Entitled

"Now that I see your full name, I have to say this:
'Matthew Duckworth . . .
. . . Earl of Sandwich.'"

--clerk at the hardware store

Mask on a Mollusk: Musings

Friend:  'Splain, please.

Me:      I don't know if I can.  

I like putting my clay--pottery and sculpture--out in nature, especially water--and taking photos, aiming to capture something evocative or expressive.  Sometimes I have very specific artistic goals; sometimes I'm goofing or experimenting.  The results have ranged from the silly to the sublime--as you can see if you examine the many such shots I've included in this blog--and sometimes I've wanted the silly or the sublime, depending on mood and interest.  My main approach is intuitive.

("The Door" or "The Drowned Man" series are among the most successful postings, I think.)

Art involves expression and exploration, and these pieces allow me to experiment.  My recent "Frog-Man II" captures loss and longing, I'd argue, in the juxtaposition of the situation I placed my sculpture in, that natural setting ten feet beneath the surface, with the specific features and expression I'd sculpted into that particular clay-face, that specific clay-head.

I think about displacement.  Artist Jay Trinidad wrote to me about how art works:

"Art works by displacing.  I think displacement is an essential element.  It needs to pitch you out of your own experience."

JT works more ethically, more in the veins of social justice and sheer beauty, than I do, but one element of my work would have to be displacement, surprising you with the clay, the worked clay, in the natural settings.  Perhaps that surprise catches you -- makes your footing just a bit uneven, makes you laugh at the absurdity or boneheadedness of what I do --catches you enough to slip inside, to spur or spark a reaction or a recognition in the face of oddity or silliness or some deeper emotion.  Sometimes, my pieces are illustrative, meant to tell a story, sure, but also to highlight the natural environment, and my clay contribution would subside in terms of attention.  Other times, I am seeking an emotional recognition.  Many of my pieces are sad, I think, for grief is one of the deepest feelings I know.  Others are enhanced, made better, by the watery environment.  A bowl in a stream is just clay in water, but it is also, perhaps, an offering to beauty, to the muses.  A mask on a mollusk is a slightly different offering.

And there are nine muses, each with a different temper and temperment.

I try to please each and every one of them.

Visage:
Silverstone clay;
Oribe & Abalone glazes;
leather cord--
and assorted kelp forest denizens.

Wizard Locks

12/8/15
Two years ago, but still relevant.
A favorite profile pic.
I look my age, and that's not always easy to accept.

You'll find out, my young friends.
MD

Winter White

January kayaking.
(Beware of the glare.)

Yule-Tide Greetings

May your yuletide be cheery, be bright, and be salty.
-----


Heed the reefs not yet charted
Seek that green isle beyond design

-from "Oh Malachi Malarkey"

Here's that whole poem:


OH MALACHI MALARKEY

When the ropes of reason slacken
When the veils of prudence thin
Then intuition harkens
Then souls fit skin to skin

Hope can be so brittle
Clay not fired to the core
Well-thrown bowls roughly handled
Scattered shells along the shore

Now there's a measure in the offing
Now the surges swell with pride
Say, is this canny craft a coffin?
Say, may your reach not fall too shy

Oh, Malachi Malarkey
Oh, Sophia Sophrosyne
Heed the reefs not yet charted
Seek that green isle beyond design

--MD

Not A Pretty Sport II

Weeds and surface scum from taking photos neck deep (or deeper) into the tide-flow.  The sweater worked like a filter, and I was square in the current, so I caught quite a bit.  At one point I was distinctly festooned--not a word I use lightly--with sea grass and kelp.

My James Bond persona: 008.  

(I made and carried a business card in the fourth grade that identified me as British Secret Service Agent 008; I little thought how a business card did not quite fit the secret agent persona, and yet how "secret" was Bond, James Bond, about his identity?  My foolishness was cultural and of the day, I'd say.)