I’m taking a summer class to learn how to throw pottery. So, come September, I can start teaching these techniques to students.
Today was intensive, but I feel that I walked away with a good foundation. I can confidently bring my clay up into a cone and work it back down into a ball/dome shape on the wheel. I can also make the opening for a pot and bring that back up into a dome shape and begin to form my desired object.
Although I made a pot, a mug and a planter today, I need to work on refining my techniques. A lot more of my pieces ended up in the reclaim tub then on my board to dry out. Oh well, back to the wheel tomorrow!
{A gorgeous wildflower garden I passed on my way to class, it was buzz, buzz, buzzing with big fat bumblebees and that made me happy!}
The past few days I’ve been planning for a class I’ll be teaching in September. I have my own ideas about this project and where I want to take it, but I also don’t want to hinder anyone’s creativity.
Everyone sees the world differently through their own eyes. I’m excited to see how each person approaches the task at hand and what their final outcome will be.
The students have officially left the building and even though I’ll still be working for a while longer getting things cleaned up and ready for next year, it will be done at a less frenetic pace.
It is very hot here today. Even for a girl from the South. As I was walking to the tube station after work, I passed this wooden popsicle stick sitting in a pool of melted orange popsicle juice. It just struck me in a funny kinda way. It feels like a melted popsicle kinda day. That wooden stick in a puddle of orange, just summed it all up for me.
Today is my first darkroom day of the week. I was working with a few different classes doing pinhole cameras. While waiting for a group to come back and develop, I snapped this photo. I love the glow that the red lights were giving off. I was bathed in almost a pinkish hue. I love the fact that the camera on my phone can’t quite compensate for the glow and you get this wild almost surreal photo of the light.
I can’t believe it is only Wednesday! Three late school nights in a row for both of us. Yesterday at school we worked to put up the senior exhibition. It was a one night only exhibit and today we spent the day taking it all down. Sigh.
I’m getting Mr. Michie’s cold. The sunshine is giving me spring fever, although tomorrow it is supposed to pour all day. This morning, a cup of coffee spilled all down my blazer, scarf and grey shirt. So, for the rest of the day I looked like I was wearing dirty clothes. Yep, it must be Wednesday.
Come on Friday, I’ve been waiting for you all week!
I dream of staying home on sunny mornings. Grabbing coffee with Mr. Michie, giving him a kiss at the bus stop and then waving as his bus pulls away from the curb. Heading to the grocery store when it is still early and quiet. Tending to our little flower boxes before our street has fully woken up. Cleaning, reading, making bread and drinking tea. Planning dinners and creating a cozy atmosphere to welcome him back home to after a long day.
I read in the front of one of Ina Garten’s cookbooks (I can’t seem to remember which one) that when Jeffrey comes home, the house always smells of delicious food, candles are lit, music is playing and he thinks that’s just how it is, but all of it is very deliberate. She is working to create a welcoming atmosphere. That stuck with me. I was very fortunate, I grew up in a loving, welcoming household. My parents (both excellent cooks), entertained frequently. Music played, candles were lit, the atmosphere was always relaxed. I have carried that with me and do it within my home. At night, the party lights are on, we play music, we light candles, we laugh and talk about our day. These things are so very important. When the world outside your door is buzzing and whirring away it is important to have an environment you can return to that welcomes you with open arms.
I have a project I am working on currently. Well, I’ve been working on it for a long time now if I’m honest. It’s almost ready to go out into the world. It’s like I’m roasting a chicken, I keep basting it and basting it and the skin is almost cooked to perfection, sizzling, crispy and browned and the meat is succulent and moist. It’s almost time to pull it out of the oven, but not quite. My project is almost done cooking. I hope good things come of it. I’m ready for a change, I’m not quite sure what, but I’m antsy lately, I feel unsettled. I’m ready to be doing something different. I’m ready for the next thing. The wind is blowing and I think it is carrying my heart along with it. Here’s to dreams, I hope more come to pass than don’t.
As we moved into the Easter Break, one of the things on my To-Do list was to scrape back the oil paint from the palettes so we could re-use them once we return to school.
There is something satisfying about scraping all of the paint off, by this point it has become almost gooey, gummy even. As I smeared it across some newspaper to wipe my knife clean, I happened to look down and noticed all the little waves and crests and ridges that had formed. It was my own little ocean or mountain range of oil paint.
The way one color moved into the next, pattern but no pattern, rhythm and flow. It made me smile, it was almost a miniature work of art in itself.
Now, I am not a fan of Ed Rooney, but I had a bit of his day today. I had a warm gummy bear day. Do you remember that scene at the end of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, when Mr. Rooney walks on the bus and he has to sit next to the girl who offers him a warm gummy bear? By the end of today, if someone had offered me one, I know that I would have also flicked it away in silent disgust.
This morning I was one of only three people waiting for the train, but then it was late and there was a crowd. A woman, who I see everyday waiting on the train as well, actually used her briefcase to block me, so she could get on before me. I’m going to try and chalk that up to the fact that her hair is always pulled back in such a tight bun, it looks like it hurts. So maybe the pain from her bun, causes her to always be so rude. Of course, all the men made sure they were getting on, pushing and shoving their way through. Gee, nothing like a gentleman to let a lady on first.
Tonight heading home, I got a seat on the tube. That never happens. Next time, I’m just gonna keep standing. The tube smelled awful, like that hot school bus smell with a bunch of punky kids on it and you know that they had gym class that day and haven’t showered, do you know what I’m talking about? The man who sat down next to me, hadn’t bathed in quite awhile, but I couldn’t politely or discreetly move as by that point the tube was packed and there was no room. I tried to breath through my mouth.
The teenage boy across from me had his finger so far up his nose that I was sure we would have to call for a surgeon to remove it, when he suddenly pulled out a ginormous booger and proceeded to fling it onto a ladies skirt! I think my mouth might have fallen completely open at this point.
A five minute walk from the tube to the train station, where by the time I got on a train, I was frozen solid and was so happy that for once the train driver had been kind enough to turn the heating on. This warm fuzzy feeling didn’t stay for long, no siree, it didn’t! It lasted only long enough for a man to get on with a huge tuna salad sandwich baguette. The smell of tuna baking in the heat of the train was utterly enticing, NOT!
I was so happy to get off the train and breath in the fresh air again. I slowly walked home. By the time I got to the cottage, I couldn’t feel my fingers, my nose, or my cheeks, but I didn’t care, I couldn’t take one more smell or rude person today.
{A gorgeous wildflower garden I passed on my way to class, it was buzz, buzz, buzzing with big fat bumblebees and that made me happy!}
