Back To Work

One of the new ways my ceramic tiles are making their ways to new homes...in mosaics!

After my doctor–prescribed three week "pasture rest," I got back to work in earnest, getting knuckle deep in mud once again. I was particularly eager to finalize the various new applications for my tiles and get them up on Etsy pronto. At the top of that list were mosaics, an art form I'd long admired and which my handmade tiles were perfectly suited. Just like with beads, mosaics married mud and glass together with splendiferous results!

So the opening photo (above) is one of three large 9.5" x 9.5" mosaic pieces I put together, and here are the other two...

 

All three sold in the blink of an eye, something I really didn't expect. I thought they'd sit for months! It was so cool to put these pieces together, choosing just the right components and oozing the grout into the spaces. Forget spatulas or cloths—for me fingers are the best grouting tools! squish squish squish

I must admit that trepidation creeps in when I put new ideas up for sale only because I'm not so sure folks will think they're cool, too. Because I have to also admit that my various creative excursions can be quite random such as, for example, the new Shadow Horses...

On top is a pressing of my Welsh Cob (Section D) sculpture, Dafydd. The middle is from my RESS bas–relief piece. On the bottom are two separate pieces pressed onto one slab, those being Imp and Vixen respectively.

Also offered are sets of "undressed" pieces for the buyer to festoon as they wish. I encourage folks to dress 'em up themselves and resell those finished pieces. It's even been suggested they'd make super pendants for necklaces. So true! It's fun when we get to "play together," and when you do, please send along pix so I can feature your pieces on the blog! And some of these showcased Shadow Horses are still available.

These "cameo" pieces were created by pressing my selected sculptures into a slab of clay using a "squish n' roll" technique. How you squish n' roll influences the profile and manifestation of the details, making each one unique. Then the pieces are bisque fired and then glazed, with the glaze being strategically wiped off the high points to make the details "pop." And into the mature fire they go. It's a meticulous, time–intensive process, but the results are really cool. I especially like how the glaze accents the reversal of the sculpture to produce a unique kind of bas–relief.

But the curious thing about this project was that certain sculptures really lent themselves to this approach while others totally faceplanted, and for reasons I can't really explain. Totally counter–intuitive reasons, really. But it was sure fun finding out who was squishable and who wasn't! As expected though, only the transparent, glassy glazes worked for this project since the more opaque glazes totally obliterated the detail.

Now I'd really like to try some oxides with this idea along with making molds from some of these "negatives" to give me "positives." There are lots of uses for the positives, especially for a certain new series I'm currently designing. As a hint, I have a deep fascination for ruins that feature horses in bas–relief (like the Elgin Marbles) and I want to pursue that idea in earnest now that I'm getting a handle on tile pressing and free sculpting stoneware and porcelain. Lots of ideas brewing for that. In fact, if they don't explode in Big Al, the first offerings along those lines, featuring the Shadow Horse effect, may be available soon in the store.

Anyway, I offered quite a few Shadow Horses in this current Etsy cornucopia and waited in bated breath because they're so, well...weird. Boy, was I happy to find that many of you appreciate weirdness, too! But I'm not sure these critters will become a regular item in the store because they simply consume too much time to make. They're really better suited for periodic romps when the mood strikes.

As for the name, I decided to call them Shadow Horses rather than "cameos" only because I liked the idea of them being the "shadows" of the originals. Like anti–matter. Like ghosts. Considering it further, it would be fun to try this technique with the entire body of one of my sculptures, which I somewhat attempted with this piece. And I gotta say—I can't wait to see how Dante squishes!

Another random addition to this first 2012 offering were these fun magnet grab bags, made from impressions of my various works in mid–fire porcelain. Most of them were made for use as glaze test chips, but I got the idea for magnet sets mid–stride and so invested more time to make them presentable after they served their purpose.

 

Some are still available!

While lots of fun to make though, they ended up eating more time than expected only because the rub–off glazing technique takes so much work (and I'm so darned picky). It eats up lots of glaze, too, and on top of that, between the touchy clay and the even touchier glazes, I lost about 50% of what I actually made. So I'm not sure if this idea will be revisited anytime soon. Test chips perhaps are best left as throwaways. Though there is the idea for mosaics. Hmmmm....

Onward! Another debut was a new shape: a circle! Adding spice to the mix, unique flourishes were pressed into the clay by hand, along the border between the edge of the square stamp and the edge of the circle. That was a blast! It was such a hoot to grab everyday objects to see what kinds of effects they'd produce.

 

Here's a new circle porcelain piece still available in "the festoonery."

New, too, were the porcelain coaster sets I offered. This one got snapped up quickly.

This coaster set is still available. The results are hard–earned, lemme tell ya. The loss rate during production is alarming—between the mid–fire porcelain and the eventual glaze effects, I lost one for every one I made. But I think I know why, so I'm hoping the loss rate on my next batch won't be so outrageous.

The almighty circle also made its way into mosaics such as this piece here, which is still available. It showcases a rather rare stamp design, the "draft horse" version of one of my Dancing Horse stamps. I liked how the black frame set off the tile so well, so I intentionally chose dark mosaic bits to let the tile shine.

Overall, I really ended up liking the circle shape a lot. It has good "palm feel" and reminds me of a medallion or medal. Of course with that came a blinding influx of new ideas, but as per my new motto, "manageable bites," I instead made notes for next year.

Also new were various framing schemes for these new pieces, such as these... 

 

The top two pieces are sold, but the handsome bottom piece is still available.

What may not be readily apparent in these framed pieces is that these are 3" stamps adapted into 4" tiles. For far too long (than I care to admit), I anguished over how to achieve this result quickly and easily since nearly all tile accoutrements are made for 4" tiles. But it was imperative to maintain the smaller 3" measurement to keep the Dancing Horses (and pieces like them) affordable as single pieces. 

All that extra space along the edges tormented me for what seemed like ages, and I spent quite a bit of mental energy cogitating elaborate workarounds. Somehow I had to avoid duplicating all those stamps in the larger 4" size because not only would that have been prohibitively expensive, but would also eat into the precious studio space that's becoming a rapidly diminishing resource around here. 

So in typical Minkie Modus Operandi fashion (of "just do it and figure it out later"), I blindly dove in when I finally got my 4" tile cutter. It was the staring at flats full of 4" squares imprinted with my 3" stamps that did the mental trick, and the solutions instantly popped into my head. As natural as breathing. So natural, in fact, that I'm still sorely irritated at myself for over–thinking the problem!

What's more, the natural solutions are infinitely more flexible and interesting than any of my conceived workarounds! Blarg. Dur–hay Sarah! Can you be any more stupid? No wait! Don't answer that! Anyway, it's good to know that all tile accessories are now within grasp, in an easy, affordable and adaptable way.

Anyway, back to the Etsy store...also offered were new designs, such as this piece...

The new Solar Stallion in stoneware in "Rust," offered as a small colorway edition of twelve.

The glaze for these twelve pieces is actually an iron oxide applied and then rubbed off—a lot of rubbing off. So while I love the rustic touchy–feely finish, the process is the kicker. See, the glazing method is tedious enough, but mix that with a rather irksome glaze and, well...let's just say this finish won't be put into production. The problem is that the oxide tends to smear and re–stain rather than just go the heck away, meaning that these twelve pieces took a lot of work!

The complement to this piece, the Moon Mare, has been delayed since her design needed retooling and thus a new stamp made. But stay tuned! She'll be available later this year. [It should be noted that these pieces were originally designed for my Runehorse line, but took on a life of their own and inspired an entirely new series. So the "Rune Horse" stamp on the back of these current Solar Stallions will be a bit of a novelty very soon.]

Another unique item in this sale is a festooned Dancing Horse in porcelain, with a brand new hole figuration of one hole on the top and two on the bottom...

This particular piece is a reverse impression of the actual stamp, taken from the matrix board provided by the stamp manufacturer. If you notice, this is the old "head down" version of the current "head up" version now in production. This piece turned out so gorgeous, I'm sorely tempted to keep it! It's still available...for now.

But not to be outdone, lots of regular items pepper the store shelves, from the Dancing Horse singles to all sorts of festooned pieces. Also back are the popular Prancing Pony magnet sets, such as this one...

The four–piece Prancing Pony magnet set, "Summer Camp," which is still available. 

To shake it up, I included some porcelain Prancing Ponies to experiment with the medium in this manner. After all was said and done, however, I decided that porcelain is better suited to limited offerings rather than regular production. Stoneware it is then, and the new fancy stoneware clay I recently got is beckoning!

So this weekend I'll be getting the sold items packed up to ship off to their new homes as well as finishing up a couple of side projects. I'll also get back to those promised porcelain bas–reliefs (scheduled for sale in about two weeks) and continue with the CBCM Reflectives.

Exploring the mosaic theme further, I'm considering incorporating some of those bas–reliefs and perhaps a CBCM "Reffy" or two into mosaics as well. Then I'll redirect my attention to getting Dante underway and completing new sculptures for 2012, including some clay originals. Very excited! I can't wait!

So as needed as that pasture rest was, I'll tell ya what—it's great to be back up and running again. Back to the good ol' blessed routine. The creative habit. Now the wiser, this addiction is a good thing made even better with a more reasonable pace and less complications. Purpose. Simplicity. Clarity. Serenity. It feels fantastic. Hello, world! I'm back!

"Be regular and orderly in your life, that you may be violent and original in your work." ~ Clive Barker

Back To Work

I Am My Own Doomsday Device

It could be said that 2012 started off with a bang for me. Or rather the sound of body parts busting a cog at Christmas. The short version is this: I overworked myself during Christmas production and the bod and brain went on strike in protest. But I also have to say that 2011 was a very difficult year on a personal level. I guess everything just came to a head. That said, however, suffering near complete physical and psychological exhaustion is an interesting experience, and it's one I never wish to repeat.

Being of the same mind, my doctor put me on prescribed "pasture rest" though I'm slowly making my way back in the studio with welcome help from Mom and Ham. All in all, it's taken nearly two weeks of total rest—of doing absolutely nothing—to recover. Wow. Let it not be said I don't work hard or don't suffer for my art! And in the same breath, let it said I'm a total smeghead.

Cuz hey, I admit it: I did it to myself. It's a curse and a blessing to love what you do so much, you literally cannot stop doing it. Add in bad nutrition (apparently eggnog and Christmas cookies aren't found on the food pyramid), hosed up sleep patterns, barely any sleep on top of that and then constant, grinding stress, and well...after two months it catches up to you. Especially when you're 43!

Now my cheeky life's philosophy has been, "let my life serve as a warning to others" (and I surely need this poster in my studio), yet never before has that come to bear so profoundly than during this past Christmas. It was our worst on record. 

On the upside, though, the whole silly escapade inspired resolutions designed to ensure it never happens again (one hopes). So in that spirit, let me share new wisdom gleaned from my own private chartered whitewater rafting trip into my own personal Apocalypse Now. "The horror. The horror." Grab a paddle. 

First: Dreams Need Schemes My mind is in creative overdrive pretty much all the time. That's just the way it works. Ideas instantly spawn new ones and set me chasing after them in a Lamborghini, wheels a–squealin'. And that's a problem. 

What I learned then is that immediately springing on new project ideas full bore can actually be counter–productive so, instead, the first impulse should be to jot them down for future reference. Stay on target. That is to say there's an important difference between perceived creativity and actual creativity, and the distinction between the two is critical for a working artist.

Anyone can have lots of ideas, but the real trick is managing them. Actual productivity requires a plan. Flipping it over then, choosing not to act on new ideas right at this very moment doesn't mean they won't ever materialize. Quite the opposite really, as learning how to delay, prioritize and schedule them actually improves their chance of materializing, and often in smarter ways, and better still, without me dying in the process. A studio can be a mad place, but there should be method, too!

This may be old news for far wiser folks, but for me it's a bit of a revelation. See, in the past, my creative options were limited: realistic equine sculptures destined for resin casting. That kind of work created its own pace because of the logistical nature of the work. However, introducing ceramics into the studio changed everything, literally overnight, and in two fundamental ways.

First, the previously limited, narrow options were instantly transformed into infinite, myriad possibilities. Before I realized what had happened then, the pace of my creativity exponentially increased and took my body with it because I forgot to pace myself in the process. It never occurred to me that a new media would usher in new ideas about effort and progression. At the time it was just a new media, not a new way of working.

Second, the process of creating ceramics is markedly different than that of oil or epoxy clay sculptures. Ceramics are created in a sequence that requires a fair bit of preplanned scheduling that also includes long lag times (such as those for drying and cooling)...and therein lie two traps. For one, the timing of those deadlines is really important. Miss or miscalculate one, and the finish date for the entire project can go wildly astray. Now if other projects are timed too closely, what you then end up with is a bottleneck of work requiring very very long, hard hours of ceaseless work to meet the deadline. 

Secondly, there exist mad flurries of intense activity nestled within long periods of down time in ceramic production. It's in the down times where peril lies because it's so incredibly seductive to cram more projects into these "empty" time spans. And similar to the first situation, if all this work has similar deadlines, you can imagine the compounded workload at the tail end of the process. Imagine having two months to plan your giant wedding, a funeral, a surprise birthday and preparing to give birth, with all of them occurring on the same day. Yeah.

So this year, I'm instituting a production schedule for each project, with strict, suitably staggered deadlines. And I will not over schedule! There's always next year, despite what the 2012 doomsayers say.

Second: The Theory of Seasonality My giftware lines are sensitive to seasonal buying patterns. As you can imagine, the holiday season is the busiest time, but things also pick up in summer. When you play your cards right, collectors come to expect specialty items at certain seasonal times as well, and so the whole mechanism takes on a life of its own. This is really exciting and super inspiring, but...

It's really quite new to me. 2011 was only the second year of active selling through my Etsy store. In the past, selling my realistic equine sculpture has been more or less a rather steady endeavor throughout the year, with it actually dropping off around the holiday season.

But this new cycle of intense production and selling in very short bursts—during an already busy holiday time—is one I've only started to understand properly. Indeed, I only discovered how not to do so just last month! Considering how the giftware lines are expanding so quickly, and with jewelry quick on its heels, careful production management is going to be pivotal for keeping my sanity.

Altogether then, I learned that if I'm going to deal with the crazy holiday time in my personal life, I must start holiday production much earlier in my professional life. The two cannot coexist. For that, the production schedule will be designed with seasonality in mind. Sure, pressing Christmas ornaments in July will feel weird, but I clearly see now it's necessary. 

Third: Health is Wealth Your art depends on your well–being, simple as that. So take care of yourself first—physically and emotionally—because if you collapse, your art will collapse right alongside you. Learned that the hard way! Identify what stresses and drains you, and minimize them. Then identify what replenishes and rejuvenates you, and seek those situations whenever possible. You owe it to yourself and your art.

For a working artist, in particular, this is really important. I mean, let's face it, I don't get paid for sick days or personal days, and there's no one to fill in for me if I can't make it into work. I'm all I've got, and I only get paid for what I create—and all of that depends on my well–being. 

I realize now that I must become far more protective of myself because I'm the only one who can. What did surprise me, though, was just how quickly I reached my limits because now hard work and stress are cumulative. Age does matter! Each hour of running on empty adds up nowadays, and when the inevitable vapor lock comes, it takes a lot more than a good night's rest to bounce back. Point taken.

The fact of the matter is that now "taking care of myself" applies to each day because an aging body and stressed psyche have a harder time compensating. There's nothing wrong with that, of course—it's a part of life—but it occurs to me now that I'm a young person in a middle–aged body wondering what the heck happened!

But I'm also reminded of Tony Bennett's comment about "sinning against one's talent." That idea resonates with me. I've come to realize that my life isn't entirely my own—I share it with family and friends, yes, but also with my art. I live a symbiotic life in more ways than one. For my work to flourish then, so must I. 

Me thinks the old adage applies here as well, that even "too much of a good thing is bad for you." If I want to reach my artistic goals during my lifetime then, I can't be the hare anymore, I gotta be the tortoise. I gotta work smarter.

But it's also no coincidence that my other favorite chestnut is, "the only way around it is through it." If you're in my house for any length of time, you'll probably hear my husband's daily mantra of, "why don't you listen to me?" followed by mine, "Oh, I do listen, I just disregard what you say." So there he was, warning me for weeks about my pace and there I was, blithely ignoring him and augering headlong into my very own custom–made crater. Mom just rolled her eyes. She knows all to well the howl of futility when faced with my bullheadedness.

 

And what a crater it was! So at this stage in my life, I need to strike a new balance because not only is my art changing, I am too. Never thought that how I created my art would evolve as a function of how I'm evolving, but, well...live and learn!  

 

Fourth: KISS of Life This whole ridiculous debacle finally proves to my inner OCD workaholic that I cannot do it all, all the time. The clock just isn't that flexible anymore because I'm becoming far less tolerant to stress. 

 

So to minimize stresses, my life must be simplified, at least until I figure out this new balance. So I decided this year to focus on getting my business back on track via immediate strides, both for financial and psychological reasons. Keeping my eyes on one prize, while also minimizing disruptions, will (hopefully) inspire a more reasonable pace, keeping bottlenecks at bay and not piling my plate quite so high. "Manageable bites" will be my motto in 2012.

 

So for one, my book is on hold until these transitions even out. For another, workshops and field trips I planned for this year are now off the calendar. More still, certain projects must be completed before I start new ones. How I run my studio will be streamlined, too, with some rather long–delayed changes now moved up on the priority list. Travel will be greatly limited because I cannot afford the stress. Award commissions and donations will be suspended, and I'm only going to focus on three new R&D projects rather than dozens.

In the end, I hope these temporary sacrifices will pay off and I'll come back stronger than ever this year. I'm also happy to report that all the chaos in my personal life appears to have leveled off (knock on wood), so I only have to really focus on my professional life. Lemme tell ya, that's a relief in and of itself!

So in that light, creating a disaster like Christmas 2011 isn't so foolish. Hey, we all do really dumb things with the best of intentions! The foolishness is not learning from our implosions to doom ourselves to repeating them over and over. What did Einstein say? Oh yes, "Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

So my greatest challenge this year will be sculpting myself into a better, updated version. It won't be easy—I know how stubborn and dismissive I can be. It'll be interesting to be my own Inquisitor, but I suspect Mom and Ham will carry concealed cattle prods to motivate me along the right path. So yes Ham...yes Mom—I'm listening now! Regardless, though, I suspect more Hammies will be born in the process, so I suppose it's all good in the end.

"The reward of suffering is experience." ~Aeschylus

I Am My Own Doomsday Device

Carousin' with the Chemo Critters

Ten Little Critters, pink n' pretty...I'd rhyme more, but I'm not that witty.

Earlier this year my friend, Lynn, had to start the arduous process of combating cancer. Wanting to cheer her up, I got to work on a special project, one I'd never attempted before (and I sneaked a peek of one of pieces in this April blog post). 

When I heard the worrisome news, the idea for the project just popped into my head—ten little animal totems done in a caricatured, happy style. What kind of animals those ten would be also just popped into my head, those being a raven, a bear, a rattie, a frog, a tortoise, a bunny, a penguin, a bluebird, a ground squirrel, and a cat. Each one kinda symbolized a specific thing I wanted to say, becoming a fun clinky friend as well as a reassuring message. 

Creating these wee ones was a blast! Sculpting the different body forms and the happy expressions was addictive. I wistfully thought of what it would be like to work for Disney as I sculpted in those smiles. But I did set one steadfast rule for myself: none of the critters could take more than two hours to sculpt. I set a timer. 

The reason for this was two–fold. For starters, I knew my penchant for fiddly realism would seep in if I gave it enough "fiddle time." Not that that's a bad thing, but for this project, I thought that level of fiddliness would distract from the whimsical quality of these critters. I also didn't want to overwork these pieces into oblivion, and the timer made sure I had to prioritize what my hands did.  

And second, I think sculpting totally outside a familiar zone is a healthy exercise, especially for someone so specialized in realism. I have great admiration for artists who can "cartoon" things because it's so difficult for me. My brain just works too literally. Now, however, I wanted to encourage it to work beyond its OCD habit and for that, a time limit forces it to capture the essence of shape and form rather than "literal–ness." And it seemed to have worked!

That said, there was a complication. Okey doke—for backstory—we try to avoid having thick, solid portions of clay to fire. Like, say, nothing thicker than a small carrot. If we do, we risk having a massive explosion in our kiln (and destroyed pieces) due to moisture that couldn't evaporate from the clay properly, or air bubbles that burst when heated to their explosive point.

But as I'm prone to do, I get carried away and forget about such critical technical imperatives. I just sculpt, happy in my muddy delirium, and don't really think through the process. So when I sat back and finished all of them—now back in reality—imagine how my eyes went AAAAAWOOOOGAAAAH when I realized just how big and thick they were! GadZOOKS! There sat ten little critters just asking for explosive trouble in Big Al. 

But no problem I thought, shirking off the initial panic. I could let them dry a teensy bit, cut them in half and hollow them out, like I did with Mr. Pony. The only thing is...I got distracted. Big time. Certain family matters and projects with pressing deadlines caused me to completely forget about this critical step, and I missed the window. Once clay gets too dry, you can't really piece it back together well, and it tends to shatter apart or crack when fired. So I was now committed to firing them solid and thick. Great.

That meant they had to dry. Dry dry dry DRY. So dry, they'd put the Sahara desert to shame. So they sat for two and a half months. Remember, though—moisture was only half the problem. There was still the threat of air bubbles, but that was something I had no way of managing. If an air bubble was in any of them, there was no way of knowing. It was a gamble, and I just had to forge ahead on faith and hope. 

The one thing that was working in my favor, however, was that these critters were sculpted in low–fire earthenware, a clay that's much more porous and forgiving in the air bubble department. Had they been sculpted in stoneware or porcelain, the outcome was potentially far more grim. Probably too grim to continue.

So came the big day, the bisque fire, in which the raw greenware clay is fired to make it hard. Being earthenware, this meant that the bisque fire would be the mature fire, the highest temperature, with the second fire for the glaze being the lowest temperature. So if these critters made it through this first bisque fire, they'd probably make it through the glaze fire, too. This was the moment of truth.

Taking precautions when I loaded them, I stacked kiln posts to form a kind of bomb shelter around each one. I thought if one exploded, at least the posts might contain the blast to help protect its neighbors and the inside of Big Al. Because, honestly, I fully expected to lose most—if not all—of them. But the only way around it is through it and so in they went, and "on" Big Al clicked. I fretted for twelve hours.

The next day, I trepidatiously opened Big Al's gaping maw, already accepting the worst, when what did I see? ALL of them...intact? In perfect white bisque? WHAT?! GLORY BE! It's a chemo critter miracle! I quite literally couldn't believe my eyes and even started shaking with pure excitement. What an awesome omen! Heck, what a relief! To celebrate, I promptly chomped down a big chunk of chocolate. NOM NOM NOM.

So the next step was glazing. Again, because I don't think things through most times, how these puppies would be glazed really didn't get hammered out entirely. Or rather...not at all. I did know that realistic glazing was out because I thought that would be too distracting from the actual sculpture. But beyond that, I was at a loss. 

In hindsight, I'm rather irritated at myself for not having put more thought into the glazing aspect to be honest. Though I didn't know it at the time, deciding how to glaze these suckers delayed the entire project far longer than I intended. Hemming and hawing back and forth...art glaze? Solid? Directional? Splatter? Sponge? Airbrush? Different colors? What colors? Covercoat or tints? Overglaze? BAH! So many options! 

I finally made a command decision and chose directional underglaze in three harmonious colors: blue, green and magenta. I figured that would accentuate the sculpture, be colorful and look cool together.

Here are some of them, getting their clear gloss glaze after being directionally sprayed with colored underglaze. The clear glaze is tinted pink so you can see how you apply it, but the pink disappears in the fire.

After all was said and done, they all survived the glaze fire just fine and came out cooler than I expected! I was tickled beyond pink and into blue, green and magenta! So without further ado, here are the chemo critters...

 Here's the bear, scratching his paw. He's about 3.5" tall if I remember right. A solid chunk of 3.5" tall. Oy.

 And the bunneh, about 2.5" tall. Those ears were a riot to tack onto that noggin! And who can resist a bunny tail? No one, that's who!

The cat. I'm particularly pleased with this guy. He was one of the hardest to sculpt, that feline body having so many unfamiliar curvy nuances...and the skull was tricky. Wow, cat skulls are complex! But he was a lot of fun and a great challenge, so I'd like to sculpt more stylized cats for those reasons.

The bluebird, who also happens to be the state bird of Idaho. I'd never sculpted a bird before, and I pondered over those feathers, let alone the birdy shape. Because of all that, this little guy was the most difficult piece to sculpt—he was just so waaaay outside my familiar zone! Boy, was I pleased to find that he turned out so cute! Lots of lessons learned from him (which I'll take back to my equine work). The biggest one? Just how effective a mere suggestion of something really is, such as "feather."

The perky purple penguin. I decided not to make his "arms" touch like some of the others since I liked the idea more of him softly popping his wings against his body. I envisioned him with that grin and doing that while rocking side to side with giddiness (and you can see that suggested by his tilted head position). That roll of goo was especially fun to sculpt!

 

And now for the froggie. Here's another one way outside my comfort zone. Wow! Frogs are wild to sculpt! I'm delighted with how he turned out, though, since I really wasn't so sure about it all. You know when you sculpt something so totally different, you kinda have no basis on which to base your confidence? Yeah, that.

 

The raven, who was about 4" beak to tail. If I remember right, he was the biggest piece. I really love ravens, and I knew Lynn liked them, too, so he was extra fun to bring to life. But I gotta tell ya...sculpting a smile into a beak is an interesting experience!

A happy tortoise. I adore tortoises! That shell was a thrilling challenge, but I especially loved sculpting his neck goo and his little face. Tortoises have such cute faces!

A squiggly ground squirrel. It's no surprise that two rodents infiltrated this crew. I mean, aside from the obvious association between me and rodentia, that body type lends itself so well to caricature. I really like how this little guy turned out, too, especially through his scrunched up shoulders and neck goo.

And, of course, a rat! What actually surprised me about this piece was that I sculpted him from memory. I really didn't think my brain was processing rattie form all these years, but apparently it was!

After all this, I off–hand discovered something rather interesting, shown in these next three images. Now obviously there was a learning curve since all this was new to me. But to tell the truth, I really didn't know what to expect of myself. 

Despite all that, though, I anticipated a smooth and gradual learning curve, progressively demonstrating increased skill in each successive animal. Did I get a big surprise! How this project kicked off proved that a learning curve can be abrupt and nearly instant.

To back track for a moment, the first piece I started was the rat, since he was the most familiar, or rather, the least intimidating. Then I sculpted the bear and then the bluebird. But after I stepped back from these first attempts, I decided I didn't like them. They just didn't have the qualities I was going for and they were too crude. 

So I immediately started each one again from scratch that very same day. Here's where things get curious (the first attempts are in the top row, with the second attempts right below)...

 

Clearly, there's a big jump in evolution from the first try to the second try, as shown by the ratties. This caught me by total surprise, and what's more, I only realized this after I compared the two later. In other words, I wasn't cognitively aware that my brain had made this leap while I was sculpting the second attempt. It just happened.

 

Here we see the same effect in the bear. Night and day.

 

And the bluebird. That's a dramatic difference! Like two completely different people sculpted them! And in a sense, that's true.

Now this isn't to brag. It's to illustrate something important about creative development, which is: try again. That may sound simplistic, but it really digs into some useful ideas. For instance:

• The way we look at things is subject to as much creative evolution as our practical skills. Moreover, this applies not only to how we perceive our subject, but how we perceive our sculptures, too. 
  
• New abilities develop unpredictably. There isn't a "right way" of learning, so we shouldn't be surprised if some things come faster than others. Learning can happen sideways, too, when we aren't even realizing it's happening.
• The only way to advance is to do and redo. Again and again. The more times we redo, the more opportunities we give our brains to refine and rethink what we're doing. Which brings us to...
• We must finish what we start. If we rarely complete our projects, we don't give our brain the opportunity to complete its learning. Doing and learning are the same thing!
• Though we may not like our first attempts, we shouldn't get discouraged because they don't indicate what we're really capable of! We can always try again. Learning is a process, and we need to give our brain the opportunity to put new lessons to work.
• Even failures are worthwhile endeavors. We all have to start somewhere and we all need a baseline from which to grow! We shouldn't be afraid to dive in, or follow the wisdom of our hands.
• Try something new from time to time. Keep your brain flexible and able to see the subject in different ways. It's fun, too!
• And lastly, even experienced sculptors struggle and surprise themselves. Please don't feel inadequate if you're struggling because that's just part of the journey! Struggling means we're learning, so embrace it!

All these pieces are one–of–a–kinds (AAOK), so there are no molds to create duplicate castings. Do I plan to revisit this idea, to make more critters? Perhaps. It would be creatively healthy for me to veer off into caricature-land from time to time, plus sculpting other animal forms is an enticing prospect. So I can't rule it out. If you see similar little denizens pop up from time to time then in my Etsy shop, you know what inspired them!

All in all, I'm happy to report that just as this project had a happy ending, so has Lynn's year–long ordeal! We have so much to be grateful for, and so much to look forward to in 2012! Just keep forging ahead and shore each other up. And don't be afraid to be silly and have a bit of fun, even when things seem bleak. Above all—love love love. These critters were made with love for a lovely lady, and I hope they bring her many years of smiles and warm fuzzies!

"Most of us would be upset if we were accused of being 'silly.' But the word 'silly' comes from the old English word 'selig,' and its literal definition is 'to be blessed, happy, healthy and prosperous.'" ~ Zig Ziglar

Carousin' with the Chemo Critters