When I look at images of my work, I see something so removed from the making process, I’m not sure what the viewer sees. Does a love for the tactile quality of clay, a curiosity about how things come together, dismay at how quickly they come apart at the seams reveal itself? Does a desire to patch it all back up, and overall, a big wish to find some fun along the way shine through? When I am working, this is what plays out like an earworm.
Background and family are also an influence. My grandmother had a small dress shop in New Orleans. College Frocks was where clothing was sold, but also mended and altered so it fit each person perfectly. My mother had an interior design business, where whole houses or rooms or just one chair could come together and actually make a difference. My dad was an engineer. He never spoke about what he made; it was classified. He worked for APL. My sister lost her sight when she was a teenager; she still remembers colors. When I discovered clay, I loved how you could do almost anything with it. You form it, and it retains the memory of your touch. I also loved working in studios, many of them over the years. I loved what happened there, so different from anywhere else.
The losses hit hardest – loss of people, places and things; these, no one wants to talk about too much. I love to see how we all can, with help, dare to repair, and how we find fun, even if we have to learn to find it, along the way.