When I was seven, an episode of Reading Rainbow where LeVar Burton visited a Taos Pueblo family in New Mexico to learn more about their traditional craft, changed my life.
In the episode, the family shows the viewer their process of making wild clay pottery as a group, hand painting each piece, and pit firing their art. I felt enlivened by such wholehearted, familial, and ancestrally oriented art.
Immediately after the episode ended, I ventured outside and spent the rest of the day harvesting clay, experimenting, adding flours and sand, in a holy free expression with desire to create my own clay pot. Using the teachings the family provided, I rolled clay coils with my tiny fingers and created my first pinch pot. That little pot sat in a secret crafting space I had set up in the small closet of my room. Overtime I had collected jars that I filled with different clay, plants and stones. I created my own mortar and pestle, which I used to crush these collections into paints and “potion” ingredients. This early experience shifted how I viewed art as sacred for the rest of my life and gave me permission to experiment beyond my current knowing.
There have been many stones I have collected over time, both big and small. I once filled an entire suitcase with stones from a trip to the desert that were simply marvelous. Lugging those stones around the airport however, was a little less than marvelous and pointed to a greater holding of emotional pain I was experiencing in my life at the time. I have gone through periods of letting stones go, and picking more up, loading my pockets down, and emptying them out. Financial scarcity and insecurity have been some tremendously heavy stones. They pose as major contributing factors in my struggle to create a larger body of work and art in general. In addition to navigating the treacherous terrain that is coping with abusive familial and romantic relationships; it has been at times a challenge for me to engage with my art in a way that feels connected and aligned with my desire to create from a place of integrity. I feel I am at a critical juncture in my way of being as I become like a softened stone. Being tumbled and re-structured like a stone hurts — and yet, I am becoming less penetrable to outside forces, more tuned in to my devotions and purpose in my life. Once again emptying my pockets of that pebbled weight, taking stock and inventory — sorting out what might remain as I journey forward into deeper relationship with creativity.
The foundation of my work is formed from a deep, intuitive, listening. This work always beings with prayer and tuning in to the profound communion of the more than human world, a moving, living prayer. Listening into the unique voices of the materials, and the individuals in my community, themselves as they choose to come forward — crafting and creating with them, forming a strong bond of ongoing relationship.
Two years ago I was going through a period of immense change. As I was driving home one day, I found a snake that had been struck and killed in the road. When I pulled the car over to move Snake’s body and offer prayers, Snake told me to take them home, to remove their skin and bury their bones; to be gathered later after the Earth had taken what it needed, and to then wait.
I am still waiting to hear Snakes voice again and will act when, and if, they choose to come forward once more. When Snake shared their body with me, I felt I could understand what change, sacrifice — to make sacred, and shedding ones skin really meant. That it is not always a beautiful, liberatory, process right away, in all the ways we are conditioned to believe. This is one example of the ways in which I choose to be involved in my own forms of intimate care with the world and to be in relationship with the impact I have on it. To move and create in relationship, directly informed by the people, places and beings I cohabitate with is an immense honor. I hope to continue to devote myself to this practice for the rest of my life as a student to ritual craft.
When we respect the world as truly alive around us, magic happens. When we know exactly where we gather our materials from, when we see the life that is taken and the impact that has on the ecosystem, we can take better care to be involved in an intimate form of care. My hope is that each print, every basket, each sip of tea, may act as an invitation to experience a moment of ritual, imagining how we might consider, and thus, reorient ourselves to the idea that life is indeed ceremony.