Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Blue Door Studio Projects


Several people have asked to "teach" and naturally I would love to "help" in this way. This spring or as soon as my studio is done, I will host specific project oriented classes and eventually I will host open studio hours. Since the goal is to foster growth and learning (this includes growing my own studio and learning) there's actually quite a lot to consider.

One of my previous teaching experiences was an all day event and everyone present was a beginner. Each person wanted to work on different techniques and different silver metal clays (they can't fire together without ruining each other). It was my idea to throw in copper clay just as a "bonus". I wore heels and tried to be everything to everyone. At the end of the day I was emotionally and mentally exhausted and 150 miles away from home. 

Another time I taught the studio hostess who was in charge of refreshments served "nipple" cookies and coffee from a pot that looked like it had also boiled a few paintbrushes. These experiences have taught me a few things I shouldn't and will not do. 

So what can someone who seeks growth and learning expect to find behind the blue door?
 
I will do my best to guard and cultivate the atmosphere behind the blue door. 
My door is blue for several reasons. Passing through the blue door means encountering a spirit of peace and presence. In my studio curiosity is coupled with learning and regrets are few. In my studio we make things that cannot be bought, we learn through experience.

I will do my best to safely guide others where I have gone. 
I've turned out and polished and burnt up a lot of metal. I have ruined and celebrated a lot of paintings and collages. I have assembled and disassembled. 

I will love learning from your own happy accidents. I know what silver looks like just before it turns into a puddle. I know what happens when you forget about that enameled penny sitting in the kiln. I know how it feels when a painting falls onto a paintbrush and a hole is punched right through the canvas. I know U-turns. I know how to adjust the picture in my mind to meet with reality. I love this process, and I trust it. I will facilitate this trust for you, too.

I know that other-worldly feeling of being amazed upon the completion of something great. I am excited to experience this "thing" with you, too. We're going to make some pretty cool things and you're going to hang them, give them, wear them, etc. with pride.

I will treasure exploring new territory with my "students". 
I love trying new techniques---and I will love being present to learn alongside you. You and I will know when we are doing this because we will put on special hats just for this. 

I will freely share my learned wisdom. I cannot and will not attempt to teach what I do not know. 
I have been excited and frustrated by this one as both student and teacher. I have sensed when my teachers want to foster learning and when they are threatened by the sharing of ideas. I have known teachers (among them myself) who attempt to teach what they do not know. I will work my hardest to be aware of and clarify your intentions (hello, therapist hat)  and I will be honest when I cannot answer your questions. There is quite a difference between the setup for failure and mutual exploration.

There is still some basic silversmithing that even I do not yet understand. I can barely solder a jump ring (hello New Year's resolution and thank God for a new torch) to a finished piece. That said, I know how to do some pretty cool stuff and I will gladly share all of my techniques. 

My clocks are always melting even when I can suspend them.
Though I am not one myself, I can work with those of you who identify as perfectionists or those of you who are only satisfied with neat, crisp lines. I can give others space to "go there"---and I will even visit occasionally and rejoice with you! This also falls under the idea that "I cannot teach what I do not know."

What I am describing here is similar to my experience with Realism. I will never be a Realist because I'm just not that good at drawing. When I do get something to look real it's either because I have spent a lot of time on it or because God decided to "walk through the room". Since I cannot add hours to my day and because I can't predict God, I would rather take a photo than frustrate myself to a possible no end. In the same way, if I can buy a guaranteed perfect piece of jewelry, I do

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