upon hearing the familiar plaintive, "Hey....Haaaaam?...", he knew I had another gem of trouble just for him.

Hammie #7: "How...how...did you delete your browser? Seriously? How."

But wait - there's more! I also happen to be of the (futile) belief that if you click on something enough times it'll speed up the function of the command. That the amount of clicks actually is like circuit board accelerator. Ham has scolded me more times than I care to admit about my astute practice of this technique, but well...let's just say when electronic impulses "take too long," off I go clicking like a mad woman.

And so I managed to lock up some sort of function that was necessary for the upgrade, and what would have taken 15 seconds had I waited required a reboot. He suffered in silence, standing behind me, with his facing saying everything that needed saying:

Hammie #8: (thought bubble) --> "Yes, she did it again. I've told her a million times and yes...she did it. Again." (rolling eyes)

So there ya have it folks. Three fresh new Hammies. Suffice to say, I got upgraded just fine and everything is working like a charm now, ready to get slogged down by another five years of chaff. All I can say is this: Mac had better not come out with another OS upgrade anytime soon because Ham may not survive it.

"I was an accomplice in my own frustration." ~ Peter Shaffer

Bustin' Through Boundaries

2011-09-16T18:43:00.000-06:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures, and check out our Socially Awkward Penguin lolz!

Things are moving right along in the studio, one-third gearing up for Christmas, another third tackling ongoing projects for 2012, and the other third having complete creative spaz attacks. It feels great to wake up each morning with lots to do, with each piece inspiring the next in an endless loop.

One project, in particular, I just finished. One of my casting partners, Resins by Randy, has started casting in low-melt metals, such as tin and pewter. That got my immediate attention because this material opens up new possibilities, everything from ornaments and decorations to functional housewares and key chains.

As I mentioned in my last post, I bristle at being told what I can and can't do, and this is especially so of my art work. Over the years I've had various individuals (even art instructors) tell me that equine art isn't real art and, what's more, that realistic art isn't real art. Hey, whatever makes them happy, but that train of thought obviously doesn't work for me. I have my own drum and I'm bangin' it. Loud.

Similarly, I've had others throughout the years poo-poo my desire to create functional art, such as switch plates, key chains, sinks, installation tiles, stepping stones, fountains, or even to create fantasy pieces, such as Unicorns, Dragons, Kirin and Pegasi. Apparently those sorts of things aren't real art either.

I can certainly understand why on both counts. The idea that real art doesn't have a practical function - it exists simply to express - is common. I get it. But I also love the idea that art can be integrated into function, that they can be one and symbiotic to each other. In our mass-production world, I rebel against the notion that function and art are separate by definition. I say squish 'em together and see what happens!

As for fantasy critters, an aversion to them in the art world is completely understandable given the cheese-factor associated with all of that. But I'm reminded of the Unicorn tapestries and the wonderful Grecian coins and splendid Asian art that integrates these motifs without apology. These creatures are a part of our collective culture and when approached in a certain way, I believe they can transcend the cheesiness of airbrushed pink Unicorns dancing on rainbows and snorting pixie dust.

All this has taught me that it's not the subject so much, it's how we chose to portray it. Anything can be made profound and transcendental, even a blade of grass or a shoestring. Just as easily, too, anything can be cheapened into demeaning banality. It all depends on the creative spin.

Art knows no boundaries, so why should I? As my long-suffering hubby hears on a regular basis, "I'm gonna do whatever I wanna do however I wanna do it!" I create my art this way. So in this spirit, I just finished the first of many future pieces, in this case a Unicorn ornament destined to be cast by Randy in either tin or pewter (haven't decided which yet).

Oil clay original, 2.5 x 3". I'm going to make a plaster mold and then make a ceramic casting. I'll then clean and detail that up because at this size the oil clay gets too gooey. Even the Hard NSP Chavant, which I use, is too soft to hold detail well at this size. Then I'll sign and stamp the back, bisque fire it, and send that along to Randy for production. The hole at the top is for a hanging ribbon or some such contraption.

I'd like to keep this piece a limited edition exclusive to the metal, but I'll probably also make a limited number of ceramic castings to use up the plaster mold (probably in porcelain). I hope to have this edition in my Etsy store in time for Christmas, but we'll see.

It was really fun sculpting the piece, and liberating in many ways. And since I'm not in the camp that interprets a Unicorn as a horse with a horn, I got to play around with body parts. For instance, he has the ears of a Pronghorn antelope, a leonine tail, and eyes that are more deer-like. While I wanted to make the horn much longer, casting logistics prevented that though I got to put a curve in it, which I prefer. Sculpting that horn was a hoot! How often do I get to do that with horses? Um. Never. Really looking forward to sculpting more horns of all different kinds, since the options are open for a mythological creature.

It'll be so fun to start delving into my functional art lines along with the mythological animals. There are no limits other than those we impose on ourselves. When we create from our sincere passions, that's art enough for me!

"A forest bird never wants a cage." ~ Henrik Ibsen

Border Wars

2011-09-15T13:17:00.000-06:00

"Look Ma! I'm jumpin' outside the lines!"

(a snippet of a Jax plaque)

It's against my nature to do what I'm told. Something deep down makes me rebel against boundaries, being told what I can and can't do. I don't know...maybe it's because I prefer to do things my own way, or it could be that I want to win my own triumphs and make my own mistakes on my own terms. Doesn't mean I can't take orders if I'm inspired to follow, but most of the time I dance to my own drum. Then again it could be that, as my husband lovingly observes, I'm just a brat.

But being a brat isn't always compatible with art, especially when it comes to standardized formats. If you're familiar with my previous bas-relief work it's clear I don't like to sculpt "inside the lines." To me the boundaries of the edging shape are meant to be toyed with playfully, being a suggestion rather than the rule. This not only results in a better design, but it opens up design possibilities otherwise unattainable. So if a wisp of mane, twitch of an ear or a flick of a fetlock need to pop out more -- no problemo! Just do it.

But this idea cannot be applied to tile cutters. These things are designed in specific, industry-standard shapes and used to cut the clay slab into pre-sized portions for tile pressing, just like a giant, spring-loaded cookie cutter.

Here are some of my trusty tile cutters to give you an idea of what I mean by "cookie cutter." While they're worth their weight in gold in terms of handiness, they do force a limitation on design. The trick is to interpret the limitation as a positive -- because in the long-run, it is.

Now I could sidestep this issue altogether and slip-cast everything, but the problem is time. Tile pressing is faster and less labor intensive whereas slip-casting requires quite a bit of baby-sitting and delay during the casting process, plus the cleaning up of mold seams. If I want to keep my gift ware affordable and keep the process easy enough to maintain inventory (and evidently the ease of tile pressing is a challenge even with that this year), I'm forced to rip down the time required to finish a single item. The less time my hands are on it, the more affordable I can make it and the more of them I can make, but that cannot be achieved with slip-casting when I'm the only one doing all the steps.

I think this is the #1 mistake artists make when trying to make a living at art: they don't understand that their time is everything. It's all they have. Every moment of every day is an essential building block to success, and no amount of talent, drive, or business savvy can compensate for misused time. The moment an artist doesn't treat her time like a finite resource is the moment she's out of business. Making a living at art isn't only a passion -- it's a discipline.

What this also means is that thinking beyond the boundaries of a project is beneficial more often than not. Many years back, I took a workshop with Veryl Goodnight (with my buddy Lynn, a trusty workshop-mate), an artist I greatly admire. In her gentle shrewdness Veryl conveyed to us lessons perhaps more important than those imparted about sculpting, one of them being: maximize your time use. You spent time, skill and energy creating that one piece -- so is that where it stops? No! Rethink, reuse, reapply! Whatever other application that piece can be adapted to is in your best interest. It can get your work into more hands, it can open up new opportunities and partnerships, and it can ensure greater financial gain to allow you to continue to create art for a living.

All these years later I still remember this smart sense and have begun applying it to my gift ware and collectibles in earnest. By maximizing the possibilities for a single bas-relief or stamped tile design, I'm essentially maxing out every minute and iota of energy I put into creating it in the first place. I'm literally completing multiple pieces at once.

So...back to bas-relief and boundaries. The rub with tile cutters is their fixed shapes which don't allow for all those fun pointy-out bits outside the "parent shape." Rubbing salt into the wound, installations and all tile accoutrements are manufactured along those standard shapes so unless I want to spend a mint on commissioning custom-made tile accessories (with an accompanying lofty retail price), I'm stuck with the limited dimensions of the cutters. Like a stinging game of dodgeball, I have to stay inside the circle...or square, or rectangle. Oh snap!

Here's my Feral Mare medallion in cold-painted resin (top), my Reflective plaque in glazed slip-cast earthenware (middle), and one of my new CubequinesTM in original oil clay (bottom). These pieces demonstrate what I mean by "sculpting outside the lines" with design portions that pop out beyond the oval, circle or square, respectively.

This reality makes me chomp on the bit like a snarfly pony. Poofy-haired and pudgey and oh-so irritated. It's also immensely difficult design-wise. For me to create a design that plays nice within the lines can take almost twice as long as one that doesn't simply because I don't have the cheat of busting through the boundary.

This border war may not seem like a big deal, but when it comes to bas-relief or stamp design, it's pivotal. What makes this art form so intriguing is its unique blend of sculpture and flatwork. It's basically a 3D painting. As such, it's best approached as a painting (for bas-relief) or graphic design (for a stamp) rather than as a sculpture.

So actively employing concepts about composition, positive or negative space, narrative and line so fundamental to flatwork really help. Indeed, they can make or break a piece. No amount of technical finesse, popularity of subject matter, or novelty of an idea can make up for compositional errors, just like with flatwork. In short, a horse head on a flat background with lots of empty space isn't the way to approach it. Bas-relief isn't about the subject, it's about the design.

And when it comes to the design, the outer border, or shape, determines what you can and can't do with the piece in future applications; it dictates the versatility of the piece and mandates production methods. So if I want to invest my time most efficiently, which is imperative with this kind of work, I need to create a shape that has the most potential, able to be applied to all kinds of casting and projects. In other words: I have to do what I'm told -- I gotta sculpt within the lines. Argh! Leave it to clay to put me in my place.

The reason I bring this up now is because of two new Unicorn bas-relief tiles I'm working on, a matched pair with a moon and sun motif...

Here's the first incarnation of the moon design (very roughed out), with all the sticky-outy parts so typical of my approach. I really liked this draft. A lot. Then Veryl's words rang in my head. I realized this design would force me away from tile pressing, the very thing that was my primary intention for this set. I had to bite the bullet and redo it to fit into the 4.5" circle dictated by my circle tile cutter.

Voila. Here's the retweaked design (still very roughed out). I wanted to make the Unicorn as large as possible while avoiding "kissed" borders or gobs of empty space. The way I got around that was to add another circle, in this case a border, to let me poke parts out while still remaining inside the parent circle. So I got to lob some teaser shells at the boundary while still playing nice. "Does this bug you? I'm not touching you!" And, ultimately, this is a stronger design and far more versatile. I figure the Unicorn has universal appeal, so it would be unwise to limit its potential simply because of design.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I'll document the completion of these two designs in oil clay as well as their pressed ceramic production, plus how I adapt them to different projects. Along with stoneware and earthenware, me thinks porcelain is a definite must. But they're also destined for resin casting and perhaps metal later on. Most of all, I've got my eye keenly fixed Glasclay. Can you imagine these in glass?! Swoon! And all thanks to embracing boundaries.

Now all this doesn't mean that I'll be creating bas-reliefs only in these standards shapes from now on. Only selected ones. I have a workaround for the odd balls, and one I'm quite excited about. But I'll leave that for a future blog post when I actually implement it. The beauty of this workaround though is that it allows me to adapt any shape to any standard tile accessory, but since it requires an investment of more time, resources and energy at the back end of production, it's ideal only for specialty items. Anyway...back to the work bench!

"And this is one of the major questions of our lives: how we keep boundaries, what permission we have to cross boundaries, and how we do so." ~ A.B. Yehoshua

Thinking Inside The Box

2011-09-02T15:49:00.001-06:00

Earlier this year I started a new project I'd been contemplating for some time, and just finished the first batch. My Dancing HorseTM tiles are immensely popular, and I'm expanding on the designs to offer more variety. I'm slowly developing my Christmas ornament series, too, along with various other projects to offer more diversity on my Etsy shelves. But I've been wanting to offer goodies that are more technically realistic, more in line with what my regular customers collect.

However, any such pieces had to be collectible, affordable, versatile and, above all, easily produced to keep up a steady inventory. That last bit is the sticky part. Realistic work is labor and time intensive, so it took some cogitation to come up with an idea that fit all those parameters. So ta da - introducing CubequinesTM!

Each piece represents a different breed, and they're all based on a 2.5" square -- the "cube." These are the first ten, and every year I'll come out with five new breeds. Their breed is inscribed on the side, but I haven't shown that because the letters need a lot of clean up in the waste castings.

They'll be produced in colored resin, maybe with opalescent finishes, and have magnets attached to their backs, making them functional art (something I have a particular weakness for). But I'm still debating on whether to sell them individually or as sets, and a lot of that depends on my cart options in Etsy. I'm also mulling over the run date of each design, but I think ultimately I'll feel my way with this series and keep my mind open.

But being versatile designs, I plan to gussy some up in different ways and sell those as specialty items. Cold-painters are welcomed to paint them realistic colors, too, opening up new options. So overall, this series serves as a continuous outlet for my bas-relief collectors while also providing fun introductory offerings to new customers within the Etsy venue.

Now the reason for the 2.5" cube was because that's the size of my smallest clay slab cutter. The original idea was to contain the design neatly in those dimensions, allowing me to create pressed clay versions, too. But as my creative urges tend to do, I "colored outside the lines"!

As for mud, it's conceivable I could make slipcast molds of each piece for slipcasting. The designs would have to be retooled to remove the deep undercuts and other features that aren't compatible with a rigid plaster mold (easily done with the waste castings), but that will have to wait a little bit. That kind of production is time and labor intensive, comparatively speaking, defeating their initial purpose a bit, but I definitely want to explore this option to create specialty items. Me thinks porcelain in particular is quite tempting! One ceramic option I definitely want to try is seating a couple of these pieces onto a 4x4" tile, tweaking the design a bit, and making a mold of that to open up options for installations and tile paraphernalia.

Another kind of clay these designs beg for is metal clay. I have big plans for a jewelry line in my Etsy store, and a PMC kiln is on my "must have" list for 2012. The cool thing about metal clay is that I can use its shrink rates to shrink down these 2.5" designs into more jewelry-friendly versions with relative ease. Once I have those smaller versions, I can make press molds and be off and running with collectible jewelry bobbles. I plan to sell them as separates to jewelry makers and beaders, sorta like collectible beads. I also plan to apply the same strategy to all my stamped clay tile designs!

Anyway, interestingly enough, the Quarter Horse, Andalusian, Clydesdale and Ardennes started out as generic versions, such as "stock horse," "iberian," and "drafter." But I thought to myself that if each cube was to be a different breed, why not leave the door open to sculpt them all? I'm glad I caught myself with this thought because now I won't have to worry about running out of subject matter. Though it will prove interesting when I get to color-based breeds, such as the Paint horse and Appaloosa!

This series is a good opportunity to showcase rare or endangered breeds, too, such as Marsh Tackies, Abaco Barbs and Cleveland Bays. I also plan to expand the series into all equine species and hybrids, and I'm really looking forward to creating them. Kulans, Tahki and Hinnies, oh my!

On top of that, I graduated from UCSC with a degree in Environmental Studies and I've long been wanting to combine that training with my art to help along those efforts, since I'm shamefully not using my degree now! Unfortunately just about all wild equids are on the Endangered Species Red List today, such as Mountain Zebras, Takh, Grevy's Zebras, Somali Wild Asses, etc. If it's not a caballine, it's probably endangered -- not cool in my book! Fortunately, I can use this series to aid their plight with some partnered projects and I'm really looking forward to that.

Another fun thing about this project was the "overview stage" in which I weighed each against the other when they were all roughed out. Altogether, they have to be a collection, be coherent as a group, and not just a pile of different ideas with a 2.5" constant. So I ended up retweaking a few of the pieces, such as the Andalusian, Morgan, Clydesdale, and Quarter Horse, to give them just a bit more oomphf to synch better with their brethren.

They'll be cast by Bear Cast LLC, and I hope to deliver these first ten to Barry next week. I'll clean up the resultant waste castings and then he'll make the production molds and off we'll go! It's going to be so fun picking out the colors for the resin and I know that teal, purple, green and gold are definitely on the list!

I'm so excited about this project, and I can't wait to get started on the five for 2012! But first, I have Christmas to contend with and sculptures to finish. In particular, that sproinging Arabian mare is definitely staring at me. I've slated her to be my first piece in bronze, so the faster I finish her, the faster I can start that leg of my journey. So much to do! So many ideas! That's a very good feeling.

"It is in rhythm that design and life meet." ~ Philip Rawson

All You Need Is Love

2011-09-01T16:55:00.001-06:00

I've been working like crazy lately, trying to get caught up in my schedule from the chaos that happened earlier this year. Sandwiched in this mad scramble is the 2011 porcelain Christmas ornament, the second in the series started last year. As I promised myself, I would get this project started much earlier and it looks like I'm on schedule in that department.

I knew immediately after I finished the 2010 ornament what this year's would be: a Friesian with stars as a motif and "love" as the theme. This piece will be pressed in black porcelain, something I'm really excited about. I've fallen in love with this stuff and a black version is just too tempting, both as a new thing to try and as something appropriate for the all-black Friesian. I think a purple ribbon would top it off beautifully and add spice to a Christmas tree with colors a little different from typical holiday fare.

But as I worked on this piece, I began to realize just how apropos the theme really was, at least for me. If anything could sum up what held this year together in my world, it would be Love.

My father's accident was a frightening and stressful time, but we held it together through Love. My friend's battle with cancer has been alternately worrisome and triumphant, and Lynn's adventure has been held together by Love. My husband is having a blast at his new job, developing that funktionslust that I have for my own own work, perhaps even more in Love with technology than ever before (and I didn't think that was possible). My buddies Laurie, Kay and Stephani lovingly came to Boise for my birthday because they knew I didn't want to leave my parents just now (and showed me a great time!). My sister in law, Megan, completed another AIDS LifeCycle ride, pedaling her Love into dollars for AIDS research. My friend Lesli started a book series on her passion, horse color, an exciting prospect for my book shelves! Even Dante is a reflection on Love. And in fact, this 2011 ornament was inspired by my friend, Kathy, and her wonderful relationship with her Friesian gelding, Nylis.

And there are so many more examples of how Love of something or someone has carried us through difficult times, or compelled us to reach for new heights and experiences this year...I would run out of space listing them all. How has Love worked in your life in 2011?

I believe The Beatles were right. Love of something, someone, anything to carry us forward and tie us together, reminding us of the things that really matter. So I give to you the 2011 Christmas Ornament, #2:

Original clay. I hope to make the plaster molds next week, and then start pressing late September! If all goes well, they'll be available in my Etsy store, hopefully by October.

"Love gives light even in the darkest tunnel." ~ Anonymous

To Hell and Back

2011-07-22T20:34:00.001-06:00

On the subject of Hell...this 3.75 x 4" fellow, aptly titled Dante, dragged me on a more-months-than-I-ever-expected tour of artistic Hell. He's a newly finished piece and I'm really happy with how he turned out, despite the arduous journey I slogged through to create him. Really pushing myself with this piece, I applied the lessons learned from Elsie and tinkered with some new ones. You can see more pix of him here.

He's a Murgese stallion, an Italian breed, one that I've admired for some time. They're a very diverse breed, with lots of phenotypes, which is good - that leaves room to revisit the breed in the future. I always value a breed that has a high degree of variation, not just for artistic reasons, but also for the safe-keeping of a breed. My friend, Lesli Kathman wrote of a similar issue with the Kladruber in a recent Equine Tapestry post.

Anyway, beyond mirroring Dante's escapade, his name is apropos in more ways than one. I read Dante's Inferno in junior high on a whim and it left quite an impression, to say the least. The thought of our bad deeds having a scoring system in Hell was interesting enough, but I was tickled to find that my good deeds (as in how hard I applied myself in the studio) definitely paid off - I learned lots of cool stuff! So it goes both ways, I suppose!

I also wanted to create a rather spirited, swarthy, flamboyant piece (hey, he shares heritage with Fabio) and I knew his mane and tail would really amplify his movement and "feel."

But manes and tails are really hard to sculpt. They're a tricky concoction of passive physics, from the physical universe and from the horse himself. The texture also is immensely difficult to capture, adding insult to injury. This is why those hairy bits are the single most varied component in realistic equine sculpture because every sculptor tackles these features in their own way. So yeah - I struggled big time with that mane and tail! All said and done, they took as long to sculpt as the rest of him! Adjustments, do-overs and tweaks...oh my! I lost count. But it had to be just right.

To my delight, they ended up echoing the flickering, blazing flames in Hell. Or in another interpretation (one I personally prefer), the dancing, glittering flames of love, even with a heart-shaped image suggested from a certain angle.

Which brings me to another apropos bit of serendipity with Dante. If you've been following the blog, you know about the Hammies, and the kind of patient agony my hubby lives through every day just being married to me. His life is a blustery, smoldering alchemy of love and torment because of the chaos and disorder I introduce into our household. Yet as I finished this piece, he suggested we renew our wedding vows. Out of the blue. It caught me quite by surprise. Deeply touched, we agreed that come our 20th, we'll do just that!

"I love him to hell and back and heaven and back, and have and do and will." ~ Sylvia Plath

Hell Sure is Gorgeous!

2011-07-17T23:26:00.001-06:00

Being facetious, of course! And apparently flowers bloom a-plenty in Hell -- Hell's Canyon, that is! Unable to wake up at o-dark-hundred to meet for a group ride, we decided instead to blaze our own trail today, this time up to the Hell's Canyon Overlook, a spot we've been meaning to visit for some time. Why anyone would name such a heavenly place "Hell's Canyon" is beyond me, but I suspect it has to do with the ruggedness of the terrain and the early pioneers.

Here's a crude pieced-together-panorama shot. Someday I'll have a proper wide angle lens. Until then, we'll enjoy the wild flowers that carpeted the lush meadows, and the brilliant blue sky. Here are more pix of the views - stunning to say the least!

I really wanted to snatch this up and take it home, to reduce to bones and have it mounted properly. It would make a neat anatomical specimen for the studio. But not only did I suspect that hubby would be nonplussed with me cramming a decaying elk leg into his bike-bag, but the Park had a "no tread" and "no take" policy, so I left it to fertilize future flowers. I wondered what the story was behind this leg...the rest of the carcass was nowhere to be seen.

Three of the interesting surprises on this trip were the cows we encountered on the road (apparently the Park is free-roaming). On a Harley, coming face to face with a large black steer that outweighs you and the bike combined is interesting to say the least! The second quirk of the trip was realizing that the road to the overlook ate up more gas than expected -- and on a bike, the contents of the gas tank are a big deal. Suffice to say we rolled into Baker City almost on fumes! The third hiccup was not knowing that much of the roads to Hell's Canyon and the Overlook were just repaired with tar and gravel, and for a bike that slows the trip to a crawl -- so we got home four hours later than expected! Rolling into our driveway just as the sun was going down, we were tired, but armed with great memories, lovely photos and some good stories for our fellow riders.

Anyway, when I tell folks I'm from Idaho, most people say, "Where?" Then their next question usually is, "Why Idaho?" Well, if these photos, and the others I've posted, are any indication (and they are), they provide a pretty good answer. I'm definitely a NorthWest girl, though I do admit that living in a lighthouse along the Maine coast is equally tempting. As the years go by, I also find myself being drawn ever more to hidden, reclusive places -- those little homesteads tucked away behind hillsides would sure seem more homey with a kiln in the back...

"I believe that there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which, if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright." ~ Henry David Thoreau

2011 Reference Listing

2011-07-06T17:26:00.000-06:00

It's been two years since the last update, so 'tis time for another! A couple of new references have been added, as well as a new blog section. This listing is a work in progress, and I'm looking forward to adding new references over the years - especially The Equine Tapestry!

Many thanks go to Gail B. for hosting the list on the Model Horse Gallery! Someday I'll figure out how to do it on my web site, but until then you can download the 18-page 2011 Reference Listing PDF thanks to her.

"Art and science have their meeting point in method." ~ Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

Up Close and Personal

2011-07-01T16:52:00.000-06:00

An email suggested an interesting question about those references lists: how do we know if we're a beginner, intermediate or advanced sculptor?

Things get murky here because by what measure do we determine that? Is there some sort of test to identify our level? Are there prescribed steps involved in getting from one to another? Can an expert make an independent assessment? Does our work reveal our skill level? Do our reference materials reveal the extent of our knowledge base?

These questions do have a "yes" answer attached to them because there is an objective basis to equine realism. We aren't splattering paint on a canvas or carving abstract lumps of clay. And no matter how much we like how a piece turned out, in the end we're accountable to much more.

We already know this. We use anatomy charts, we do research, we seek critique, we pursue improvement to make our work "more realistic." We also are able to determine those works more convincing than others. Deeper still, we may see if our newer work is an improvement over our older work. We instinctively know an objective foundation exists; otherwise how do we determine our goals?

But there's also a "no" attached to those questions. This task-master art form is founded on science, art, interpretation and application, and learning it is tricky business. Most of all, our internal experiences are unique because we each perceive different things and things differently, and at different rates. We each grow into understanding in our own unique way. In the truest sense then, our journey is a solitary one and why self awareness is so critical. In short, only you can answer the question for yourself.

Nonetheless, it should be said that the provided levels of beginner, intermediate, and advanced are artificial distinctions - they don't really exist. There are no levels. They were organized that way only for simplicity and guidance, but not as a determiner. So don't assume you're a beginner if you're using a "beginner" reference, or you're advanced if you're using an "advanced" reference. I use all those references for different reasons myself. Your mind knows what it knows independent of a level, as some of what we know may be remedial, some may be highly skilled, with a whole mish-mash in between. Learning also occurs in variable ways, and so we may be ready for some advanced ideas early on, or perhaps need to revisit beginner concepts, for example.

That said, at times we may find ourselves asking, "Now what?" If I had a nickle for every time I was there myself, I'd be able to buy you a great big brightly-colored cake...with ice cream! But we do best discovering the answers in our own way, so let's ponder some guiding ideas to answer the question for ourselves...

Beginners often think about logistics and tend to:

Find sculpting a new piece intimidating.
Need instruction on the "how's" of sculpting.
Be focused on learning the "horse-shaped object" basics.
Still be exploring media and technique, having not yet found the clay or method that suits them.
Find that proportion and planes are the biggest challenge, and for good reason - they're two of the toughest, but most basic, aspects of sculpture.
Get confused by anatomical references, especially when it comes to application.
Find information regarding horses confusing and conflicting (because it is).
Have shallow perceptive abilities - they're new at this after all.
Sweat the small stuff before considering The Big Picture when sculpting.
Work on a sculpture for a very long time, trying to get it just right.
Be a "damp sponge," and eager to learn without conceit, prejudgment or prejudice. In that, beginners have much to teach us.

Classic beginner question: "How do I do this?"

Intermediates often think about technicalities and tend to:

Find sculpting a new piece challenging.
Sculpt "tighter," concerning themselves more with the correctness and precision of sculpted anatomy.
Rely heavily on the anatomical formula; "sculpt by numbers."
Be focused on sculpting "ideal" specimens.
Increase the degree and amount of detail on sculptures.
Weight conformation and breed type heavily, usually adhering to conventional wisdom on such things.
Start attending workshops and seeking critiques.
React to the confusing and conflicting information regarding horses with resistance.
To compare their work against other artists, and can be competitive.
Start developing distinctive habits.
Form strong opinions about what is correct in life and in art, perhaps becoming dogmatic about it. [Note: This is why this stage is a crossroads. We either stay on this rigid path to remain a perpetual intermediate (albeit sophisticated), or we become beginners again to jump to the advanced stage.]

Classic intermediate question: "How can I make this better?"

Advanced sculptors often think about sensibilities and tend to:

Find sculpting a new piece meaningful.
Sculpt "looser" within the bubble of reality, on purpose; know how the rules can be tweaked.
Sculpt a piece according to a narrative, deep idea, or message.
Be focused on sculpting what's regarded as interesting.
Look for idiosyncrasies rather than the "perfect specimen."
Be competitive with themselves; seek colleagues for comradeship.
Be aware of habits; more self-aware.
React to the confusing and conflicting information regarding horses with informed responses, typically beyond convention.
Understand the deep aspects of horses, and the art form.
Make independent evaluations and choices, having a self-earned, independent knowledge base.
Take on instructive or teaching roles.

Classic advanced question: "What does this mean for my work?"

If we find ourselves identifying with questions from more than one category - that's normal. Where we identify most could be where our overall understanding is thereabouts, or perhaps not. It all depends on what our gut tells us.

All in all, we should be patient with ourselves, and give ourselves permission to make mistakes. Lots of them. And it's interesting how we come full circle in this. Novices tend to be fearless of mistakes because they expect to make them, but intermediates tend to become fearful of mistakes because they want to avoid them. The advanced sculptor is faced then with hidden mistakes, and so must learn how to be fearless again. Something to think about as we ponder these questions.

"Progress in art does not consist in reducing limitations, but in knowing them better." ~ Georges Braque