Candid handiwork of an artiste

For Christmas, my Beloved and I opted to gift each other with a pottery throwing class.

He had long been interested the art after creating a strange and interesting sculpture out of bronze back in the ’80s. And I’m always up for a creative challenge.

Challenge, it was. As a writer, my creativity is cerebral. But for a potter, creativity must be wrested physically from the clay. Successfully throwing pottery requires strength, dexterity and finesse.

I did not learn how to make beautiful cups and plates. As I created bowls (only the simplest bowls), I learned humility, patience and how to let go. When I let the clay speak to me, instead of insisting on dictating to it, I was more successful in my endeavors. Like so many things in life, I learned I didn’t know what I didn’t know. The medium is volatile, and any number of mishaps can occur during the process of wheel-throwing, glazing and firing. I will never gaze upon a piece of hand-thrown pottery again without appreciating all the effort that went into it.

Our class was offered for three hours in the morning once a week for six weeks at Sailing Adrift Studios in Jonestown, Texas. Our teacher, Kim Press, is an accomplished ceramicist with a gift for instruction (you can check out some of her truly amazing pieces by clicking here). My Beloved and I enjoyed the experience immensely though I think I will stick to my knitting (that is, writing). We ended up creating eight bowls each in the course of the six weeks.

In the interest of showing off and, well, let’s face it, practicing humility, here’s a look at our work.

My pieces are on the left, my Beloved’s on the right. Several of his are much bigger because, as you recall, he’s a “go big or go home” kind of guy.

For fun, let’s pretend my works are display at the Gallery of Minnesota Transplant (in reality, most of them might function best as holders for earrings or M&Ms, but for a few minutes, they are art). Follow me, right this way …

Monica Lee

Retrieved From Oblivion, 2022

Glazed stoneware

4⁵/₈ in x 1¹/₂ in

On the wheel, the artist compressed the bottom so much, it disappeared. The finished work was salvaged by building a new foundation.

Monica Lee

Blue Dribbler, 2022

Glazed stoneware

4³/₈ in x 1⁷/₈ in

As memoirist Jhumpa Lahiri once wrote in In Other Words, “The more I feel imperfect, the more I feel alive.”

Monica Lee

Kittyhawk, 2022

Glazed stoneware

3³/₈ in x 1¹/₈

Wilbur and Orville Wright’s first successful flight in 1903 south of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, had their Wright Flyer aloft for 12 seconds, traversing less than 200 feet.

Monica Lee

Rain Kissed Blooms, 2022

Glazed stoneware

3³/₄ in x 2¹/₄ in

This was the only piece the artist painted with glaze instead of dipping.

Monica Lee

Shallow Triumph, 2022

Glazed stoneware

6³/₄ in x 1¹/₂ in

The artist’s final and largest work.

Monica Lee

Tea Stained Morning, 2022

Glazed stoneware

5³/₈ in x 1³/₄ in

A secondary blue haze accents this balanced finish.

Monica Lee

Secure Border, 2022

Glazed stoneware

4¹/₈ in x 1¹/₂ in

Monica Lee

Larger Beauty ,2022

Glazed stoneware

3³/₄ in x 1³/₄ in

Glazed to look like a bird’s egg, this piece echoes a line from Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch: “And isn’t the whole point of things—beautiful things—is that they connect you to some larger beauty?”

---

I will close with this apt quote from writer Kurt Vonnegut:

To practice art,
no matter how
well or badly,
is a way to make
your soul grow.

Travel Tuesday: Umlauf Sculpture Garden @umlaufsculpture

If ever there was time to visit a sculpture garden, a pandemic is it.

Sculpture gardens are outdoors. You can keep your social distance. Plenty of opportunity to restore your soul by considering art and absorbing nature’s beauty.

I love sculpture gardens (see evidence here and here). Recently, my Beloved and I escaped some of the COVID-19 doldrums by visiting the Umlauf Sculpture Garden + Museum in Austin, Texas.

The Umlauf Sculpture Garden exhibits the work of Charles Umlauf and other contemporary sculptors in a natural setting. Umlauf was a 20th century artist who taught at the University of Texas for 40 years. He sculpted family groupings, whimsical animals, religious figures and nudes in various media; most of the sculptures in the Umlauf garden are in bronze. The museum espouses that there are more Umlauf sculptures in public locations than works by any other artist in Texas.

The garden offers a truly beautiful stroll on a nice day.

The Kiss, in a place of honor in the center of the property, is among the dozens of bronze sculptures in the garden. Inspired by French sculptor Augusts Rodin’s Kiss in 1889, Umlauf chose to extend the female figure’s leg dramatically. The passion is evident.

Margo Sawyer’s Circle [Synchronicity] is among a few sculptures by other artists at Umlauf. Made of brick with ceramic glaze, this site-specific piece sits below a beautiful waterfall. This piece beneath my feet is also a little bit over my head, but that’s OK with me; I don’t have to love a piece of art for it to make me think.

Right now, the juried exhibition Design Shine is showing at the Umlauf. One of the pieces is Oculi by Joe D’Elia, Sean Taylor and Sergio Hermoza. From the Design Shine description: “Oculi seeks to engage visitors by aligning different views into one, encouraging them to consider their own perspectives.” This particular piece is a wonder of structure but also implementation. Imagine the three-dimensional thinking required to install each circle in a row.

Whether you are interested in sculpture or gardening, the Umlauf Sculpture Garden+ Museum is a worth a visit. Admission for adults is $7, seniors $5, students $3 and youth 13-17 $1. Children younger than 12, active military and veterans can get in free.

Lake home decorating

When my Beloved and I renovated an old church into a house, I created a design template for us to use as we made decorating decisions so the end result would be cohesive.

It worked so well, I created one to use in decorating our new condo, too. (The marketing materials for this place call it a hilltop villa. “Hilltop villa” rings of sophistication and sounds like it belongs in Fiji or Italy, no? Our “hilltop villa” is indeed on a hilltop, but it’s in Texas, where words like “sophistication” carry different images).

Our theme was “lake home” decorated in “modern country.” I grew up in the land of 10,000 lakes—I should be able to pull off “lake home.” All color roads in our design theme led to blue (or blue-green) like water. This narrowed our wall art choices from millions down to thousands.

Shall we have a look around?

Earlier this month, I shared an image of the living room oriented the other direction because we didn’t have our sofa yet. Well, it arrived a week ago, and it’s great for napping. Above it, we hung an abstract oil painting of a lake that I found at a consignment store. Between the art and the rug and the furniture, this room screams sand and water and sky.

Each bedroom has a different Austin, Texas-y theme.

In the first guest room, we went with a more literal lake. Tyler found this five-panel art work on Amazon.

We chose a lampshade for this room that was vaguely nautical. TE broken porcelain lamp base reminds me of broken shells.

In third bedroom, the them is “Austin music scene,” still relying on a color story of blues. I found the guitar wall art on Wayfair. The clock on the other wall is actually a painted record album (remember those). We have grand plans to turn a couple of old bugles into lamps, but we haven’t accomplished that feat yet. This room is also my office; the bed is actually a murphy bed that folds up and out of the way.

Here’s how the room looks when the bed is folded up and I’m working in it (the living room wall art happens to be propped in my office in this photo, but it was temporary).

The room I’m most pleased with is the master bedroom, decorated in a Texas wine country theme.

Many wine themed items are red and purple, which didn’t fit with my color story. But I found the “Valentino” art for $6 at Goodwill so I made a canvas print to pair with it with an image I found on Shutterstock. Wine in a field of Texas bluebonnets—perfect! We found lampshades with French words on them (which is not Texas, but is sort of wine related). Check out those nightstands—furniture made with wine barrels!

Found at the same vendor, the circular wall art on the other wall is actually the top of a wine barrel, painted with an image of a vineyard that coordinates nicely with the bluebonnets.

Also at the wine barrel furniture store, we found this shelving unit made from a barrel for above the toilet in the master bath. It’s very heavy, but if you know how my Beloved operates, you know it’ll never come down.

Coincidentally, Tyler found the perfect accent piece in the trash last week. Someone didn’t like this rusty old chair, but you know we love spray paint so the rust when bye-bye, and we have a place to take off our shoes in our bedroom.

Stay tuned. On Thursday, I’ll share a couple of other paint projects in the condo I pulled off recently.

 

Travel Tuesday: Sculpture parks

 

“The Way” by Alexander Liberman at Laumeier Sculpture Park, St. Louis, Mo.

Summer is the season to visit a sculpture park wherever you may find it.

Sculpture parks, sometimes referred to as sculpture gardens, offer art fans the opportunity to interact with art and nature. For me, sculpture — found object or otherwise — is more interesting than any two-dimensional art like drawing or painting and if I can enjoy it while enjoying a stroll in the sunshine, all the better. Sculpture parks are a great destination for families because they appeal to all generations.

After writing about Nyberg Park sculpture garden in central Minnesota recently, I was reminded of a visit to the Laumeier Sculpture Park in St. Louis a decade ago.

It is an intellectually stimulating and beautiful place that you should visit if you ever get a chance. It’s an outdoor sculpture garden with all sorts of interesting sculptures made of wood, iron, steel girders and even dirt (I would have thought a sculpture made of dirt would be landscaping but apparently not).

Lots of different kinds of people were there when I was, not just art aficionados: Kids flying kites, women walking dogs, lovers enjoying the art (or each other, I’m not sure), siblings arguing about which direction to take at the fork in the road in the woods.

Like many sculpture parks, Laumeier’s was free. Can’t beat free!

If you’re interested in working a visit to a sculpture garden into your next vacation or family weekend, check out the worldwide list of sculpture parks on Wikipedia. The list is segmented by country and state. Many of the listings are hot-linked to the park’s own website so you can get all the details.

Enjoy some art and fresh air this summer.

 

Travel Tuesday: Nyberg Park sculpture garden

If ever you find yourself with a few minutes to spare in west central Minnesota on a sunny day, you must make time for a stop at Nyberg Park in Vining, Minnesota. The season is nigh!

Welcome to Nyberg Park. Please sign our guestbook.

Vining is home to 78 residents (according to the last census) and the finest sculpture garden you’ll ever see in such a small town. Nyberg Park is located unapologetically next door to the Big Foot Gas & Grocery on Highway 210 (you’ll see from where the gas station derives its name in a minute; let’s just say it’s not another Sasquatch reference).

Artist’s self-portrait, I’m guessing. (Nyberg calls it “Shop Helper.”)

The park gets its name from the sculptor who created the huge, whimsical sculptures found throughout Vining and Otter Tail County. The material of choice for Kenneth Nyberg, a welder and former construction foreman, is scrap metal that he hauls from job sites to his workshop. Some pieces are painted and some are left to rust. He enjoys playing with scale, and the results are strange and beautiful, like The Foot.

The foot is 12 feet high and weighs 1,200 pounds.

You would not be surprised to find a deer in Ottertail County, though filling this one with lead won’t do a hunter any good. But how about an alien? Would that surprise you?

This place is a head scratcher if ever there was one.

Both my dad and The Cowboy are friendly guys.

Nyberg Park, where everyday items become art, is a fun place to visit and collect selfies, for sure.

How about a slice of watermelon?

Who’s leading?

Look out, roach! You’re in for it!

Still not sure where Vining is? Nyberg helps with a map.

Begin on planet Earth and proceed until you see a sign.

See the signage? Here’s a closeup.

You are here.

When my parents and I visited the park one fine June day two years ago, we stopped at the nearby Vining Grill and dined on the sort of delicacies one finds in Central Minnesota: Fried Klub (a Norwegian potato dumpling) with eggs and choice of meat and, for dessert, Rhubarb Custard Pie. Served on china.

Now’s that’s a fine specimen.

Absolutely worth the stop.

Advent is a season of preparation

Not only do I now own a church, I own a church sign. In the first days of clean-up and demolition, my Beloved found the box of letters to create a new message in the sign so I did what I do best and that’s write.

Today, if you didn’t already know it, is the first Sunday in Advent, and I was inordinately pleased with myself to post this message. Its meaning applies literally to the church season and to the process of cleaning up corners and tearing down walls inside our 119-year-old Methodist church as step one in our renovation project.

In homage to the season (and the double message with new meaning for me this year), I’m reprinting this post from the Minnesota Transplant archive, publishing originally a year ago.

Glory be

While the secular world recovered from a Thanksgiving dinner-induced food coma and then leapt loopily into Black Friday-Small Business Saturday-Cyber Monday (which for many overeager online retailers began on Friday), Christians rang in a new year.

Today is the first Sunday of the liturgical year which is to say the First Sunday in Advent.

Advent is the run-up to Christmas, a liminal season of expectation. But to describe it only as a time of waiting sells Advent short, just as the days between Thanksgiving and Dec. 25 are more than simply an out-of-breath sprint to be endured.

For me, it’s not this time of year without spending some time in church. Sitting (and standing and singing and praying) through a worship service slows down time.

This is not a post about why you should go to church. That’s your call. This is a post about why I go to church. For me, Advent is the best time of year to spend some time in church, to be observant to the reason for the season. Christmas is all crowds and gifts and traditional-in-the-extreme music (let’s just say I’m not a fan of “Silent Night, Holy Night”). Lent, too, is a run-up season, preparing Christians for Easter, but Lent and Easter are solemn. The messages are heavy on crucifixion and death (yes, and rising again, I know, but rising from the tomb).

Advent, though, is news about pregnancy and babies and angels and birthdays. (That Advent also coincides with the countdown to my own birthday is just happy coincidence.)

I went to Catholic Mass last night for the first time in years, maybe even a decade. It was a beautiful quiet service in an enormous church where hundreds of people were doing the same thing I was — celebrating the new church year. I was reminded how lovely is the ritual of Mass, so familiar and universal.

I was once Catholic, but when I got divorced, I reverted to my origin religion, Lutheran. A week ago, I read the scripture lessons for the last time at the Lutheran church where I am a member. I resigned my position as reader in anticipation of moving away. Coincidentally, it was also the last Sunday of the church year.

Serendipity.

I kind of felt like I was throwing off the bonds of responsibility and the old year and the old way of worshiping all at once. Celebrating the new Christian year for me meant Mass in a big, beautiful church. Which is how I found myself last night in church I’d never been in before soaking up Bible readings about waiting and preparation and expectation.

It is the perfect message on which to meditate for a woman waiting (and waiting) to sell her house.

Advent is not an empty time, I was reminded. It is a season of fullness. Because preparing is just as meaningful as celebrating. Anticipation should be as joy-filled as the hullabaloo for which we’re waiting.

Pondering Advent and the imminent celebration of the birth of Christ, I was reminded of a scene I appreciated earlier this year.

This is the Nativity Façade at the Sagrada Familia, aka the Basilica and Expiatory Church of the Holy Family in Barcelona, Spain. The church was designed by Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi. The structure is so elaborate, it has been under construction since 1882 and remains incomplete. This is the entryway to the church, and I snapped this picture when I had the opportunity to tour it in June. As you might expect, the Nativity Façade is dedicated to the birth of Jesus.

A single figure is itself a fantastic sculpture, and here there are hundreds of them. But let’s look at the central point of interest there, right above the two doorways of entry.

You can see Jesus surrounded by his mother Mary and Joseph. Check out those two faces peeking around the corners — an oxen and a donkey. Kind of cute, if you ask me. Carved into stone above Joseph’s head are the words “Gloria in excelsis Deo” (you can read Deo clearly in this closeup). That’s Latin for “Glory to God in the highest.”

This sculptured wall is the entryway to the church (inside is entirely amazing experience in itself). But before you even get inside to see it (and, presumably, participate in Mass), this enormous highly detailed art greets you. You could spend days gazing at each sculpture, taking in the meaning, and you’re still outside the building.

That’s Advent. Days of detail, building up to the threshold of Christmas.

Don’t wish it away. Soak it in.

# # #

If you’re interested in more from Minnesota Wonderer/Minnesota Transplant, don’t miss my new blog about renovating the 119-year-old church. Start reading here at ChurchSweetHome.com.

Look what I found

My favorite type of art is found-object sculpture. In a country where the average America tosses five pounds of trash per person per day into its landfills, according to a 2010 Yale University research study, you’ve got to appreciate when a clever artist turns garbage into an objet d’art. Recycling at its finest.

As I waited to board a plane recently, I looked up and noticed this beautiful wall piece.

Closeup of Salty Peanuts.

This assemblage by artist Mildred Howard is created from 130 real saxophones, according to the SFO Museum. Above and below the saxophones are the opening bars of jazz great Dizzy Gillespie’s famous composition, “Salt Peanuts.”

 

Get it? A sculpture called Salty Peanuts in an airport? An environment where peanuts is practically a food group (or, at least, it was before the modern era of food allergies).

“The artwork is not only an homage to Gillespie,” SFO Museum writes on its website, “it is also an acknowledgement of the importance of jazz in San Francisco’s cultural history.”

Even better is a found-object sculpture that is actually functional, like this menu board outside the Bull & Bear restaurant in the Waldorf Astoria, Orlando.

Look closely at the stand. It’s made of cutlery and kitchen implements. And how about that palm tree in the corner? Clearly, the trunk is made of wine corks (and the coconuts are made of champagne corks). The leaves? Forks. Forks!

But perhaps the cleverest found-object sculpture I saw recently were these robot portraits hanging above the bathrooms in Alexis Baking Company in Napa (if you don’t stop in for the art, drop by for the Huevos Rancheros — served on crispy corn tortillas with black beans and topped with perfectly poached eggs and fresh pico de gallo, they’re the best I’ve ever consumed).

She-Robot and He-Robot are made of old computer motherboards plus kids’ shoes and back scratchers and other paraphernalia. If you’re in too much a hurry to look up when you’re trying to determine which bathroom to enter, check out those little signs on the doors: A donut and a cream-filled eclair.

Well, it’s funny to those of us who are gender-conforming anyway. Touché, Alexis Baking Co.

There was also a surprise inside the ladies’ room (a good one).

That image above the vanity is actually a freehand-cut mirror reflecting the painted sidewall.

So every woman who washes her hands after a meal gets a nice piece of pie for dessert. Perfect.

 

Art in the old west

Maybe not everyone’s first choice on a Saturday night would be to attend an art opening, but just the thought of mingling with other art lovers while sipping a glass of wine and listening to live piano music in the background thrilled me.

It wasn’t my Beloved’s first choice either, but he indulged me on the promise of ice cream treat on the way home.

Window dressing at the downtown show.

Even if art openings aren’t your thing, maybe you’ll appreciate a quick peek at the show that opened last week at the Yuma Art Center. Minus the wine and ice cream.

Among the works I took in was the microscopic photography of Robert Schaal. His portion of the show was titled “Hidden Beauty,” and indeed he revealed the unseen loveliness that surrounds us.

Agave Rising by Robert Schaal

Because it was an opening instead of simply an art show, I got to meet the artists behind the works. Schaal told me he places slices of household items–an agave plant, in the case above–on a microscope slide, adjusts the lighting to his liking and takes a picture. He then chooses the crop and orientation and names it. Many of his pieces look like otherworldly landscapes. It’s hard to remember one’s looking at a microscopic slice of something.

I appreciated the abstract nature of the prints, but the concrete thinker in me appreciated the exhibit didactics.

Here are a few more pieces:

The Red Tear and Desert Evening

The Pinwheel

Two other artists also showed works at the opening. I found them less cerebral, but interesting nonetheless.

Hector D. Llamas offered “Las Damas de Llamas,” a blend of futurism and traditional Mexican culture.

Where Secrets Turn Into Dreams by Hector D. Llamas

And Tyler Voorhees showed “Tall Tales,” sort of a surrealistic approach to western art.

Draw by Tyler Voorhees

I appreciated Voorhees’ sense of humor, evident in his exhaustive exhibit didactics and even in his signature which embraces his initials. He told me the control buttons on the TV represent his children.

The show represented dichotomy: microscopic landscapes, modern tradition, Old West surrealism. So often, Saturday night is a one-note soiree, but this art offered the flip side of things.

Glory be

While the secular world recovered from a Thanksgiving dinner-induced food coma and then leapt loopily into Black Friday-Small Business Saturday-Cyber Monday (which for many overeager online retailers began on Friday), Christians rang in a new year.

Today is the first Sunday of the liturgical year which is to say the First Sunday in Advent.

Advent is the run-up to Christmas, a liminal season of expectation. But to describe it only as a time of waiting sells Advent short, just as the days between Thanksgiving and Dec. 25 are more than simply an out-of-breath sprint to be endured.

For me, it’s not this time of year without spending some time in church. Sitting (and standing and singing and praying) through a worship service slows down time.

This is not a post about why you should go to church. That’s your call. This is a post about why I go to church. For me, Advent is the best time of year to spend some time in church, to be observant to the reason for the season. Christmas is all crowds and traditional-in-the-extreme music (let’s just say I’m not a fan of “Silent Night, Holy Night”). Lent, too, is a run-up season, preparing Christians for Easter, but Lent and Easter are solemn. The messages are heavy on crucifixion and death (yes, and rising again, I know, but rising from the tomb).

Advent, though, is news about pregnancy and babies and angels and birthdays. (That Advent also coincides with the countdown to my own birthday is just happy coincidence.)

I went to Mass last night for the first time in years, maybe even a decade. It was a beautiful quiet service in an enormous church where hundreds of people were doing the same thing I was — celebrating the new church year. I was reminded how lovely is the ritual of Mass, so familiar and universal.

I was once Catholic, but when I got divorced, I reverted to my origin religion, Lutheran. A week ago, I read the scripture lessons for the last time at the Lutheran church where I am a member. I resigned my position as reader in anticipation of moving away. Coincidentally, it was also the last Sunday of the church year.

Serendipity.

I kind of felt like I was throwing off the bonds of responsibility and the old year and the old way of worshiping all at once. Celebrating the new Christian year for me meant Mass in a big, beautiful church. Which is how I found myself last night in church I’d never been in before soaking up Bible readings about waiting and preparation and expectation.

It is the perfect message on which to meditate for a woman waiting (and waiting) to sell her house.

Advent is not an empty time, I was reminded. It is a season of fullness. Because preparing is just as meaningful as celebrating. Anticipation should be as joy-filled as the hullabaloo for which we’re waiting.

Pondering Advent and the imminent celebration of the birth of Christ, I was reminded of a scene I appreciated earlier this year.

This is the Nativity Façade at the Sagrada Familia, aka the Basilica and Expiatory Church of the Holy Family in Barcelona, Spain. The church was designed by Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi. The structure is so elaborate, it has been under construction since 1882 and remains incomplete. This is the entryway to the church, and I snapped this picture when I had the opportunity to tour it in June. As you might expect, the Nativity Façade is dedicated to the birth of Jesus.

A single figure is itself a fantastic sculpture, and here there are hundreds of them. But let’s look at the central point of interest there, right above the two doorways of entry.

You can see Jesus surrounded by his mother Mary and Joseph. Check out those two faces peeking around the corners — an oxen and a donkey. Kind of cute, if you ask me. Carved into stone above Joseph’s head are the words “Gloria in excelsis Deo” (you can read Deo clearly in this closeup). That’s Latin for “Glory to God in the highest.”

This sculptured wall is the entryway to the church (inside is entirely amazing experience in itself). But before you even get inside to see it (and, presumably, participate in Mass), this enormous highly detailed art greets you. You could spend days gazing at each sculpture, taking in the meaning, and you’re still outside the building.

That’s Advent. Days of detail, building up to the threshold of Christmas.

Don’t wish it away. Soak it in.

What’s the buzz? Tell me what’s a-happening

I spied a recently adopted fire hydrant in my fair village earlier this month. Check this out:

James Drive

 

Didn’t know you can adopt and paint a fire hydrant? Well, in Hampshire you can. Check out the original post with photos of other painted hydrants in town here.

In this town, bugs and butterfly graffiti is as close as we get to public art. The bees look happy anyway.

Insiders: Know where the title for today’s post came from? Let’s just say it has Superstar status.