“I like vessels … you’ve got an inside and an outside. I like things hidden.” — June Schwarcz

June Schwarcz is 97 years old and still enameling today..

I feel quite drawn to work like this, where the more you seek the more details you find..

I once had a conversation with one of my teachers where he asked me why I kept making boxes.. for some reason I am drawn to boxes and hollow structures as well, we decided there was some sort of “protecting” aspect about it.. and when I see her vessels I get just that, I think her subtlety shows through, these are not to be used in a common form, they were made to hold something deeper… they are to be admired and loved as the  beautiful object they are..

This video features her talking about her work, it is so inspiring to see someone so fulfilled and with a life time of memories through making..

 

Oh..well, did I tell you I really like her work? 🙂

Aplastamiento de las gotas- Julio Cortázar.

I don’t know, look, it’s terrible how it’s raining. It’s raining all the time, dense and gray outside, here drops, dull and hard, come against the balcony with a splat!, squashing themselves like slaps piling one onto another, how tedious. Now a droplet appears just at the top of the window frame; stays there quivering against the sky, shattered into a thousand subdued glints, about to fall down but won’t fall, still won’t fall. It holds on tight, all nails, doesn’t want to fall and it’s clear it grips with its teeth while its belly grows bigger and bigger; it’s now a majestic drop hanging there, and then plonk, there it goes, splat, undone, nothing, only a clammy something on the marble.
But there are those that kill themselves and surrender right away, sprouting in the frame whence they jump off outright; I can even make out the dive’s vibration, their little legs falling off and the inebriating scream in the fleetingness of the fall and their annihilation. Sad, gloomy, despondent drops, plump and gullible drops. Good-bye drops. Good-bye.I don’t know, look, it’s terrible how it’s raining. It’s raining all the time, dense and gray outside, here drops, dull and hard, come against the balcony with a splat!, squashing themselves like slaps piling one onto another, how tedious. Now a droplet appears just at the top of the window frame; stays there quivering against the sky, shattered into a thousand subdued glints, about to fall down but won’t fall, still won’t fall. It holds on tight, all nails, doesn’t want to fall and it’s clear it grips with its teeth while its belly grows bigger and bigger; it’s now a majestic drop hanging there, and then plonk, there it goes, splat, undone, nothing, only a clammy something on the marble.
But there are those that kill themselves and surrender right away, sprouting in the frame whence they jump off outright; I can even make out the dive’s vibration, their little legs falling off and the inebriating scream in the fleetingness of the fall and their annihilation. Sad, gloomy, despondent drops, plump and gullible drops. Good-bye drops. Good-bye.

To make is to be by Hans Stofer.

(Inspiring Extract from Professor Hans Stofer’s keynote talk at the Craft Scotland Conference 2013)

What I like about making is that the pace of making dictates the pace of thinking. It is a bit like walking and thinking. This helps me to organize and structure my thoughts and allows the subconscious do the work.

There are many different types of making:

There is making to be in touch with what is real.

There is making to experience another reality.

There is making as thinking.

There is making as a reflective process.

There is making to visualize the unexpected and hidden.

There is making as revealing.

There is making to discover.

There is making to cover up.

There is making to produce stuff for others.

There is making not to have to feel.

There is making to let off steam.

There is making to help you focus your thoughts.

There is making to feel alive.

There is making to make sense.

There is making as an attitude.

There is making as identity.

There is thinking about making as an imagined form of making.

There is making as healing.

There is making as repair.

There is making as a form of object – rebirth.

And there is making as something that is essential to define the self.

 

But ultimately, to make is to hold OUR world between our hands.