Here is a quick view of my items on Etsy!

Parable in a Child's Clay Pot

There is something about clay that it reaches us somewhere deep inside. When we touch it, roll out a snake, or smash it, we feel like a kid again. For most kids even playing in mud, digging on the beach, or walking barefoot in gooey mud brings out a feeling of connection with the earth. It seems that it is somewhat therapeutic for most. I've observed many adults that fiddle with clay for the first time since their childhood are happy and start talking, relaxing, and kind of doodle with the cool clay. I am always drawn back to Genesis 2:7  "the Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life and the man became a living being." I cant quite put to words what happens when I sit quietly and create from such a crude medium. I think often of our Creator and the amazing world around us and how life was breathed into us. It is beyond understanding. Creating with my hands has always brought me closer to the mind of God. I realize how feeble my hands are and  I am amazed at what  actually does come from them. Clay teaches me much. It can be unruly, dry, too wet, have sharp objects in it, blow up in the kiln, dry too fast and break before it is ever completed. Yet, the finished pieces are so warm and alive even if there isn't much form to them. I was reminded of this as my daughter made one her clay pots with owls on them. She is pretty industrious and likes to sell them and has some buyers waiting for them. The past few weeks she became hurried and her pots got bigger and bigger and as they did they became unruly. One in particular got way out of shape and began to collapse. Even her owls were too large and  were weighing down the top. She used big coils of clay and wanted to create things quickly so she could make her quota. As this particular pot became her enemy she grumped off, told me she hated it and wanted to smash it. It had gotten away from her and the clay was taunting her, making her a frustrated  failure. She had lost control of her creative idea and wanted to walk away from it. Now, I also know that feeling and there are many projects that are just better off smashed and put back into the bag for another attempt at another form. But, I could see the good things in her pot. I knew her challenge was building the walls too quickly without a firm foundation or form. Also, the focal point on top was way too heavy for the coils beneath. They were killing their own base. So, I told Linnea to get a bowl the size of her flopping pot, set the pot in the bowl, smooth out the inside and shore up those fat owls, trim their feathers a bit and give them a branch to hold on to. Basically,get every part strong with a shape or boundary to cling to. It worked, and she was so happy that she exclaimed for days that it was her most favorite piece yet. She kept telling me how much she liked that one. It was a problem solved, a happy result and a lesson learned. I've thought often of that whole episode as I see the pot waiting to be fired. Sometimes the heavies on top get too burdensome and everything suffers. The foundation just needs some shoring up, some smoothing out, some loving touches, and the ones on top need a trim or a pruning and a branch to hold on to. What ever the heavies are be they people or problems or both, they can seem to collapse us if we rush to get things solved. Rushing to see the end of a project whether it be the life long project of  raising kids, working through life's ups and downs, or just making a project around the house, only causes a frustrating mess. Every good thing takes time, a plan, loving hands, support, the proper balance of authority (those owls!) and then the finished work pleases everyone-especially the Creator.

From child to parent and the sculptures along the way

The latest addition and model for my business card

Me at my first art show at 11 years old. My grandfather cut up driftwood posts for my display.

Anders and Jonas with my sea lion and bear sculptures-1993












Annika at two years old with my first really big bear sculpture.

Linnea's owl and succulent pots

A Perspective on mothers and the value of art in the home

As Mother's Day came and went this year I had a new perspective on my motherhood and how it was formed by the mothers in my life. At first I thought only of my mom and how she gave me free access to art supplies, making a mess, and showing me what she had learned in her art classes. But, as the past few years came to my memory, I thought of my grandmothers who both passed away as they neared their 98th Birthdays. And my thoughts also travelled to my sweet mother-in-law in Sweden who left us too early 6 years ago. Then, it all came to me as I received the news that my dear "mother" in Finland whom I lived with for a year when I was 17 had passed away. Each of these mother's influence is present in my every day life as I raise, teach, and pray for the nine children that my husband and I have been blessed with. Each of these women taught me something about making a home and making things whether it be knitting, sewing, crocheting, cooking, gardening, reading or life. I find myself using their utensils in the kitchen, knitting on their old needles,reading their recipes,remembering how it felt to be taught by them as I sat with them. I even took out the "over cast" or bed spread that my Swedish mother-in-law fervently knitted on, with hope for more life, as she was dying from cancer. I plan to finish it.... someday. And I know that it will be obvious where she left off and Dana took up the stitches! Her work was like no other. Her fine stitches and even gauge I'll never be able to follow. She taught me how to read patterns in Swedish and I still do today! As I near the age of our children getting married, I love her so much more as I realize what she was thinking as her son left his home and moved 6000 miles away to start a new life. She never complained but always made beautiful things for our children: nine sets of embroidered sheets and pillow cases and always a new sweater or dress for each new baby!! She told me she was done making them after the first two kids! She showed her love from afar with her hands. My Finnish mother taught me how to knit-never even using a pattern! She was amazing as she also studied books and got her masters degree while being a headmaster at a school. She always baked great things to have with coffee, washed her rugs outside, and was involved in the community. As for my grandmothers I was so blessed to have them see my children grow up. Until they died we were always talking about what we were making ,what we were planting in the garden,and what we were cooking for dinner. As I think on all this and how I live my life, this really isn't amazing, it is just what women do. To me this is normal and I hope that I pass this normalcy along to my children. I know that with the lifespan of 75-98 years there are many great times and many great sorrows, yet, we still keep on making a new baby sweater, cooking dinner, reading good books, talking to our families, look forward to the next Holiday together. Nobody is a super mom. Moms are just great and I love motherhood and all that it brings.

As I close I think of the things I've made through my first 24 years as a mother, what I did as a child, and now what my children are making. As I showed my work in a weekend art fair this past Mother's Day my 11 year old daughter, Linnea, showed her work too. She sold just about as much as I did. It was delight to have her by my side. As I have been been sculpting, painting and knitting things all along while having nine and teaching them at home, each child has revealed their own gifts. These gifts seem to be a combination of the parent's and some unique ones of their own. I hope that as they grow they can enjoy their lives as parents and friends and people and still use their gifts to bless others and to glorify the One who made them.

Recent Sculptures-bird baths and garden art

 
All of these are hand built with a local terra cotta clay and then glazed, fired, and hand painted with acrylics.

 Here is a picture of my most recent paintings. They are all scenes from Sweden

Where Do I Begin?

I am finally confronting this intimidating space much like I do an empty canvas , a blank page ,or a lump of clay. I've put it off for many nights only to lie awake thinking of all  I want to say and how I will display my work. I've decided to begin  as far back as I can remember and tell a quick story of my life as an artist. I truly have known that I loved creating things since I was a little girl. My earliest memories are of big boxes of crayons, new felt tip pens, scissors and paper, tape and glue, and fabric. Since these memories go back to early childhood I also remember the feelings that go along with them and these feelings are tied to events. The new box of crayons that I shared with my three sisters and how we argued over who got the gold, sliver and copper comes to me when my own kids get new boxes of crayons. The metallics still go to those with senority! I still remember being amazed that Crayola would actually make blue-green. I had  already been blending that one by myself! I also remember how beautifully my sisters colored inside the lines while I couldn't-and didnt want to. I stayed away from coloring books and found blank paper instead. I vividly remember making a drawing of a peacock using felt tip markers. Oh, the color and the smell! I made peacock pictures  over and over till I had those bold feathers perfected. Then there was the unlimited colored paper where I cut out Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer,especially Rudolph, and taped them all together and my mother proudly let me hang it over the kitchen table. The fabric has a bit of a more shameful memory as I did cut up the drapes my mother sewed for our bedroom. They were lavender which I had requested. Then there was the beautiful bold flower print that  found while mom was occupied on the telephone. There seemed to be plenty for a dress. I cut out two arm holes and an opening for my head and made a dress. I still remember her face as I showed it to her while she was still talking..... she never scolded me but I knew it didnt make her too happy. I think my mother was a major influence in my life as she allowed me to use all of her supplies-even her good oil paints when I was a bit older.  She gave me the freedom to create. I remember using her left-handed scissors for years and she didnt mind-I never thought about how uncomfortable they were , it was  just how using scissors was meant to be and I didn't mind. They cut very well. I think about the influence of parents now that I've been raisng our nine children.  We are all given a family with great  charcteristics and  peculiar faults. I think the Lord knows what we need to shape us and it is how we work through all that that brings us to becoming the people He designed us to be. I think of that now when I recall  our first home. Here is my Dad, an very conservative guy, right out of the Air Force, in the early 60's, crew cut, civil engineer, part time Guard pilot, yet he loved Classical music, played the trumpet and french horn in the local symphony, composed interesting things on the piano, and  painted a crazy mural on our dining room wall of scraggly men, seemingly post apocolyptic,  dying in smog reaching up amongst dead trees trying to get fresh air. He also introduced me to Salvador Dali and those melting clocks! Then there was my mom, sewing us beautiful Easter dresses accessorized with new white gloves, school clothes where we picked out the fabric, and Raggedy Ann dolls that had "I love you" embroidered on the heart. Her creativity is where I learned to love beautiful fabrics and embroidery floss, and later on fine yarns. These early years were a strong foundation that led to later art endeavors in clay, writing, and painting. So, with that introduction, I'm left with about 40 plus years to fill in later. At this point I'll post my more recent work and continue to dig up the past art history and the shaping of my life with my husband and children who have filled it over the years.