Well I have honestly been intimidated by my blog since I haven't had anything as cool as the Philippines to write about, so here is my first step back into the fun.
My husband got up in church today to bear his testimony and as usual it hit me right in the heart. What an inspirational man! I can't believe how lucky I am that he fell for for such a quarky, punky redhead like me (when I was 16 of course). That even still today I must have him brainwashed into believing I am as high caliber as he to live life as a McClellan and have adventures together forever.
Anyways his testimony expressed thoughts about Viktor Schreckengost and President Hinkley living such amazing lives leaving behind legacies for us to learn from. (their passings were both within a day of each other last weekend) He expounded not only on their lives but, but compared them to each of us posing a question. How are we living our lives? What are we leaving behind? What track are we leading ourselves down and is it on purpose?
I really appreciated his few profound words about this subject and will probably forever ask myself these questions to keep myself in check, I guess that is now what makes me a McClellan. No wonder the family has such an amazing repetoure of accomplishments. (sorry just had to brag a bit)
The art above is Viktor Schreckengost's, it's a piece that Rich discovered on the web I think. One of my many favorites. I still can't believe I got to work with Vik to recreate the Jazz bowls. I miss that scene a bit and am nostalgic for the old dirty Ford factory surroundings. Day after day I would admire the beauty of the parabolic oversized bald porcelin bowls slowly drying in the sun, and carve intricated details on the walls of them while the shavings formed into delicate little curly Qs that fell into an ant pile on the canvas stretched table. The white dusty clay coated the surface of everything in the Cleveland Institutes of Art's ceramic department with the amazing ora of honor monopolizing the 3rd floor the entire summer of 2006. I recruited 10 students who slaved all summer in the hot sweaty studio to recreate over and over and over the masterpieces crafted in the 30's by people just like them and probably just as young. I still don't think any of them truly realize their privellaged roll in such a wonderful re-enactment as this, and first hand with the man himself.
The idea to recreate the Jazz bowls was Richard's and the initiation was mine. In the beginning I worked with a potter, Jim, who threw a few bowls for me to carve and experiment on. My first crit with Vik was over the the only one that remotely survived the firing. It was relatively smaller than the originals, the foot had been blown out in the kiln, it was the wrong blue, and worst of all warped. For proof of effort and the sake of emergency I sculpted a new foot on it so it could at least stand up. The carvings were just about perfect, I had studied and worked for about 4 weeks to develop some stencils to apply but ended up free handing it anyways. At first glance Viktor's face lit up with excitement, like he was at the Institutes final crit week. Instinctively he began to teach me everything that came to his extremely sharp mind. He explained how the first ones were fired upside down to avoid warping on the rim, cast them in molds, and made stencils for the imagery around the bowl. "Each motif, he explained, leads into the next creating a continuous pattern around the bowl." The oval martini glasses imitate the round rim of the bowl when skewed, and the Egyptian blue glaze that emulates the glow of New York city night life. He went on and on like he had created it yesterday. Despite my ashamed stature when I first presented it to him I walked away having more inspiration than I had ever had from any of my art teachers, and this wasn't even my own art.
So here I am faced with myself as an artist and perplexed at the development, or lack of, and wonder where my art is going. What am I leaving behind? What track am I going down and is it on purpose? Questions Rich posed, that I pose. Will I naively jump into a thoughtless New years resolution of commitment to throw my art on a wheel and form it into an amazing Jazz bowl that will influence the lives of people for generations of time? Or will I continue to stare at the wheel with a blank intimidated look accepting an excuse promoting schedule packed with motherly errands, community involvement, and church callings, all of which prevent me from addressing my unsatisfied inner artist?
So, I have been reflecting a lot this last week and a half while Rich was gone (over Valentines) about my life with this amazing man. (but first off isn't he a hottie) I don't think I remember a time that I was more happy than I am now so this is by no means a venting session about missing him over the lovey dovey holiday. In fact I over booked myself so I would not get depressed. I couldn't help but remember how it all started, so I found myself rummaging through old photos, letters etc. And I just have to say it was sooo cool but made me miss him so much. There is a whole other part of his life that I haven't experienced and flipping through photos of him being a reckless missionary and even in Jerusalem with all his girlfriends made me know him so much more than I thought I did. then I looked at old photos of me. All I could think to myself is "WHAT POSSESSED HIM TO MARRY ME?" I mean yeah I was crazy and spunky but....WOW! I looked at letters I had written that made absolutely no sense, wore clothes that made absolutely no sense, and especially acted like I had no sense. This is the guy who dated and planned to marry someone who was like a Valedictorian or lawyer or something smart. What happened? I still ask him that question.
