Winter, or should we say post holidays, does not bring forth the thoughts of autumn fairs and craft shows and tours. For the professional maker/artist this is a time of reflection and relieves the pressure of inventory, marketing, classes and supplying galleries.
It is a time to regroup, to come up with something new. It’s a time for muddy walks, study and philosophy, resting the kiln, and clearing the table. A time for pondering the pink sunset on the clouds as puffy as a children’s book illustration. Bare branches are fractals against the sky. The orange light of the mockingbirds’ feathers, oh, wait that’s a wren, flits through those branches singing. Does she know me? Is she my mother visiting?
My fingers hold a pencil, it sketches, it marks, exchanges for another color. It doesn’t matter. My artist friend tears paper, splatters ink in her notebook that only she sees and knows. A jeweler puts the torch down and cuddles with her teen child and reads a book about adventures in Renaissance England. Another maker visits the forest and brushes his hand against the bark and knows how old it is. A painter picks up her mandolin and plucks with her friends in a cozy room. Cookies are baked, a basket is started, and put aside. A gallery is visited, a work is admired, there is a sigh, a coo, no commitment.
A candle fire dances, and the maker does not move. They admire the radiant white tip of the flame in purple and smoky black and the scent of a thousand years of melting wax.
No one is frantic, social media languishes, the studio is dim, the clean-up can wait. The project calls but it’s not urgent, there is no end.
Such an important time for the maker, who will not bother with accounting, ordering supplies, or calling a favorite vendor. It’s time to take a walk with the cat in the backyard and watch him rub his face along the damp grass. Closely observed is the petaled blue flowers popping up next to the melting snow, and the most perfect beauty one can imagine in the tiny yellow center.
Submitted by Tara Bell