I will share this lurker's clay story, which is also most of my life story. There are some false starts and waiting periods here, so this is not the happiest tale. I make my living as a technical writer now, so this won't be the shortest story either. But we all needed some reading material this week, right?
1970-something. I couldn't tell you when I first felt the joy of making clay objects and then seeing their transformation through fire. All I can tell you is that before I was in first grade, I was already hooked for life. I would run out in the rain and liquify the clay soil of the backyard with my bare feet and then form my new clay into lumpy things. My dad contributed to my interest by allowing me to "fire" my little backyard mud snowmen in the coals when he barbecued. (My mother must have been incredibly patient with both of us and our messes.)
At a very early age, maybe 5, I begged my parents into sending me to every community clay class that they could find. I tried but didn't stick with the gymnastics, soccer, ice skating or other extracurriculars. Just clay. What luck, we were able to find at least a few months of clay class every year, in different venues. The diversity of these classes was remarkable and formed my understanding of the versatility of ceramic art.
In Bay Village at the crafts center, we made little things like ashtrays and little animals. I just loved having real clay in my hands. I was in awe of the slab roller when I was barely tall enough to see its table. If we asked nicely, the teachers would roll out beautifully burlap-textured slabs for us. I never succeeded in making the tall cylinders with my little hands, but I loved trying. We were allowed to use the kick wheels, though with my juvenile legs it wasn't practical for me.
In one class in a very patient woman's basement, 8 or so of us third-graders wove big clay baskets and made little critters. She was so dedicated to teaching us the craft, that she hosted a pit firing as our end-of-class celebration. Awesome.
In classes the Beck Center, we got prompts on what to make of unglazed terra cotta. More little critters and some abstract representations of things that were close to the heart. This was mostly hand-building with a few carving and stamping tools, a slab roller, and hand-held extruders. We didn't get to use the electric wheels; they were reserved for the Big Kids.
There were other formal classes that I can't remember. Raku, and kick wheels, it's been too long.
My grandmother once allowed me to assist with painting her little Mayco bisque creatures, mice and pigs and little baskets. After our shared disappointment with my messy and chaotic color schemes, that idea was discontinued!
Sadly, we had very little clay curriculum in school. We kids did things like macaroni art and seed art, but almost nothing with clay.
1980-ish. When I was about 11, my dad found a used kiln and an electric pottery wheel somewhere in Michigan, and moved them into our basement for my further clay pursuits.
This bodacious homemade "electric wheel" - I sure hope an old timer on Clayart will recognize its description and immediately know who made it! It was constructed of a massive steel flywheel, a tractor seat, and a home-welded metal frame. The frame was short like an electric wheel, not tall like a kick wheel. The motor was big and fast, mounted to on a metal arm below the seat. Push down on the arm with your foot, and a rubber wheel would contact the flywheel and accelerate it. Release the arm, the motor would fall away, and the momentum of the flywheel would carry the wheel along. Maybe if you were skilled enough and tuned the machine to eliminate wobbles, it would have worked. I wasn't, so I never made more than an ashtray with it. No idea what the folks did with it later- perhaps it is still kicking around the Midwest somewhere.
I'm not passionate about lumpy ashtrays, so hand-building was my joy. I liked making free-spirited closed forms with spiraling 'hair' and attempting (and somewhat succeeding) with ideas like inserting stained glass windows and copper pipes through the closed forms. I still have some of these around. I love that they remind me of the folks who told me that I "couldn't" do this or that this was "impossible". Their unbounded creativity (in hindsight) amazes me at this point.
1980s. I took classes at the art institute while in high school. I went through all their high school classes and finally was allowed to enroll in college level ceramics one summer. What a revelation that was, with real curriculum, tools, and glazes. That class didn't participate in firings, so getting back our finished high-fired and raku pieces was like Christmas morning.
1988. My goal was to study ceramics in college. I wanted to go to Alfred! On the other hand, my parents very much wanted me to pursue something that would be identifiable as a professional career and pay a decent salary. My dad was pretty insistent that I follow in his footsteps and become a materials engineer. While there's no doubt that it would have been cool to work at NASA like he did, 16-year-old me found engineering impossibly dorky and I dismissed it out of hand. Our lose-lose compromise was architecture. (If only I had known that I could have gone into ceramic chemistry at Alfred, I probably would have done that for the win-win.)
1990. So off to college in So Cal. What I didn't know is that architecture is an all-consuming major and profession. I barely had time to breathe during architecture school, much less to double-major in art. Though the art school shared space with architecture, I only managed to fit in five or so art classes during the five year program, and none of them were ceramics.
I confess, a few times I sneaked into the ceramics room at night and made random things. I planted them like cowbirds on the class firing shelves next to the objects of much higher artistic value. They fired my pieces anyways. What fun to go undetected amongst the "real" art.
1995. Upon graduation, I was driven to succeed in my chosen career! I wanted to be the youngest licensed architect ever. I completed my series of exams and the interview before my 27th birthday, which is a tremendous accomplishment that I'm still proud of. I applied the same energy to my career, trying to excel, coveting that starring role as Junior Designer, and never quite reaching that mark. I pretended not to notice the rampant sexism that held me back, and pressed forward with my career, doing more and more. (I was so damn exhausted, y'all.)
2004 By this time I was fully disillusioned with my career, ground down by the sexism and had a permanent spasm in my back and neck. I realized that I would never be a recognized Designer at a firm, never be on a magazine cover, and I was ready to call it quits. I was good enough to be a nuts-and-bolts production architect, seeing as how my resignation made my boss cry, but I wasn't at the top of the talent pool, so I wasn't satisfied.
2005. If you remember 2005, I was lucky enough to sell my first house at the top of the market. I headed off to the wilds of Eastern Oregon to find myself. I really needed the break and the reset. About six months in, the spasm in my neck finally released, I was well rested and felt about two inches taller. I got busy gardening and renovating my house and set up a studio.
I might not have found myself out there, but I did find Clayart! I got going with clay puttering, but didn't really have a direction. I was just making QLT's and 'stuff' and selling it out of my house. I learned about glaze chemistry through Clayart and books like MC6G and Robin Hopper's, and began formulating colors, but I wasn't really passionate about one branch or another of the ceramics world.
In the course of renovating my home, I could not find tiles that I liked. I decided that I must not be the only one who wanted fresh designs and modernist tiles, and so I set off to make a go of it as a tile maker. I worked up my designs, glazes, samples, and started making display boards to shop around to the tile showrooms. I set up a website and my current email address
stu...@ivyglasgow.com<mailto:
stu...@ivyglasgow.com> to create a professional image. Started sending out postcards to showrooms and I got a few bites. I could see the glimmerings of success ahead of me.
2007. Several showrooms had agreed to include me in their offerings and a mortar manufacturer wanted to sponsor me in creating my display boards. I was included in the Lark 500 Tiles book. WOW- what amazing validations of both my craftsmanship and my design skills. I had really, really needed that. Of course, right about then, I ran out of money. I simply couldn't float myself through till the tile business took off.
So ultimately I "found myself" by realizing that being an architect was A-OK for supporting myself, I just needed to accept that I wouldn't be the Designer or the top dog. I unsubscribed from the shiny architecture magazines and resolved to try not to work myself to the point of burnout.
2008. I went back to the city and joined a big firm. Good money, interesting projects, and I was well-respected enough. Of course, the studio was left behind at the country house. I took a wheel-throwing class at a local studio and finally learned to make vessels. It was a great couple of years of learning that culminated with the privilege of participating in a firing at the noborigama in Grass Valley.
2010. Life happened. I got divorced, ran out of classes to take, lost the country house with the studio, fell in love again, lost a friend to suicide, sold the city house, moved again, got busy with work again, lost a friend to cancer, and could barely keep up with life, let alone making pottery.
2012. I found space in a local collective studio and set up my equipment there. I was enjoying it at first, but the experience soured over time. Some criticized me sharply for being a hobbyist and for selling work at the annual show, which made it hard for me to enjoy myself there anymore. I bailed and got even more hate for taking my own slab roller with me.
2017. I set up a studio in my current house but barely had time to use it.
2020. So many people had cool 'pandemic projects' at home but I was too busy with work to do that. I had a big, high-profile project at my firm, and I spent nearly 2 years on it.
2021. Fourteen-ish years into my 'new' job, I'd climbed to a high rank in my office. As I became a manager, then a principal, there were new challenges to take on, which took more of my time. Meanwhile, I got farther and farther from the technical/ production work that nourished me. I was looking for another change.
2022. Just over two years ago, I reached a point of confidence that allowed me to leave the firm and start my own part-time business writing specifications and doing sustainability consulting. Two of my favorite parts of the technical side of the business. Now I work for architects, mostly on large projects.
2023. Consulting part-time was supposed to free up my time enough to allow me to activate my studio and return to the joy of making things. But running a business is a big new challenge for me. I've been more successful than I planned to be- I've even had to hire an admin assistant. My partner is now fully retired and we are free to travel the world, so we have done a lot of that with our free time in the past two years.
Now. I long to make more ceramics but rarely have/make the time. Not to say I've made nothing in the last two years. I made a bunch of "ollas" with custom lids for our garden. There are owls and Shrek heads and ducks and wizard hats that are cheery to see between the vegetables. I've gotten really excited about making lamps and I'm working my way through replacing all of the lamps in our home. I currently only fire my big kiln about twice a year; I'd love to do more, but two firings is immeasurably better than no firings.
The future. Over the next ten-ish years I plan to ramp down my consulting business and eventually close up shop. Over that time, I will ramp up with ceramics work. I will probably not try tile making as a business again, unless I am doing an Ann Sacks-like thing where I design tiles and then license them to a manufacturer. I am past 'needing' to sell things, so I plan to make and sell (if there are buyers) lamps, ollas, mugs and other things that bring me joy when I make them. One wrinkle is that we may move out of the country; but I can't let that stop me. There is clay and pottery everywhere on Earth. Maybe I can't take the studio with me, but I will take the artist, and that's the important part.
Today. Putting all this on digital paper is cathartic and inspiring; I am both unburdening myself and making a public commitment to do the things I love. If I had it to do all over again, I would do things very differently. That's impossible of course, so I'm happy to say I'm in a pretty good place now with many opportunities ahead.
I have boundless gratitude for Mel and the Clayart community. I may not have hands in the mud every day, but I get to vicariously enjoy all your clay experiences and continue to quietly learn from you.
Thanks to all of you.
Ivy Glasgow
Email:
stu...@ivyglasgow.com<mailto:
stu...@ivyglasgow.com>
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