Artistic Process

         To most people, it appears as if I am just sitting here doing nothing, but I am not wasting time.  As an artist who works with so many different materials, there is always something I could be doing, something I could be creating; and yet I sit here with my materials lined up before me.

         My tools are clean, precisely shaped to do their job.  My work surface is prepared and my fingers ache to grasp the cold, pliable portion of polymer that waits before me, holding so many possibilities.  My pigments and additives stand ready, poised for use at a moments’ notice; inks, iridescents, liquid metallic flake suspensions, gleaming lame foils, sands, texturizers, and powdered enamels; all of them standing at attention, yet I wait.

         My mind plays with the components, turning them round and round, picturing a finished product and working backwards through the steps to determine its construction.  I analyze the process based on all I know of my materials.  The whole of my experience combines to establish the plausibility of a new, untried method of artistry.  Will it work?  I ponder the question, calculating a formula and testing its probability in my mind against a lifetime of facts.  If it does work, how else might this technique be applied?

         My fingers flex in anticipation and reach for the measured blocks of colored clay.  Excitement courses through my soul as my fingertips brush the slick surface of the wrapping; lifting the block I feel its familiar weight in my palm and catch a whiff of its slight fragrance.  The cold form begins to warm with the heat of my hands even before the cellophane is removed.  Each package I unwrap adds another facet of brilliance to the rainbow palate at my disposal.

         A wave of exhilaration envelopes me as I arrange the colorful cubes on the work surface and reach for the flexible blade.  With deft and practiced hands I divide the block according to my calculations, not wasting a second as I apportion the desired hues and translucencies, conditioning the amounts needed and setting the remainder aside for another day.  I measure, mix, and combine, creating colors and textures of my own making, drawing the imaginings of my consciousness out into the open, turning them from theory to reality as the product I saw in my mind takes tangible shape before my eyes.

         Allowing the clay to rest, I sketch my idea in my journal, making notations of desired proportions.  Before beginning the rolling process, I adjust the clamp and inspect the bars for stray bits of color left behind from my last project.  My first step chosen, I gently poke the desired lump; it yields at my touch, revealing the impression of my fingerprint.  Kneading the polymer, I warm it and flatten it into a smooth disk, insert it between the rollers, and turn the handle.  At my urging, the machine extrudes a long, smooth strip of clay; the final mixing has begun.

         As the color becomes more uniform, I roll and fold the clay, being careful not to incorporate any air bubbles.  As each portion is completed, I set it to the side between layers of waxed paper.

         With all of the colors and textures finally prepared, the formation of my project begins.  I roll my main color into a thin sheet and drape it over a rounded model to produce a freeform vase.  Using the spectrum of created colors, I gently coax bits of clay into realistic-looking flowers, leaves, vines, and tendrils which I apply to the circumference of the vessel, beginning at the bottom and working up and around.

         Comparing my creation to the preliminary sketch, I decide it is ready.  The remaining decorative touch can be created and added once the initial baking process has been completed.  With the vase carefully balanced on the baking tray, I insert it into the preheated oven and set the timer. 

         As my creation is transformed from fragile, pliable clay to a sturdy, porcelain-like material, I work on the crowning touch.  Using translucent clay mixed with orange I form ten long logs and enrobe each in a thin layer of black.  Bundling all of them together I carefully work out any air that has been trapped between them.  As I work, I elongate the log and divide it in half, joining the two resultant halves to again form a single log, this one with twenty sections.

         When sliced, the interior of the log resembles the wings of a monarch butterfly.  I mold the slices into the desired shape, adding a body of black before adjusting the wing position and preparing it for the oven.

         I clean up my work area and put away my materials as the baked items cool.  Finally, I adhere the butterfly to the floral decorations with special polymer glue and set the piece aside for further inspection, cleaning, and polishing on another day.

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