The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

4/29/17

7:48AM

Authenticity

Two weeks, twenty or thirty fish—I see that my tails should be turned ninety degrees from flat to vertical—unless I wish to imply all of these pieces are whales. Very, very colorful whales. 

MLG

We are the psychedelic whales!

A

Why so upset?

S

I’m not hugely upset; but it calls into question this work—are these really tests? Or something else? I’ve allowed myself to explore with abandon all sorts of colors, patterns, applications, materials.

 

There’s been tremendous headway in this allowance. 

But I see I got the form wrong. Or maybe not wrong but it’s off. 

There’s liberties I think with the work but I am not sure this is one, had I been aware, I would have taken. Though I must say that I prefer a flat tail to vertical—it’s cuter and gives me a little separate but connected canvas to play with. 

So…anyway…I gave myself this allowance telling myself these were all tests. But in truth, deep down, these were not really tests. 

A

If these were not tests then what were they?

S

I suppose it’s more like a “performance” where results are real and they count. I never was one for test tiles. 

A

99% of what we have made has not been shown or sold. What would we call this work?

S

It’s like the Sandbox; a performance with an audience of one. But..if there were to be more I would be okay with it. 

 

A

We do not know how we feel about these pieces yet; some may test out after firing and some may not.  We will learn. Mostly, this allowance, though we see it’s been a faux allowance, has taken us places. 

S

Where?

A

The forms we had been doing were not allowing the surface decoration we were craving. We needed a figure that could take this on. 

S

Yeah. I see now how important though form is. 

A

Do the pieces work? 

S

Maybe.

A

We will find our way, find our form. 

S

I thought I could sell a few of these but not if they’re fucked up in terms of form. How could I have missed something so fucking obvious?

A

Everyone missed it which may be a good sign? Remember the feet? The piece we call Six Toes Nobody Knows? 

S

Yeah.

A

Allow, allow, allow for these pieces to be lovable. Remember our hippie piggy bank? How we learned to love her? And do some new work with vertical tails and see if you even like this. It may be that we stick to our guns with the tails we have been doing. 

MLG

Whale tails!

A

How goes the rest?

S

I was wondering if I am an artist and what this means. 

A

Does it matter?

S

I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s not what you call yourself, it’s what you do with your self. Authentically. What fills your with passion. 

A

Truth. 

S

Even if you suck at it, if it’s all you want to do it’s…you. 

A

Truth. And what else? 

S

Eileen’s license will expire without renewal. So there’s that. 

A

How does this feel?

S

I’m not hugely concerned. At least at 8:04AM, Saturday, April 29th. I feel mostly better about the therapy I’m in. Teresa’s complaint—or whatever you want to call it—her concern and issue with my therapy in general—that I never let her in—it finally has sunk in for me. And oddly what I crave now is to talk with her. Not about the Sandbox but…other stuff maybe. I have used the Sandbox for many things, including a place to hide and to protect myself. 

Four years ago my mind began to really spill open and I was scared—excited at times to see and feel all this flow—but also scared and also I became really nearly overwhelmed with pressure to both contain and turn it all into something. Without, honestly understanding what it was about and what I’m about. 

The Sandbox is many things and I can finally see after two years with Teresa that I have not wanted to really engage with her. I’ve kept a distance—made nasty remarks here and there that she calls “barbs” and it’s truth. It’s not that way all the time but when I get angry with her—justified or not—I get very snarky. And childish. 

I can see myself more clearly, a child who built an enormous Sandbox but one who is unwilling to share it, really. I don’t want it to be used to help other people. I want it be admired from a distance. 

A

Is that wrong?

S

Women are supposed to always want to give, give, give. And I say, fuck that. I want to just be talented and be admired. 

MLG

Me too. 

S

But then again there are enormous flecks of joy when I see how my Sandbox does help others. So it’s not all one way in terms of how I feel. 

A

We are filled with millions of truths. Fish that swim in and out of sight. 

MLG

Psychedelic whales that swim in and out of sight. 

S

I’ve been unable to understand why I keep this ad campaign going for my Sandbox. I turn the spend up and down depending upon feelings I don’t get. Last night I backed it down. Maybe it’s about conflicted feelings. 

A

We want to hold out hope that someday we will be discovered. 

S

Right. 

A

But then, we turn down the dollars because…?

S

I lose hope.

A

So our dollars relate to hope. 

S

I think so, A. It doesn’t cost much to keep hope alive, I suppose. 

A

But look and see, we have our very own Hope-Ometer. How…fascinating. 

MLG

HopeOmeter!

S

Truth. It’s all about hope now, isn’t it? 

A

YES. 

MLG

I am hope incarnate. 

S

I think the psychedelic whales relate to hope too; if they are failures I lose hope. Ceramics in general to me is about hope; opening that kiln and seeing the final results—right before—it’s all about hope. And then…starting the hope cycle up again. It’s very hope driven. 

A

We have created a lot of avenues for hope in our life lately. We have our Sandbox ad campaign. We have our creatures and an ongoing process that gives us hope—hope that our work continues to thrill and evolve, hope that a few pieces will sell. We have a book we tinker about the Sandbox too which gives us hope that someday we can have a version of the Sandbox in that form as well. 

The more avenues for hope we can carve out, the happier our life will be. 

S

Truth. 

MLG

Hope is red. Hope is blue. 

Hope is black, pink, white and purple and yellow too. 

Hope is the air that we breathe in each day.

Hope is the mountain where we hike and we play.

Shard

Another suck poem by Monkey. 

MLG

Hope is a place where Shard stays away.