Idea Development – Unit 3
- I have done 2.5 of the labs. I did not read through the complete instructions at the beginning, and didn’t realize that I would also have to post the labs to BBL, so after I checked the instructions for option B, and upon realizing I’d have to post everything to BBL, I knew I didn’t want to go through the painful experience of figuring out how to post multiple photographs. So, I did option C, Grapefruit, knowing that there would be few photographs to figure out how to attach to my post in BBL…well, I’ll just record my frustration here: I COULD NOT figure it out, despite following the HELP instructions to the letter…okay, that’s the end of my rant. So, I did Options A and C, but also Option B, which obviously I’m not going to remove from this process book, because it is part of my process, and not merely a slavish adherence to doing an assignment…and, I learned something from all three labs. Glad I did all three.
So, the strongest experience I had working through the labs was with Lab C, working with the photo albums provided by my friend Jude. I really “enjoyed” the process that I went through as I worked with the photographs, but also as I thumbed through the three photo albums that she provided to me, and had the germs of two ideas:
a. In my conversations with Jude, I learned that she likely had several more photographs of the renovations that her father had done to the basement in 1956. I’m going to ask her to look for those albums/photographs, ask if I can borrow them, photograph them, and, using tracing paper, cellophane, and wallpaper, make some sort of re-representation of that project which will take its character from the character of the photographs that she provided.
I like this idea because it would keep me engaged in the world and values of 1956. The idea is doable, easily involves paper, and I can rely on emergent creativity to keep me moving forward with the idea, and let it take me where it will.
b. As I was looking through the photographs of my friend’s teenage years, photographs that I had never seen before, I was overcome by a deep sense of sadness and loss, and in fact did cry. This is a friend who I love very deeply, and with whom I have shared a large part of my life over the past fifteen years, the length of time I have known her. She, too, has shared in kind, and my friendship with her is unmatched. She is the friend whose eyes I photographed so that she could send the photo of her eyes plus a “testimonial” to Yoko Ono’s project that she is taking around the world: photographs of women’s eyes, accompanied by their descriptions of how they had been diminished by others just by virtue of being a woman. My friend had been having difficulties doing the written part of the testimonial, so last week I invited her into the photo studio where I was working on photographing my project for FIN 230. I sat her down on a stool, facing the black curtain, and I videotaped her as she spoke about what she was trying to get at in her written piece, and what was stopping her. The studio was dark, I had asked her to dress in dark clothes, and I lit her back with bright studio lights. She talked for almost an hour, and occasionally I prompted her with questions. We have a trusting friendship, and this was not awkward nor difficult in any way.
After I taped her for that 45 minutes, we sat together in the dark, and talked about her experience being videotaped while talking about the ways in which she had experienced misogyny throughout her life. As we spoke, I took photographs of her. I had set up my camera on a tripod, had removed any sound (clicking) from the camera as it took pictures, and had it set up so that I could take photographs by touching the screen. So she was unaware that I was taking photographs as we talked. She was still sitting on the same stool, but had turned around and was facing the camera as we talked. All the settings could remain stable as she was not moving…just her upper body moved, and the expressions on her face, and I was able to capture the minute changes (that are actually not so minute) of her facial expressions, how she used her arms, how she bent and tilted her head…and I think I could spend a lot of time doing this sort of thing with people. It’s as if I was engaging with and recording her deepest self, especially when we moved from video to still photographs.
okay, so what’s my point here? After that afternoon in the photo studio, I returned to her photo album of photographs of her as a teenager, and took photos of the photos with my cellphone camera so that I could get larger versions of the photos. The SLR is good for other things, like original photographs, but I find the cellphone camera is better for closeups. I might have to get a macro lens for my SLR, but that’s for another time. I like working with the constraints that I have.
So now I have a couple of hundred photographs of her face taken as she is talking about her life of misogyny, and I have seven or so photographs of photographs of her as a teenager. There is something very poignant to me as I look at them side by side, the beautiful, hopeful, bright teenage girl next to the 69 year old who has fifty years of living the life of a woman.
This is as far as I have come with this idea. Paper. What do I do with the photographs? Would she be willing to provide me with more photographs from her teen years? Would she be willing to let herself be “revealed” in this way. She is willing to contribute to the Yoko Ono art project, but that is anonymous and safer. Of course, my intention is not to include any explanatory text in the photo comparisons. Will they speak for themselves? Will people insert their own narratives? (yes, of course they will). I’d be asking her to be extremely vulnerable beyond the safety of a darkened photo studio.
At this point in my creative journey, I’m really engaged in making small sculptural figures, representations of “entities” that have some sort of magical or otherworldly properties. I had been centering the purpose of those entities around one figure in particular, a reclining figure, lying on his deathbed, in the final hours of his life.
Suddenly, two weeks ago, I had this intrusive thought: “I’m really SICK of working with these figures”, and so I made a bit of a gradual turn in the making of the figures (my goal is to make 100 figures by the end of March, 2022), when I switched from using acrylic paint to paint them, to using watercolour paint. This happened while I was making a cat, seen below with an acrylic body and a watercolour head, eyes, feet and tail. I think of this as my transitional piece. I have since gone on to make what I call “Baby Bodies”, also shown below, and with Baby Bodies, I added the element of rusted metal, a piece found on a local beach.
I use stone-based air dry clay for these figures, and it occurred to me that I could get some paper-based air dry clay to make a set of figures that could meet the parameters of this assignment, but then I think, “well, why would I want to do the same thing here as I’m doing in another course”, and that’s the question I am asking myself and will need to answer as I work through the idea development process. Is there some way, I wonder, that I can pull some of the ideas from the two other options mentioned above and infuse those ideas/feelings/concepts, whatever they are, into some sort of sculpture/s that would be a further departure from what I have been doing in 230?
I don’t want to prevent myself from exploring something else; at the same time, I really do love making these small sculptures. I have yet to explore my hoards to see if I have any paper-based clay…
or I could make my own…
Because I love working with the stone based air-drying clay so much, it had occurred to me to make a 12″ x 12″ flattened sculpture that would have met the stated parameters of the square foot gallery square foot show, kind of like a squishy sculpture that isn’t a painting, and isn’t on a canvas, but which is 12 x 12 and adheres to the maximum allowable thickness for the show, but is a sculptural piece of a figure who is contorted into the maximum space, and make of stone-based air dry clay, created over a wire armature, and painted…but what is the connection to any of the ideas within this assignment? Yeah, so use paper-based air drying clay as in idea #3 above, and make a figure that “represents” in some way the changes/life of my friend Jude from her teen years to her late 60s, as described in idea #2 above. This would be less out there, would be based on work that I did while working on unit 3, and of course likely more doable within the timelines that I’m working with, as the other idea that involves working with photographs, etc, seems quite big when I think about it a bit more. I’m not sure what Fine Art Masters projects are like, but maybe it’s more like that?
A bit of a reflection on all this so far…
I’m getting tired of writing now, so this is probably a good time to stop thinking, go have some breakfast, take the dog for a walk, review ALL the steps of the “idea development” so that I’m heading in the right direction…
A quick look at the instructions tells me that I need to do an object analysis, but I’m not quite sure what I would do an object analysis on. There seem to be a lot of ideas here, and am I supposed to do an object analysis on all aspects of all ideas? If I choose only one idea to do an object analysis on, do I risk favouring that idea over other ideas, and cut off something that might be more “fun” to work with? Oh, that’s just crazy talk, of course. The ideas are out there, now, and ideas are a dime a dozen anyway, right? Just keep moving forward, and what I’ve learned more and more clearly is that as I move forward, many of the ideas will meld together in unexpected ways.
Next up: an object analysis of …. something …. from one of these ideas …. it doesn’t matter which …. the analysis will yield more information …. point the way ….
November 17, 2021 – meeting with instructor. This meeting is supposed to be held to help me decide which idea to pursue, but at the time of the meeting, I more needed clarification about the relationship between items two and three of the Idea Development Process. We spoke about the place of the object analysis and how it connects to the ten iterations of a germ of an idea. I have a clearer idea now about how this works, and will meet with the instructor if I require further clarification before the project due date.
Also, I just reviewed the meaning of the word “praxis”. It seems that no matter how many times I reread the definitions, it doesn’t seem to sink in, and the next time I hear the word “praxis”, I ask myself, “now, what the heck does that mean?” But tonight, I think I will understand that praxis is the reification of an idea, bringing thoughts into something concrete. I like it, but not at all to be confused with fluxus!
While working on the Haiku lab from Unit 2, I was drawn to the “definition” of a Haiku as described by Emiko Miyashita in the video. She states that it is important to put oneself into a Haiku, that it is brief, and that it should express a real experience that somehow involves nature. Additionally, she said, that Zen Haiku is an expression of temporary enlightenment, and that the reader should somehow find a place for themselves within the flow of the river of Haiku.
(I think that if I had done the object analysis immediately after I generated the four ideas above out of the labs, I might have chosen something else. But here I am, having reverted to an earlier question, and that is to discover what a lyric poem is. )
I liked especially that understanding of a Haiku where the writer and the reader can find themselves, together at the same time, perhaps, in the river of life.
For my object analysis, I wanted to explore the concept of the lyric poem, a poem that can be as metrically constrained as a Haiku, but not necessarily so.
“A lyric poem or lyrical poem in literature is a poem in which the poet either expresses his [sic] feelings and emotions. The poet also presents a character in the first person to express his [sic] emotions. It is a combination of lyric and poetry where a piece of poetry is written as a lyric. Lyric has been derived from lyre, a musical stringed instrument used during the Grecian period to accompany the poetry sung during different festivities.” https://literarydevices.net/lyric-poem/
I have written a lot of lyric poetry in my lifetime, and I’d like to explore how the writing of poetry can be expressed visually. How can lyric poetry be represented concretely? And can I do this without actually “revealing” a poem?
TEN ITERATIONS generated by the object analysis of “a lyric poem”…
Elsewhere, I am working on a project that involves the making of a lyre-type musical instrument (or lyreS, if I manage to successfully dry more than one squash into a workable gourd) and the making of a zoetrope-type musical score that uses plasma-cut aluminum sheeting as the score and is mounted on a motorized lazy susan. My overall idea is to make unique musical instruments that have no proscribed way of playing, and so can be played by anyone, using the score on the rotating zoetrope as “inspiration” for how to play. Perhaps it will be helpful to me now to keep that project in the back of my mind while I explore the “meaning” of lyric poetry as above, and think that the “musician” who plays the “lyre” using the “score” from the zoetrope can also generate their own “lyrics”. It might be a bit tricky for me to keep all of that in the back of my mind while I’m working on these ten iterations, but maybe its better if they are WAY in the back, while I put my focus on the project at hand, which is to “consist mainly (about 75% or more) of “paper” or paper products…”
So, with that in mind, can I express a meaning of lyric poetry with the paper materials I have at hand? Here are ten iterations as I try to wrap all this together…argh…my brain hurts.
Iteration number one
In which I write “letters to the future”. The idea draws on my love of Yoko Ono’s desire to have “non-artists” participate in making art, as seen in her book Grapefruit. It also draws on the idea of Haiku poetry, in which the writer of the Haiku is part of the Haiku, and the reader of the Haiku is able to insert themselves, too, into the Haiku, as both meet in this river of Haiku which is ever-moving.
I like the idea of writing a letter to the future because since a very young child, I seemed to be aware of a future me, and recall in grade two learning about how years are numbered, and that they advance, and that every year I was a year older, and we were all to do the arithmetic required to calculate how old we would be in the year 2000, and I couldn’t believe that I would ever be 46 years old. It was astonishing. But, at the same time, I must have believed that I would make it that far, because I also on that day made a mental note to myself, tucked back in my brain somewhere, to say hello to myself when I turned 46.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that bratty part of my brain has kept me company at other times, popping in from time to time to say hi, and again when I turned 66. So, this awareness of time, and time passing, is, if not a constant in my life, definitely a touchstone for me, and has shown up in other ways, for instance when I am travelling in a new place that I’m not likely to return to, I’ll stop myself and remind myself to absorb everything that is around me: sights, smells, sounds, textures. And I say something like: “be here, now”.
So, this awareness I have of time, and time passing, is also something that motivates many poets (and likely artists of all kinds), this knowledge that we are only temporarily in this life, and that every moment really matters in some unique way, and that is what surrounds us “now” will likely be very different at any future time, and that creates in many of us this urge to record the “now” moments so that they can be re-experienced by ourselves or by others at any future time.
So, “letters to the future” is an idea that I’d like to try: to write a series of short letters about time and change and connection and disconnection and rivers. Each letter ideally would be “custom” written for specific individuals, but could be generic enough to hand out to anyone I meet. The letters will be put in envelopes made from paper that I have in my cache, and labelled with an instruction like: “do not open until December 8, 2035 (ie, in 14 years); and then inside I would congratulate the recipient for either waiting or being curious enough to not want to wait. And then write a message to that person, and then ask them to write a similar letter to someone else, anyone else, their choice, with an instruction on the outside indicating when it is to be opened.
How does this answer my question: what is a lyric poem? A lyric poem is a meaningful conversation across time between the writers and the readers.
iteration number two
Make a small book of abstract collage. Each page of the book is made from paper, and on each page is an abstract collage, also made of paper, designed to elicit an emotional response from the “reader”. I have made these little books before and given them as gifts, and I really like them as an alternative to words, because I’m mostly in a post-word state of mind when it comes to expressing my own affect. These are like chapbooks, but instead of having words/poems in them, they have non-verbal representations in the form of very simple collages.
For this project, I could make a new and improved version of what I have done before. I would need a variety of papers, tools for cutting, I’d need to look into better binding than I’ve done before, so would need to find some instruction online to help me make a binding that looks good and that is sustainable. Or I could make a “fold-out” chapbook that would need no binding. I think this project would be a lot of fun to do, in part because I’ve done something like this before, and I already know it is fun, and because I like the “magical” feeling that is created for the person receiving the chapbook, as they open the paper cover, read the title, and then peruse through the tiny collages and enjoy the small scale and the messages that they receive from those collages. Yes, I like this idea a lot. At the same time, because I have done this before, it feels a little bit like cheating…not a “new” idea.
Here is a link to some wikipedia information about chapbooks.
Here is the link to the set of instructions I used to make the dummy chapbook.
Here are some photographs of a dummy chapbook.
How does this answer my question: what is a lyric poem? As with a lyric poem, which is a personal representation of an emotion, so too are the small, delicate collages. The collages are primarily abstract (although they wouldn’t have to be), and allow the “reader” to create their own narrative as they are “reading” the collage. It’s very personal, and perhaps, like a good Haiku, can create a node between the “writer” and the “reader”.
I probably won’t do a dummy or practice maquette for every iteration, but I couldn’t work on more iterations this morning, because I was babysitting my granddaughter, and I can’t really “think” around a three year old. I can, however, do stuff, especially if she is also doing stuff beside me. So, I set her up with some paints, and off we went!
iteration number three
This idea relates to my love, as a child, of the padding that was put into the covers of the small, locked diaries that I sometimes received as gifts. I could tell that the covers were padded, and even though the covers of the diaries were beautiful satin-like brightly coloured fabrics, I couldn’t resist cutting open the covers at the seams to see what was inside. Usually I found yellowed clippings from Chinese newspapers, which I would study, looking for clues about the people who had put these papers into the covers of the books. They felt like they could have been very personal messages, but of course they were not.
What if I made a little book with a fabric cover that was padded with yellowed newsprint, or yellowed tissue paper, inscribed with actual messages of a personal nature, that COULD be read by anyone who managed to slit open the seams of the covers? It would be like reversing my experience, or reifying, actually, not reversing my experience. Bringing into reality a dream that I had to receive a message from across the world, written on fragile paper.
What would I need in order to do this project? I’d need tissue paper, I’d need to generate some personal content and inscribe it on these pieces of tissue paper, which I would then in turn use to pad the covers of a small book which would say “Diary” on the front, and which would be bound with a ribbon. Of course the poems would be bound inside of the covers, and so anyone looking at this would not know that they were in there. I could write something on the inside of the pages of the diary, but what would I write? A lyric poem? Could I ask questions about the nature of lyric poetry? Write about hidden poems? Create a riddle whose answer would lead the reader to slit open the covers to find the poems written on tissue paper?
How does this answer my question: what is a lyric poem? In this iteration, the medium is the message. In other words, the whole project itself is a manifestation of a lyric poem, an object that is an intimate communication between the maker and the receiver. So very personal. The receiver would feel that the piece had been made for them, and only them. There would be magic. There would be a floating together down the river of life.
iteration number four
Create a bundle of poetry, wrapped in tissue paper? The poems can not be read, as they are wrapped in tissue paper. They exist only as a wrapped package. What is the point of this? How does this address the question of what is a lyric poem, how does this involve the maker and the receiver together in the river of life? What is the point of commonality? I see the bundle, I see the tissue paper (it’s black, and held on with white cord), and the bundle is on the floor, and I need to talk about it, but I can’t speak. It’s a bundle of poems, never read, not to be read, something from a person’s past that is bundled, that is to be left behind, disposed of, forgotten, or is that bundle meant to be put in a special place, to be taken down once a year, or once a generation, and read out loud to oneself, a reminder. It becomes a ritual for the self, a way of connecting the maker’s self to their past, their future. The maker can share the need for a ritualistic understanding of the “self” with the receiver. The receiver may also have a ritual for the self. This is where the river is shared by the maker and the receiver, as they both bathe, but privately, in the same river.
How does this answer my question: what is a lyric poem? Remnants of the self’s past life or lives are emotive, imbued with such deeply personal meaning that often the sharing of them is merely an opportunity to be witnessed, if not understood. Sometimes a poem is like that, words expressive of such personal meaning that their total meaning cannot be apprehended by another, but the words themselves are lyrical, each one to be savoured for its sound, the way it rolls on the tongue. The poems wrapped in black tissue paper, the white cord, the being told that these are poems in here…is that enough for a receiver to be able to comprehend the importance of the feelings in the package?
iteration number five
In which I create a paper dress that surrounds a paper body; the dress is ripped, and pouring out of the various rips are strands of paper with writing on them, bits of biography, bits of science, bits of nature. It’s a mess, really. Lots of paper.
We are written on, composed by the events of our lives. The writing of our lives is within us, too.
Iteration number six
Several years ago, I started to write a novel. I mapped out all the events and timelines of the novel, had a plot summary created, and wrote all these things on large sheets of paper with a thick black pen. I hung all the large sheets on the walls of my home office, and frequently sat down in my home office and tried to write out the stories. I wrote several sections of the novel, which was set in 2300 BCE Crete, and was about a young girl who had been put in a large storage jar filled with honey, and taken in her father’s ship to the middle of the Mediterranean Sea and dropped. The novel was to “explain”, through the course of events, how this came to happen to her. It was to be historical fiction, and involved many hundreds of hours of research and planning, and even then, whenever I wrote a scene, I realized that I needed to continue to research down to the tiniest facts, to ensure authenticity. I kept writing, though, without stopping to verify some of those tiny facts, thinking I would do that later.
Regardless, I became bogged down. I was obsessed with the main character, the young girl whose ears and eyes and lungs filled with honey as the jar dropped into the sea. I wrote many lyric poems about her, about her experiences as she realizes she is dying while the honey fills her lungs.
What is the difference between a novel and a lyric poem? In understanding the difference between those two things, you need to understand what each of them is in order to begin to compare and contrast them.
Is there some way I can prepare the large sheets of paper that represent the planning of the novel, and “compare” them to something visual that represents a lyric poem, and, with the latter, get at the emotionality of the lyric poem.
I once read that by definition novels are “conservative”. They generally must adhere to understandable and relatable characters and events, and through the act of creating this comprehensive world for the reader, the writer relies on familiar tropes. There was likely more information about this idea, and maybe some day it will return to me (was it the Marxist critics of the early 20th century, critiquing the novel?); but for now, this project could be a visual contrasting of the world of the novel and the world of the poem.
Much more needed on this one, I think, to really flesh it out.
iteration number seven
Something about concealment; taking some poetry and enclosing it in a sealed package, or putting it behind some wallpaper. It is there, but cannot be read.
iteration number eight
Euterpe is the Greek muse of music and lyric poetry. Frequently depicted in art holding an aulos, a harp, a flute, or a horn, she has variously also been depicted as dancing while playing the aulos.
Using paper-based clay, I would make a 3D model of a 21st century rendition of Euterpe. At this point, I see making this muse as androgynous rather than female. But. I’m not sure.
I have a recipe for making paper based clay, although if I run into material problems, such as the clay turning out terribly and not being workable, I may turn to a commercially available paper-based clay.
Here are two sculptural versions of Euterpe. The first one, by Pilar Torres, is a fairly “standard” representation of Euterpe, according to a quick review of images found through Google image. The draped fabric, exposing all or part of a breast, the down turned face, the curly short or tied up hair, the instruments in her hands, are tropes that appear in many other representations of Euterpe.
iteration number nine
In which I use paper-based clay to create a 12 x 12 inch flat sculpture of a body which is inscribed with words of a poem. See idea #4 above. I think I’m running out of iterations.
iteration number ten
For which I take every poem I’ve ever written and shred them into a large pile on the floor, then use some of that shredded paper to make my own paper clay, then use that clay to make a clay urn into which I put the ashes of some of the shredded paper that I have burned, and then use the remaining shredded paper to collage an obituary. This one would take too much bravery and letting go. I can’t/couldn’t do it. Although it would take up much less room than my poems/journals do…
The Short List of Three
Sculpture of Euterpe
While writing the first draft of the artist statement, I just automatically wrote it as if I were following through with Iteration Number Eight, making a sculpture of Euterpe from paper clay in an attempt to represent contemporary lyric poetry. I have, in fact, already ordered some paper clay, just in case my home made clay does not work. I think this will be the one I work on, as I can already “see” it in my mind’s eye. So far, the largest such sculpture I have made is about 18 inches tall, the figure in the centre, just below:
For Euterpe, I want to go bigger, about three feet high. This will challenge me to design a stronger armature, probably moving from wire only to wire-plus-wood. I’ll need to wrap that armature in paper to build bulk and shape in the figure, then cover that with the clay. From other “experiments” I have tried with figures, I think this should bring me the closest to achieving the type of figural volume I am looking for.
I’ll need to start with a conceptual drawing; my drawing is not great, but I’m often inspired to make a figure from the simple watercolour drawings that I have made pre-drawing class, because those drawings have, for me, a simplicity that does not complicate the translation into 3D.
From the conceptual drawing I’ll made a quick maquette, maybe about 8 inches tall, as this is the easiest size for me to work with. Any smaller, and the details become time consuming to achieve, and any larger, and I’ll need to concern myself with the weight of the top of the piece overwhelming the piece and toppling it over, with only a basic wire armature. If time becomes tight (which it really shouldn’t, I have two weeks…), then I may skip right from the drawing to the larger armature and just go for it. To be decided…
Chapbook of Abstract Collage
I liked making the dummy chapbook, especially making the binding. I’d also enjoy the process of figuring out what to put on the pages, what kind of cover to use, and what to name it. I have all the materials I need to make this chapbook, and I think it is something that, in the making, I’d have many opportunities to think of interesting things. I actually enjoy the process of setting up these “challenges”, running into problems, and then having to figure out how to solve those problems. This iteration would present as many if not more challenges as the sculpture of Euterpe; at the same time, while I have deliberately been learning how to make armatures and sculptures (clay) for the past five months, I have not spent any time at all making a chapbook. I love the look of the sewn binding. I’m sure that if I delved deeper into the making of small books, I’d delve even deeper more deeply deep into them.
Diary with Covers Padded with Poems (mine) Written on Tissue Paper
As I wrote this heading, I thought that this was my favourite idea, but all three of these are my favourite ideas, so I guess it doesn’t really matter which one I do, except that as I write this NOW, I really want to do the sculpture of Euterpe. But no, in this section, I need to write about the Diary, and in a way, I wonder if this idea, with the padded covers, is very much different from the chapbook idea; both involve making books, although the chapbook content would be non-textual collage and the diary would include textual content. The diary really draws on the sense of magic and wonder I experienced as a child, and is more connected to Anne-the-emotive; the chapbook, as I conceptualize it at this point, is more connected to Anne-the-thinker. And Euterpe? I think the Euterpe idea is a combination of the emotive and the thinker; that engaging my hands and heart and mind to construct an armature, a shape, an actual person…well, that is where it ALL happens for me.
Results of Consultation with Joyce Lindemulder – November 25, 2021
I spoke at length with Joyce (thanks, Joyce, for your generosity of spirit and time) about my choice. I spoke about the fact that I could see the many places where the process of making the sculpture of Euterpe could result in a small or large catastrophe, and that I had forgone the making of the “easier” two ideas in favour of this more complex and challenging piece that would push me further in my practice of sculpture-making: a larger piece (35 inches, twice as large as my largest piece so far, which is 18 inches); that would sit on the floor instead of on a shelf; using predominantly paper (although we did not actually talk about that); preparing a base that will be worthy of a good piece (thus far I have not had confidence in my sculptural work, and have merely randomly selected pieces of unfinished wood to make bases, and then when I am surprised that I actually like the piece that I made, regret that it is not on a better base). Joyce suggested that it can be a good practice to select an idea that makes me uneasy, something that I am not keen to do, that I am avoiding, as there can be a new learning from that selection. I mentioned that having selected this larger piece of sculpture had elements of fear in it for me: for instance, having to use the Dremel to sand the edges of the base because I was afraid that I would break the Dremel…or that it would not work. (However, I used the Dremel last evening, and as I uncovered the layers of dust and dirt from the piece of wood I had chosen for the base, I could see how beautiful are the patterns of the wood and see that the beauty of the wood will influence and interact with the decisions I make as I create Euterpe.