In some ways, I see the entirety of my life thus far as one of spiritual engagement with imperfection. As a child confronted with fearful circumstances, I took refuge in trying hard to be as perfect as possible. As a young adult, I continued in that mode and extended it to being the very best mother i could be. I knew I couldn’t do that perfectly, but I expected myself to be as good a mother as was humanly possible. In particular, I took my childhood sense of an unsafe world, and looked to heighten my awareness of dangers that could befall these children that I loved so very much, and redoubled my efforts to protect them. However, I learned, through a brutal accident, that I am impossibly imperfect, that I had no choice but to be so very human, so very imperfect, in a world that could meet out danger in horrific ways. My young son learned that lesson with me, and I always felt, suffered the great burden of my humanity. He was scalded in a kitchen accident, a week after his third birthday. I had been careful. I had been vigilant. Still, the unthinkable happened. He lost over half his skin and was burned over 75 per cent of his body. Our lives were never the same.
It is now 22 years later. I have no interest in perfection or flawless beauty. I study the astounding beauty in the human, the imperfect, the flawed. I create with clay because I find it to be the most intimate of art forms. My fingers, the red georgia clay, and together we find something of grace. My current work is in creating vessels, using the basic pinch pot and other hand forming techniques. The work is intuitive, ungainly, imperfect, and, to my eyes, graceful. I call my latest work “Crone Vessels.” They, along with my Goddess sculptures ( called The Ancients), represent my reflections on what it means to be a woman in these later years, after childrearing, after menopause, after the “beauty” of youth. I hope in the lumps and bumps and dents and wobbles that you find some of that Grace that I feel I’ve held in my hands.