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My Relationship with the elements of earth began in early childhood. My senses drew me to clay: the smell, the smooth wet feeling, and, yes, I even liked the taste! I loved the sensation of gooey clay dring on my hands and drying out my skin. I still do, only now I laugh as I carefully rub moisture back in. clay gave me goosebumps: it was my best friend. As a young girl, I would go down to the creek and bring up buckets of clay to make pinch pots for playing house. I used clay for painting and gluing things together. Playing with clay was simple and intuitive, and through the freedom of play I tapped into the guiding force of my creative self.

When I became a young adult, there were new explorations and creations. Giving birth to and raising my five children became my art. I still visited clay, only now in books. I learned that even before time, clay was our sacred ancestor, to be honored, coming from places all over the world, in a myriad of colors, to be fired in many ways.

As I form the clay, the clay forms me, shaping my spirit. Clay speaks to me in my dreams, in visions, symbols, myths and old stories. My Muse comes, guiding me in the sweeping of my inner hearth, talking to my spirit, as the light of Her candle reveals, and then takes me beyond, myself conceptions and old conditioning , leading me across the threshold of creativity. The intelligence of Muse goes where it is most needed, touching me quite impersonally yet leaving Her mark in a most personal way. She calls me into each present moment of my ordinary daily life, infusing meaning into everything I do.

In the words of Gertrude Stein, “Art isn’t everything. It’s just about everything.”