Ghost Pipe and Symbiosis

One benefit of the (approaching record breaking amounts of) rain we’ve been having this month here in Massachusetts is the emergence of this cool native wildflower. This pale apparition is Monotropa uniflora, commonly called ghost pipe, and despite its appearance it is a plant not a mushroom. 

It survives without chlorophyll because of its symbiotic relationship with the surrounding forest.  The myccorhizal network in the soil connects ghost pipe to the trees overhead, and transmits the sugars collected by leaves in the canopy far above to this ethereal little flower growing on the shaded forest floor. Without the ability to capture sunlight on its own, it is supported by both members of of the plant and fungi kingdoms to fill its own niche, a ghostly glowing flower emerging from the leaf litter.

Medicinally, ghost pipe is a wonderful ally for pain, both emotional and physical. It helps those suffering to encapsulate the pain and move it away from the forefront of awareness. When working with ghost pipe, we are reminded we are connected and supported by the world around us. Ghost pipe helps make the space for the relief and healing that is there for us. This rare and potent plant has been overharvested by those seeking its benefits. If you encounter this limbic little being on your woods walk welcome its energy, sit a moment in gratitude, and leave it growing for all to enjoy its medicine.  

It’s no wonder this ethereal flower captured the gothic imagination of Emily Dickinson. Upon receiving a gift of a painting of ghost pipe she wrote in thanks “That without suspecting it you should send me the preferred flower of life, seems almost supernatural, and the sweet glee that I felt at meeting it, I could confide to none.”

I share Dickinson’s sweet glee when happening upon this otherworldly plant. It could not exist without the generosity of the forest, which thrives in community, not competition, which is a beautiful reminder for all of us.

If you’d like to read more about the herbal properties of this plant, this monograph from the American Herbalist Guild captures the magic of ghost pipe better than I ever could.   

https://www.americanherbalistsguild.com/sites/default/files/donahue_sean_-_ghost_pipe-_a_little_known_nervine.pdf

I also recommend The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben to learn more about the myriad and wonderful connections that make the forest truly greater than the trees, and if fiction is more your jam The Overstory by Richard Powers weaves the science into a compelling and inspiring narrative about the power of the green world.

on discipline

Surveying my new body of work, I am overall not impressed. Sure, I’m still learning this clay body and these glazes, getting used to firing my own kiln, and experimenting with forms and surface design to develop my style. Reviewing the work thus far, what I see laid out on my studio table from my three glaze firings are a bunch of random vessels, some incredibly ugly, some quite lovely and most are just dull.

I’d like to blame their lackluster nature on my kiln- I miss the flow and dynamism of reduction firing and I haven’t attempted a soak period with the manual kiln, but that’s not fair to my dear, sweet, hard-working elderly kiln that I’m so grateful to have been given. I’m like a kid on Christmas, too excited to sleep when the kiln is cooling, I wake up early and open it while it’s still too hot, revealing one or two winners and a bunch of hot disappointment.

I approach my craft open to experimentation and unexpected results, my attitude is one of collaboration with my medium over dictatorship. In the past, some of my favorite pieces came from improvising after a mistake, but what I crave right now is intention. My vision is fluid and inchoate, an intuitive wandering without the guidance of a goal. In some ways this relieves the pressure of failure, but it’s a total cop out when I’m generating a bunch of mediocre work.

My focus for the year to come is cohesion. Repetition is boring but iteration leaves space for evolution and refinement. It’s time to narrow my scope and develop a series of identifiable forms and styles and challenge myself to work creatively within these perimeters. I can cut myself some slack during the experimentation phase with my new set up, and I accept that unexpected results are inevitable in any creative endeavor but especially ceramics. But listen up universe, I am committed to expanding within confinement, exploring the self-imposed limitations and finding it boundless.

the brave little toaster

The first movie I remember seeing and really loving was ‘The Brave Little Toaster’. Have you seen it? I must have watched it dozens of times on VHS in the late 80’s and 90’s. In the ensuing decades the precise plot has escaped me but the gist is an animate toaster, accompanied by his companions a vacuum, electric blanket and desk lamp, search for their owner after being either left behind or perhaps deliberately discarded. Sort of like ‘Homeward Bound’, only starring common household appliances instead of pets.

Spirits ever lifted by the valiant toaster, the appliances remained faithful in their search for their former owner, certain his floors still needed cleaning, his desk required lighting, and surely his bread demanded electric coils to transform it to a golden brown destiny. They crossed vast distances, underwent harrowing experiences of destruction, and I clearly remember a culminating scene where the charismatic crew were pursued through a junkyard by a grimacing crane-operated magnetic trash collector.

My impressionable eyes followed their adventures and from it I took a lifelong sense of duty towards my possessions. An idea that my attention held value, indeed nourishment, for the inanimate objects that filled the material world started to weigh on my conscience. As a child I felt bad for the toys I didn’t play with often, and made time for them in my games. I took pity on the Christmas decorations, languishing in the basement for most of the year, and for all the detritus that accumulated unregarded in the closets and junk drawers of my suburban home. I felt indebted to the furniture, refrigerator, shoelaces, and all the myriad overlooked souls we relied on every day to tirelessly serve us, until we tired of them.

The weight of all these possessions still drags on my soul. We have unprecedented access to cheaply made, mass-produced objects, easy to obtain, easy to discard. The exploitation of people and planet is hidden by distance and deliberate ignorance, so we can go on buying stuff we don’t really need. The brave little toaster and his companions were so easily left behind, no longer needed, readily replaceable. They sacrificed much to track down their owner, their devotion outweighed both fear and rationality. They refused the landfill and escaped redundancy. Even though our possessions are not endowed with that strength of spirit, we owe it to each other and our planet to treat them as if they did.

Can you see now, the crooked line that connects a childhood fantasy to a pursuit of this craft? How a handmade object could give pause to the modern inclination to discard for the next new thing, could imbue a simple cup with a bit of specialness?

four years later...

I’ve been on a creative hiatus for some time now. After the end of a relationship I had more space in my life for artistic endeavors and I dove wholeheartedly into studio life. What luck to live so close to a most excellent ceramic school, Mudflat! It felt good to devote the majority of my free time toward creativity, though it may have bordered on obsession.

Friends walked into my room and were delighted (or maybe worried) at the piles of wares stacked up all around. They started reaching out to me for gifts on Christmas and special occasions. I got cards printed, this website was formed. I’d leave work as soon as I could to get more time at the wheel. I dreamed of making my hobby self-sustaining, or, hope upon hope, a profitable venture. I was soon overwhelmed with the amount of pots I’d been making, struggling to store them in a string of little Somerville apartments, hustling at local makers markets, open studios, holiday sales, questioning whether there was any value or meaning in creating these things when we live in a world flooded with material goods. When cups and dishes are cheap and plentiful at the big box stores and overloading the shelves at thrift shops, did I need to waste energy, resources and time creating more stuff?

To get ready for a show, I’d get up early, pack my car with heavy bins full of my work, the tables, the tent, the display pieces. I’d schlep it all inside, unwrap my work, set up my display, meet the other artisans. When the door opened and the public entered, my heart would be warmed by the smiles that formed when people saw my work. They’d pick something up, fondle the textured surface, give compliments, and then put it down gently, offering some lament that they already have too many coffee mugs, or they are trying to get rid of things, not acquire more. At the end of the day, I’d be a few pieces lighter but almost everything was rewrapped, reboxed and returned to my apartment.

I’m driven to make, to fill my idle hours creating things of beauty is its own reward. I had, however, come to the realization that if I did not get rid of more work, I could not justify keeping making it. I stopped signing up for class. Why should I keep making this art if no one, not even me wants it or uses it? Why hadn’t I picked up a two dimensional hobby that could be tucked away in a drawer? Instead I had bulky bins of pots, useful, beautiful objects that had become a burden to me, their potential latent in piles of newspaper and bubblewrap.

At my most recent show, in May 2019, I reevaluated my position. I lowered my prices. I realized that it was my pleasure to create art and a privilege to be able to share it with others. The lowered prices didn’t reflect the time, effort and skill that went into the piece, but with a lower price point, people were eager to own my work. It was my most successful show ever. Even with lowering prices by half, I made well over 400% more than I ever had before. I couldn’t believe it, by the end of the day my table was starting to look bare. So many of my pots had gone on to new homes where they would be used and appreciated.

i’m slowly making moves to get back into maker mode. This gift of mine probably won’t ever pay the bills, but I am so happy to be able to share it with the world.

Getting techy

Well my least favorite part of life is administrative.  Dealing with insurance, following up on emails, responding to text messages in a timely manner, I'd really just rather not.  Those who know me know this well.  So as much as i have not exactly been looking forward to this aspect of things, a website and business cards I must have.