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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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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Two Beth Kephart Pots (because some of you asked)

A few days ago I shared the pottery story I'd written for Good Housekeeping, and I loved hearing from so many of you who are potters too, or muck lovers.

I promised that I'd share a few of my novice pieces, and here two of them are—straight from the kiln. The little blue pot is my first true thrown pot—look at how tiny it is; I added coils to the top and a few decorative buttons. The second piece is another punctuation piece. It's me, working on the cusp.

Many thanks to my friends at the Wayne Art Center, who keep me moving forward, inch by inch.

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mucking around (in Good Housekeeping)

I have Laura Mathews, Amy Rennert, and Fran Lefkowitz to thank for the privilege of this page in the July issue of Good Housekeeping (an issue that has so many good stories in it that I will likely read it front to back).

I have my husband to thank for inviting me to spend a few hours each week doing something new, and for enduring my lack of self confidence. And I have the extraordinary ladies of the pottery studio (as well as my husband) for helping me find ways to see half-conceived or overly ambitious projects through. There is no competition at the Wayne Art Center on Thursday mornings. There are only artists mucking around with clay—centering the pots, pulling the handles, applying the glaze, sharing trade secrets, and loving our saint-ess, Bernadette. It is a particularly peaceful place, and I am grateful for the companionship and for the overt love and generosity that keeps me trying.

Karen Bernstein, thank you for finding the story first, and for letting me know.

And thank you, Good Housekeeping, for being the first magazine to mention Handling the Truth. I guess this means that August 6th, the publication date, is soon.

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Bisqued: progress images from the pottery studio

Remember that moment of deep frustration at the pottery studio? My angel Bernadette Stillo, or is she Saint Bernadette, continues to apply her steadying hand and good counsel. These two pieces have been bisqued. Yesterday we learned about glazing. I'm a little afraid to move from chalky pinkish white into shiny color. But I have a week to think about it.

In the meantime, check out Bernadette's own amazing work. I've been trying to figure out which piece to buy for some time now. :)

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at work in the pottery studio

It is good, I remind myself each Thursday morning, to set oneself upon an unnatural challenge.

Or it is good not to be sitting at my desk, typing.

Or it is good to pretend to be an artist, since I sometimes write about them.

Or it is good to enter into a community where you are unknown, and can remain unknown, stealth.

My Christmas present was a ten-week pottery course, taken in conjunction with my husband. He is, in fact, an artist, at home with multiple media, dedicated to his craft, familiar with the act of sculpting space, the go-to guy in an otherwise all-female environment. I am an artist in no media. I am ridiculously inept. I have an intimate relationship with frustration, some might say impatience.

But I try. I try to push back the panic that comes from being away from the pressures of a job that, minute by minute, spills more into the in-box. I try to roll the clay, slab the clay, texture the clay, slip and score so that pieces will remain coherent wholes. I try to fist the air away so that nothing explodes in the kiln. I try to imagine these odd shapes of mine all pimped out in color.

Last week we brought textures from the natural world to our tables. My arrangement of haphazard things infinitely prettier than the pots they are meant to adorn.

Happy Valentine's Day, my friends.

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