Small Town Ceramics is a small, local business where people can paint pre-made ceramics and they do the firing. A person can come in, look around the shelves, find something that speaks to them, paint it then have it fired. I did that exact thing, still looking through the overwhelmingly many choices ranging from ceramic animals, bowls, platters, mugs, and more, waiting for an unpainted ceramic to speak to me. After some time searching, I found it: two little turtles.
ART
It’s a bright early Spring Saturday morning in Middletown. The warmish-cool breeze blows through the open doors of the MAC. Inside, the bright white-washed walls hold ever-changing themed art. The floor’s filled with chairs and people of all ages and backgrounds. It’s what art in any community does; it brings people together. David and I quietly find a seat in the back of the room and settle in. There’s a spirit of anticipation and expectation, but not like you would find at an art show. No, this is different. This is a calling to learn something both new and ancient, holy and practical. Quiet expectation fills the room.
Like other multi-taskers, I have recently begun to question my lengthy ‘to do’ list. My passion is pottery. But throwing pots on the wheel is a very time-intensive activity. I began to think, “Why make pottery on the wheel when a bowl can be purchased at the store?” I dreamt of the free time I’d score if I gave up my pursuit of pottery.
Like other multi-taskers, I have recently begun to question my lengthy ‘to do’ list. My passion is pottery. But throwing pots on the wheel is a very time-intensive activity. I began to think, “Why make pottery on the wheel when a bowl can be purchased at the store?” I dreamt of the free time I’d score if I gave up my pursuit of pottery.
Have you ever had a dream that moved you? Not the one where you end…
Emily Schiebal’s redbrown hair falls straight against her green floral print blouse. Rain pounds on the single-wide trailer converted into an art studio. We sit at the kitchen table, Emily sipping on some hot chocolate while I take a taste of water. A beekeeper’s suit hangs on a wooden mannequin next to an old upright piano. She’s nervous. “I’m used to hiding behind my husband,” she tells me. “He’s such a prolific artist. It’s easier to hide behind him.”
Karen Turcotte pulls her dark-rimmed glasses away from her face and lets them hang by their purple chain. Her blue eyes glimmer with intensity. “It’s a locus,” she says, leaning forward to emphasize her point.
The County of Lake, as part of our #LakeCountyBrilliance initiative, will be sharing powerful lessons learned in conversation with Lisa Kaplan in the coming weeks, lessons that challenge us all to greet obstacles with an eye toward wholeness and restoration, encouraging us to identify not as permanently scarred, but hopefully resilient.
Resilient. It’s pretty much the word du jour lately as fires and devastation have marked…
The Middletown Art Center’s reach stretches beyond the art hanging on its walls. In the…
5.30.19 – 3:30 PM Thunder echoes across Harbin Mountain, rolling down the hills into the…
Wake up, see the day, know it is there. Drink rose tea. Remember the one…
“How about over there?” a voice calls from further up the hill. “Does that look…
Lisa Kaplan stands between the u-shape of the tables, sharing her vision. A diverse group…
I met with Lisa Kaplan at her home in the Hidden Valley ranchos. Newly rebuilt,…
