Bowls + Vases. Bill + Beth. A Ceramics Offering.

Our pots will soon be on sale!

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behind the scenes at Ceramic Innovations and Essential Earth, at the Wayne Art Center

Yesterday afternoon I stepped away from the thick of editing a new book to help Bill take new pieces to the international juried show, Ceramic Innovations. This show and the accompanying Essential Earth Invitational Exhibition are the brainchilds of Brett Thomas, our friend and teacher and all-around exquisite ceramicist.

Brett, who thinks about the plasticity of the earth and the countless ways it can be dug out and shaped, has been building toward these twinned exhibitions for years. He's been traveling the country in search of the finest clay practitioners and spending time in art studios for Essential Earth. He's been searching for just the right judge—Chris Gustin— for Innovations. He's been coordinating with the leaders of the Wayne Art Center, where Brett teaches and where international and regional shows are showcased year-round in two beautiful galleries. Brett has had a vision. It has been realized.

So there Bill and I were, dropping off Bill's work, and there was Anna O'Neill, the Wayne Art Center programs and exhibitions associate who brings her love of art, her academic training, and her gentle fortitude to the work that she does. Surrounded by crates and boxes and pedestals, charts and notes, she and her associate were at work turning so many gorgeous, individual clay creations into a unifying show.

I saw enough of those pieces to know that these will be two very special exhibitions. I invite you to join us all. These events are free.

Ceramic Innovations

2017 International Juried Ceramics Exhibition

Essential Earth

2017 International Invitational Ceramics Exhibition

April 1 - April 29, 2017

Artists' Talk, April 1, 3 - 5 PM

Arists' Reception, April 1, 5 - 7 PM

Wayne Art Center

413 Maplewood Avenue
Wayne, PA 19087

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William Sulit ceramics selected for new international show, Ceramics Innovations

Readers of this blog know happy I am for my artist-husband as he continues to develop his ceramics work—and following. Recently Bill's work was selected for a new international show, Ceramics Innovations, which opens April 1 at the Wayne Art Center, in Wayne, PA. This event was masterminded by Brett Thomas and judged by Chris Gustin and Jim Lawton. It runs simultaneous with Essential Earth, a show featuring some of the most important working clay artists of our time, curated by Brett Thomas.

More about the show is here. Bill's selected work for this show is shown in the third image.

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setting politics aside in favor of community

I've been spending time with people.

Maybe that sentence would sound odd in the ear of a passing stranger, but those who know the contours of my life would understand. In my little house, all hours of each day, I work at words while my husband, in the basement, works on clay. Two artists with a grown-up son. Friendships (such cherished friendships) conducted primarily by email, letter, and phone. The contours.

But lately I've been making a point to go out and be. To join the members of my church in a Sunday afternoon Hunger project. To spend time at art shows, among other artists. To slip inside a neighbor's house for a long conversation. To join a gracious, extended family for Thanksgiving Eve dessert (so delicious in all ways), following a nine-dish meal built for my family of three. To spend a Sunday afternoon with a former student, listening to Colson Whitehead then walking the streets of Ardmore. To say yes to an invitation this very evening to welcome a famed, beloved writer to her new home an hour or so from here.

When the headlines blare news that is so much bigger than anything one person can affect, it helps to get out into the world and be.

Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I went to the Wayne Art Center, where so much good has happened for my husband's ceramics career (and where I have had so much fun being bad at mud), to buy a wedding gift for friends. On our way out, we stopped in on the ceramics studio—quiet now, for winter break, but still percolating with friends. The clay community at this center is built of teachers who know deeply and share what they know, kiln experts who care for every fired piece (placing each just so, glad for good results, concerned about cracks), students with talent, students on the verge, students (well, maybe just this one student) with only a handful of mini pots to show for their name.

The clay community is built of people who know one another, look toward and out for one another, tell and listen to stories. Age doesn't divide us, nor histories, nor income, nor resumes. People are who they naturally are. We wear ragged clothes. We get dirt in our hair. We screw up. We succeed. We trade words for art, advice for gratitude, concern for truth. We're glad for the good that happens to another. We're sad when life tilts the other way.

I've been spending time with people. I've been reminding myself of all the good out here, of what happens when people set politics aside in favor of community. When a show of force is sublimated to the power of the heart.

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Craft Forms 2016: celebrating artists among friends

We seek community. We find our way toward those who share our passions. Last evening I had the pleasure of joining my husband, William Sulit, at the opening reception for Craft Forms 2016, an international juried exhibit featuring textiles, metal work, ceramics, jewelry, wood, furniture, and basketry held at the magnificent Wayne Art Center. This year's exhibit was curated by Stefano Catalani, Executive Director of the Gage Academy of Art, and what a show it is. One could spend a lot of time appreciating the materials, hand work, stories.

And one could bask, as I now am at this early morning hour, in the friendships strengthened or rediscovered last evening. Many of our clay friends were there—all dressed up and mud free. But so were friends from other spheres of my life—Bill Thomas, the Executive Director of Chanticleer, with whom I worked on the book, Ghosts in the Garden; Peter Archer of Archer and Buchanan, an architect of great talent whom I first met so many years ago when we both worked for the same firm; Susan, a former family neighbor. The Wayne Art Center is a world of windows and light, ideas and the people who have them. It is led by Nancy Campbell, who achieves much and dreams forward. It is a welcoming place at a time when we could all use a little more welcome.

Today, from 1 to 2:30, Stefano will discuss his selection process and some of the artists—my husband among them—will talk about the pieces that were selected for the show. The event is free and open to the public.

Bill's selected piece is right there in the middle of the room, by the way. A close-up image can be found here.

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Essential Earth: An upcoming show, and a gift, thanks to ceramicist Brett Thomas

Could you, I am often asked. Read a manuscript, forge a bridge, write something short, write something long, blog, write a script, step inside, make it quick, grab a headline, do. I run about, a circus act. Or I sit and try.

But every now and then, someone with great talent comes along with a dream, a hope, a possibility that needs to be whispered forward with words. That was the case a few weeks ago, when the beloved ceramicist and teacher, Brett Thomas, called to talk about an idea he's had for a long time now—an invitational exhibition, "Essential Earth," that would bring together the work of leading ceramic artists who, by creating outside categories, meld the power of vessels with the artistry of sculptural clay.

Brett is thinking of artists such as Chris Gustin, Dan Anderson, Gay Smith, Suze Lindsay, Fong Choo, Scott Ross, and Paul Eshelman. He's committed to bringing them together in April/May 2017 at the very gorgeous Wayne Art Center, in Wayne, PA, which has long been the site of renowned exhibitions, juried shows, and exceptional events, including "CraftForms," now in its 22nd year. All Brett really needed were a few words. I gladly helped him find them.

But then what rarely happens in my life happened; Brett said thank you with this gift, above. It's one of his own beautiful pieces—a trencher, as he calls them. Modeled after the vessels once used to feed the medieval poor, it opens like an oyster to the eye, or the ridge of a volcano. Brett took it from his own home so that I might have it here, in mine. A generosity I am not accustomed to. A gift I'll always treasure.

Essential Earth. Look for it next spring.

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the One Thing Stolen surprise at Radnor Memorial Library

Some things aren't surprising when I am hosted by the Radnor Memorial Library. How gracious Pamela Sedor forever is. How delicious (and pretty) is that cake. How kind my friends, husband, and father are. I hope my gratitude is felt and known. I am fully aware of how precious time is, and what it means when time is set aside to support another's floating dreams.

But last night, after photographs and stories of this regional home were shared, after I read from One Thing Stolen, after I shared the opening pages of This Is the Story of You (and gave a copy to Lucky Number 9)—after all that, when I was signing books, I turned over a copy of One Thing Stolen and saw a new cover staring out at me. The formerly black title had turned red (and glossy). There were A.S. King words over my name. The back cover was different, too.

What had happened here?

A little detective work with Annie and Pam as the night wound down, and I learned this: One Thing Stolen has gone into a second printing and Chronicle Books has taken the time to dress the book up newly—new color, Amy's words. It's like those wondrous moments when I come in from a very long day and discover folded laundry on the kitchen table, the work of a secret elf. This thing had been done, quietly done, and there was my gratitude again.

So many, many thanks to Pam and Annie of Radnor, to my friends who came, to the ladies of the Wayne Art Center (oh we, the Hidden Gems), to Kelly, Cyndi, Marie, Tom, Hilary, Bill, another Bill, and Dad, and to Temple University Press, which gave me Love: A Philadelphia Affair and Chronicle Books, which gave me a second printing of One Thing Stolen as well as the gorgeous cover and packaging (and Taylor, thank you for caring so much, you read it again and then again with dedication; you kept asking; you kept pressing; I am grateful; we've made it all right at last) of This Is the Story of You.

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a first award for my husband, the potter

How proud I was this evening to accompany my husband to the Wayne Art Center (about which I have written here), where he won a first award—a student award—for his work, "Industrial Landscape." This is an evolution of work that is exquisitely considered and well made, and a happy validation of the long hours he spends planning and building these pieces.

For a glimpse at an earlier collection, please go here.

So I got all dressed up. Wore heels for the first time in forever. Almost fell off the heels. Had fun seeing two of my own pieces on display. Which I'd entered just for fun, though, once I got there and saw the serious talent, I died a thousand deaths, then decided to stop dying and had the aforementioned (twice) fun. I don't think I'm good at this. Seriously. It's just — a community. I love the community. And sometimes the glaze does nice things.

So, hats off to my husband. I honor the originality of his vision. And the care with which he builds things.

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In clay I was allowed to fail; I loved my failings

Yesterday I said goodbye to the pottery ladies—and to Bobby D., too. The semester was over and I know, looking ahead, that there will not be time in my upcoming world for Wednesday-morning clay.

The thing about clay is that it allows you to fail. Smash it up. Try again. Recook the glaze.

The thing about working in a medium where no one expects you to succeed is that you leave without marks, reviews, evaluations. You laugh it off. You dive into gossip. You show up with your hair in a knot and no one asks for explanations. "What are you making?" they might ask. And I will say, "This."

The work here is the work of my semester. I experimented with trays, added an apple to my apple collection, built an old-looking pot, bent a grid, punched holes into a bowl so that I might someday weave burlap through it.

Someday.

Oh, Pottery Ladies and Bobby D., I will miss you. Thank you for making room for this novice.

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my newest pottery experiments are enlivened by purple

I've been experimenting with new shapes and cone 10 firings at the Wayne Art Center.

Yesterday the browns and reds of my newest business card holder were enlivened by purple, thanks to the graciousness of the Chronicle Books team.

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Did I write? No. Did I live? I did.

This weekend I was reminded of the power of the unplanned. Of all the things that happen when we make room for the unexpected.

For example: My husband was to have been in Seville all weekend long to celebrate his mother's birthday, and I was to be writing my novel. A snafu with a still-very-valid passport (!) and a US Airways approved boarding pass sent my husband home. My quiet days became:

* a lovely Wednesday evening dinner with my father and my suitcase-still-in-hand husband
* many trips to the Wayne Art Center, where my husband's work was showing and where new work was delivered from the kiln
* a trip to the Bryn Mawr Film Institute to see the fabulous "Belle"
* a casual conversation with a neighbor that turned into a shared starry-sky meal
* a Sunday outing with our friend, Julie, who came to Wayne to see my husband's clay, then deigned to walk and sit with us
* a Sunday dinner with my father—just three of us in a farmhouse restaurant enjoying a hard-earned peace

Did I write all those planned pages of the novel? No. Not exactly. Did I live? Oh, yes. I did.

I'm pretty sure that, in this life, living comes first.

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My husband's art goes on sale, for the first time

I have written here (and in Good Housekeeping) of my relationship to clay—tentative at best, inexpert, always.

I have written of my affection for the Wayne Art Center, and of the friends that I've made there.

But this afternoon I'm announcing something very special. Following nearly 30 years of marriage to an artist—architect, illustrator, photographer, 3-D image maker—my husband's work is, for the first time, going to be shared in an exhibition/sale.

Pottery has proven to be the perfect medium for Bill's many talents. He's asked me not to gush, and so I won't. I hope the pieces pictured above tell you at least some of the story, and if you're interested in seeing more—not just of Bill's work but of the incredible work of nearly three dozen clay artists— please join us at the Wayne Art Center, June 5 through June 8, more details here.

I'll be manning the table on Bill's behalf Thursday morning.

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Dear Teen Me, Grown-up Pottery Love, and Going Over/Dr. Radway Kindness

Oh, those beautiful pottery ladies. There I was, minding my own clay business, when I saw Karen the Good, who also goes by Queen of Wayne, sneak by. What is that lady doing? I wondered, then went back to trying to figure out how to make my latest project stable.

The next time I looked up, the ladies had gathered around and they were singing. They were singing a birthday song.

How I love them all.

(Bill, the honorary pottery lady, took the photo of the group, but I love him, too.)

So a huge thank you to my friends, and to Karen, for remembering—and for singing—so poignantly well. And the timing is—well—something else, for just this morning I had been remembering a surprise party my mother had thrown for me when I was sixteen years old. Somehow she'd gotten Jim Clancy, Radnor High basketball star, to my basement, along with ice skaters and other friends. I had not had the slightest inkling that something was in the works. I miss my mother on many days, and always on my birthday, and there were the ladies, on this day, stepping in.

So who was the teen me? I write of her here, on Dear Teen Me, today. The piece begins like this:

You do not have to be good. You don’t have to try so hard. You don’t have to stay so very still inside that box that you have built up for yourself.

Life is meant for living.

Listen.

On a day in which so much kindness overflows that I hardly know what to do, or how many ways I can say thank you, I share these beautiful things as well:

Shelf Awareness shared the Going Over trailer as the Trailer of the Day, here.

Sarah Laurence reviewed Going Over so incredibly beautifully here.

And Melissa Firman very kindly makes room for, and says such nice things about, Dr. Radway's Sarsaparilla Resolvent, here.

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Talking Clay, Talking Life, in Today's Inquirer

My Inquirer story about the life lessons learned through clay and among real artists can be found here.

Outtakes featured above: a recent release from the kiln (a gift, shhhhhh, in celebration of the forthcoming launch of Going Over) and a photograph taken in the Wayne Art Center's lobby, where the work of the extraordinary young glass artist Madeline Rile Smith (daughter of my good friend Karen Rile, about whom I once wrote here) is currently being featured.

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celebrating the pottery ladies (and the honorary pottery ladies) (and the Wayne Art Center) in this weekend's Inquirer

What glorious work Inquirer page designer Amy Junod does. I'm always so lucky when my stories arrive on her desk. Grateful today to be able to sing about the Wayne Art Center and the friendships I have made among people who actually know what they are doing with clay (and apparently do not mind that I don't).

This is also my first piece with a Going Over byline. The time is soon for my Berlin.

As always, a huge thanks to editor Kevin Ferris, with whom I have such fun working.

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the very right books for the very right people

I've just returned from the Wayne Art Center, where I picked up my latest funny pot—just the right size, as it turns out, to collect the holiday cards. My pots are the oddest things in the entire Wayne Art Center world—looking as some child had been given a hunk of clay and the wrong sized paintbrushes. Somehow I don't mind. And besides: the cards matter more.

So there are the cards, and here, in stacks by my feet, are some of the books I've been buying for family and friends this season. I love this. Love buying books with a heightened sense of purpose. It feels like one of the most personal things one can do—finding the very right books for the very right people.

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straight from the kiln

One is a pitcher. One is a honey pot. It's alls I gots, for now.

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elements of a perfect day:

* All 72 Friday emails answered by 7:23 AM Saturday morning

* A definite "we're going" to the Annual Philadelphia Writers Party, concocted by Stephen Fried and Diane Ayres and populated by Philly writers, editors, photographers, designers "and others who eke out a living in the world of words and images or the teaching thereof." Do you see yourself in that description? Join us on Monday at Bliss, starting at 5:30 PM.

* Body Combat with Teresa at Club La Maison at 8:00 AM (we killed it)

* Clean house by 10:18 AM

* Hair by Cole Wellness, done by noon

* Andra Bell is in the house by 12:30, and off we (my husband with us) go, to see "Philomena," which is to say Judi Dench in all her glory, at Bryn Mawr Film Institute. 

* A quick trip to the Wayne Art Center, with Andra, to share with her that glorious space and its two new exhibits. One of the exhibits features the award-winning glass work of Madeline Rile, a sensational artist and the second daughter of my good friend, Karen Rile. Madeline, when we were there, three patrons were exulting in your talents. I boasted about knowing you. It's gorgeous work! Congratulations!

* My two glaze pieces are ready at the Center, and I'm happy with them. (That doesn't often happen.) And I've got a bisque piece to paint as well.

* Home to an email from The Great Jen Doll, whose first book, a memoir called Save the Date, has a smashing cover and is set for a May release. We. Can't. Wait. To. Read. I called it first.

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work in progress at the pottery studio

taking a picture of a pitcher—

for Karen Sacks

and the Queen of Wayne,

because sometimes you just have to be there.

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and now for a little Raku

I can now (and through the end of time) be nothing short of honest (the perils of publishing a book with the word 'truth' in the title):

I have lost what little pottery mojo I once had.

This six-week session was focused on raku. Work pulled me away for three of those six sessions, leaving me time handicapped. The others in the class weren't just far more focused; they were all pros—teachers, long-time artists, thoughtful souls with 3D skills, women (and one man) who are not afraid of fires.

Then there was me: Nobody. Nameless. (This happens when I'm with my husband, whether we are dancing or potterying, I am a shadow.)

Today the work of the class was kilned for the first time. I couldn't stay for the duration, for I had a talk to give—hair that could not be filled with bacon-smelling smoke (thank you, Karen, for the detail), fingers that could not be burned, a psyche that could not (again) be damaged. I stayed just long enough to see the pieces go in to the heat of the kiln, and then be pulled back out to the reduction buckets.

Some views above. My two pieces, here. "Truth," the one says. I'm telling you.

Pottery Ladies and Honorary Pottery Lady: I remain in your debt. And someday I want to raku like you.

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