along the pathhttp://wildiris.postach.io/feed.xml2021-12-22T11:58:30.528000ZWerkzeugUnderwaterhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/underwater2021-12-22T11:58:30.528000Z2021-12-22T11:54:15ZIris Cushman<div>I love being playful with ideas of inside/outside or above/below, contrasting and overlapping these opposing concepts. I draw or take photographs of images through the surface of water, for example, embracing what plays subtle tricks on my eye. I love incorporating the reflections on the surface of the water, too. What in this picture is really above the surface? What is below? Is the surface rigid or flexible? Is there any water at all? Are we land creatures the metaphorical fish swimming without understanding the water (air) around us? Maybe we are the ones underwater and fish swim in the sky. </div>
Barrierhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/barrier2021-12-22T11:53:48.287000Z2021-12-22T11:40:15ZIris Cushman<div>Sometimes I'm a bit of a hoarder. I'm afraid of losing memories and I hold on to objects to hold on to those memories. I watched a documentary that showed at one point an African artist’s studio. There was an area where he kept larger supplies and because of the warm climate the top of the walls were open (below the roof’s overhang). My initial (over)reaction to this airy storage area was fear that a strong wind could carry off his supplies! I’m the next moment, I reacted with a sense of expansion and freedom. It was a metaphorical reminder to let down the artificial barrier I reinforce between myself and others. Between "what is mine" and what is "not mine." It’s really just an idea, and the time and energy I spend to maintain it is only buying time to hold onto the illusion that I have control. Maybe I can maintain this illusion throughout the duration of my lifetime, but do I want to? What value does that bring me? It feels like a clutter in the brain.</div>
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<div>Sometimes the line between abundance and clutter can be elusive, when it’s about physical things. I think back to the airy studio and my sense of freedom. What can I let the wind blow away?</div>
Vegetarianhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/vegetarian2021-12-22T11:10:33.494000Z2021-12-22T11:08:06ZIris Cushman<div>The thing is, I have and have always had a problem with our mainstream’s cultural entitlement to and spiritual disconnect from the creatures they eat. </div>
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<div>When I was old enough to understand that what I was eating used to be a living creature, I became sad in what felt like a very normal reaction. Why wouldn't someone be sad who connects deeply with other creatures and then learns that they are eating some of these creatures? The responses I received — many of which ranged from oh it's not a big deal two what's wrong with you? — resulted in a sense of deep unease. Nourishment and caring about other creatures became two distinct and separate ideas for me. Our society’s wanton and greedy killing ways feel present to me when I’m sitting at the table and I can’t just set that aside like a dirty napkin. </div>
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<div>I’ve been watching documentaries recently featuring Indigenous folks and others who are strongly, spiritually connected to their culture, where food animals are not over-consumed, and where deep respect for other beings is present. I feel a sense of healing watching these folks interact, physically and spiritually, with their animal and plant foods. If our society moved away from factory farming and other heartless, industrialized, cruel practices and reconnected with the "humanity" of food animals, I would likely change my eating style. I’m still deeply sensitive and feel profound connection to other creatures, but I also love the Buddhist practice of accepting whatever is given, especially at mealtime. In a kinder, more caring society I would probably become an occasional meat eater, or if this term exists, omnivore "lite."</div>
Createhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/create2021-12-10T05:04:31.501000Z2021-12-10T05:00:58ZIris Cushman<div>I'm making a new ceramic piece. It's not what I planned because once I started working my plan felt heavy and boring. Instead I felt moved to create something else. I'm not sure that it's the "safest" method to use for the firing technique I want, but I also don't really care. Why? Because I learn through experience, not by thinking rationally. If I use my rational mind I am cutting myself off from the full richness of the creative conversation. There are ideas I'm not quite aware that I'm incorporating, both in the design and in my execution. Those ides are quiet, lurking in my body or my intuition. So. Maybe my seams will crack. Maybe my underglaze is not a good choice. But I'm doing exactly the right thing for right now and it is FUN! </div>
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<div>I’m curious to see what comes next. </div>
Lying on the floorhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/lying-on-the-floor2021-12-10T04:48:32.850000Z2021-12-10T04:38:11ZIris Cushman<div>I had my first experience tweaking my back today. At 40 years old, this must be a rite of passage. </div>
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<div>I'm lying on the floor with my right arm draped exaggeratedly across my chest in an attempt to discourage future spasms, watching clouds drifting by through the large bow window. I'm grateful for a mostly easeful existence with my physical body. It isn’t always so easeful in my mental space. Sometimes my body provides wise guidance. This moment feels like that. Body says: this is an invitation to choose to live with less difficulty inside my head. To choose ease whenever available. The difficulty in life doesn't have to be a two-way street. </div>
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<div>Difficulty can come at me; I can't stop that. Since I was a child, trying to navigate the world through family crisis and through broader injustice, I met difficulty by stepping into a two-way conversation with it. I reacted and shifted my life to respond. How very normal of me! But now that I am 40, maybe I'm settled enough in my spirit that there can be opportunity for allowing crisis and larger injustice to be as it is, without fixing it. From the ease, the strength, the wisdom inside me, I can take action and make choices that create positive actions and ripples, based in stories of love and connection. Having the intellectual understanding of what's going on to know what might need to be undone. But starting the movement from within, to disrupt the hate, the harm, the negativity, the trauma that catches me like a sticky trap.</div>
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<div>Lying on the ground, my attention held in the swaying leafless trees, I think this is what my body is saying. Your superpower is love, silliness, connection. Live from that. Give back to the world from that. The trees are always giving, growing, being fully connected. So too can I. </div>
Earthhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/earth2021-12-10T03:27:06.010000Z2021-12-10T02:33:28ZIris Cushman<div>I identify with dirt, the earth, the ground that roots stretch through. I identify with the dark, quiet everywhereness. I extend outward, nowhere in particular, already everywhere, soothed in darkness. Listening, sensing. Mingling with rocks and burrowing creatures. Being with everything.</div>
Improvisationhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/improvisation2017-06-14T03:47:18.050000Z2017-06-14T03:39:37ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">This rabbit feels the sun and the wind and the rain. She watches plants and flowers growing, bending, stretching, fading, and falling. She's stirred by the cycles of seasons and by life and death and renewal. And she expresses everything she feels by moving and stretching, curving and arching, jumping and being still. What some call dancing.</span></div>
<div><br clear="none"/><img src="https://cdn-images.postach.io/f08b1b3b-bda3-4632-a691-186756e1e88b/3f2d2d61-3d02-4408-9d9a-f1b6af54e2a4/f1a2ee61-8e43-408c-a2d9-663ed996dc52.jpg" /></div>
Refreshinghttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/refreshing2021-12-10T03:27:07.950000Z2017-06-02T01:25:54ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">Finally home in the last hour of sunlight. I procrastinated until the grass was almost 3 feet high before rolling my eyes and dragging the mower to the backyard. Now there are thick, itchy clumps of grass cuttings to gather up. With only gloves and a recycling bin as my tools, I'm contemplating the ingenious utility of of a rake. Beneath the cuttings I find the lawn matted and yellowed, but I see buoyancy in the grass blades as the weight lifts away and I feel a subtle release in my own body. </span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">Thunder warns too late of the impeding downpour. I work quickly, intending to finish up and corral the dog indoors but I get soaked immediately. How warm the rain is! How delightful the effect of the downpour, creating the soothing feeling of swimming in my T-shirt in this immense, effervescent pool of a backyard. Five short minutes of bliss and another ten of an increasingly cumbersome, clinging shirt, and I've earned the pizza and beer waiting inside.</span></div>
Grateful hearthttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/harmony2017-06-02T01:48:44.887000Z2017-05-29T20:36:23ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">Today has been one long promise of a walk, "later." A surprisingly calm promise with full intention to follow through, lacking the normal guilt that lurks around if we miss a morning walk. Maybe it's the on-again-off-again rain that prolongs my equilibrium even as it disrupts opportunities for a walk.</span><br clear="none"/><br clear="none"/><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">After dinner and a particularly dreary show about current political events I turn to Vlad: "It's time." Three blocks later we're consumed in a steady drizzle. Whenever we pause under a thick canopy I pull out my iPad and tap out heavy thoughts until the screen is covered in rain drops and I tuck the device up under my fleece to walk again. Thoughts pour out as we walk in the same way the rain pours from above and eventually the thoughts are expressed and there are no more. Still rain, though. We're mostly soaked. It's a nourishing experience and over the two, three miles I sense Vlad's contentment rising like mercury in a thermometer. What a gift it is to be included in his experience!</span><br clear="none"/><br clear="none"/><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">Back at home I pause before mobilizing for a shower; I give thanks to rain, to nature, to things just as they are, and to my willingness to pay attention to it all. I take out incense spontaneously, place it on a cushion, and do three prostrations in gratitude.</span><br clear="none"/><br clear="none"/><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">The incense fills the empty room and Vlad makes his way to the spot I left, in the middle of the floor where he is active and playful but never relaxed. Tonight, he makes his own prostration and drifts to sleep in the tender, trusting manner of a child, with his head propped comfortably on the cushion. Perhaps he is giving thanks of his own.</span></div>
Where to go from herehttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/in-love2017-10-24T22:49:45.804000Z2017-01-30T03:51:38ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'm opening the refrigerator after a long day, about to start cooking dinner, and a pure feeling sneaks up suddenly in my heart: <em>"Ahh... I just wish for calm."</em> And a startling connection to this man, to his own single-minded pursuit of calm. All this while experiencing a deep respect for his human experience and an exquisite expansiveness into love. It's as if I'm <em>hearing</em> him mention the idea for the first time, and responding from a deep wordless place <span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">within me.</span><br clear="none"/></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">This experience comes up again and again as I mentally connect with various aspects of his perspective. It's rather romantic. I feel like I'm walking around in his shoes, exercising courage and exhilaration and exploring humility. I also feel the distance between us and I'm not sure if I can face what it means.</span><br clear="none"/></span></div>
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<div><img src="https://cdn-images.postach.io/f08b1b3b-bda3-4632-a691-186756e1e88b/942735d5-249f-464b-941f-b38898052b32/874c5ca9-2132-489c-aeed-df0f2f226dcd.jpg" /><br clear="none"/></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-family: georgia,palatino,serif;">Buying time, just living in the world of art-making; and celebrating love and experiences of the past. Trying to make something there that isn't.</span><br clear="none"/></span></div>
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The beginninghttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/the-beginning2017-02-08T22:48:53.185000Z2017-01-01T13:04:00ZIris Cushman<div>
<font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>What do you do when you're ready for an adventure to end, and yet there's nowhere to go "back" to? When do you finally realize that as things are constantly changing they have eventually morphed into something where there is no "going back"? I suppose there is <i>never</i> a going back in that sense, since moment by moment there is only progression forward. At year's end I find<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> myself feeling distressed and stubbornly facing backward. Perhaps the momentous worldwide celebration of 2017 is an opportunity to surrender into the flow of change and be swept downstream. Where will I end up?</font>
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Clicking forwardhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/clicking-forward2017-06-14T03:39:38.248000Z2016-11-01T00:03:00ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: #000000; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span>The work I leave behind has a lot of nice ideas but I was never fully satisfied with the surfaces I produced.</span> </span>As for the old website, it took only a gleeful flurry of clicks to delete <em>everything</em>. How deliciously simple.<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span><br clear="none"/></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Some of what I liked especially well: </span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My new website is live! <a shape="rect" href="http://www.wildirisclay.com">Wildirisclay.com</a></span><br clear="none"/></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'm very excited about the work I'm creating now, <span style="border-collapse: separate; color: #000000; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-size: medium;">continuing my endless<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span> exploration of imagery in two and three dimensions.</span> I'm in love with the process, as slow as it is, so I have more ideas than I have time to execute. That means I have a lot more work to do! </span></div>
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Doubthttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/doubt2017-02-08T22:48:53.572000Z2016-09-01T03:47:20ZIris Cushman<div><div style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: #000000; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-size: medium;"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Monday.</span></span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In my head. Sorting, planning, brainstorming, grabbing at sensible choices and loosening my grip in an exhausting cycle. I'm unfocused and unproductive, off schedule from a visit with family. I sense that getting art accomplished will set everything else into place. Art work and life have begun to intertwine in my head. This is a good thing, but disorienting. Creativity flows in the studio and</span> <span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I flow along with it, open and awake to whatever is happening. Outside the studio it seems bewildering to</span> <span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><em>allow</em> at all times.</span><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> I struggle to orient myself, <span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">breathless and a little dizzy, fighting </span>against the flow of allowing. Breathless with exhilaration or because there doesn't seem to be solid ground under my feet? I try to</span> <span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><em>trust</em></span><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">, and to keep returning to the cool, boundless patience I feel somewhere inside me.</span></span></span></div><br clear="none"/></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br clear="none"/></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">Tuesday.</span></div>
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<div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br clear="none"/></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">It's a cloudy day and my mind is in shadows. Grandma listens patiently as I describe a bleak landscape of doubt that stretches into every corner of my life. I'm surprised she doesn't get worked up with worry, and this, already, is a comfort. A bit later, washing dishes, it comes to me that I'm only dying to fire some ceramics. Life isn't crumbling around me, I'm just itching for progress, some validating step forward. My new ceramics style brings an energy to each piece and once I've applied glaze, the piece seems to exude a vivid excitement. It's as if each piece is a special child and I'm surrounded by too many children chattering along as I try to work.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br clear="none"/></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">***</span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">Wednesday.</span></div>
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<div><span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I wake up late and the water is churning. Blue choppy waves in the lake turn to brown near the shore, large jumbles of debris on the surface like clothes strewn on the floor of a messy room. I drive away with the rest of my glazed pieces to be fired and I return feeling organized and clear. </span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">Vlad and I finally walk down when it's already very dark and we come across a large carp in the middle of the sand. The waves are more violent than I've ever seen them. I feel far away and safe from the tremendous roar but suddenly the water flows <span style="border-collapse: separate; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">nearly </span></span>to my feet. The carp doesn't seem so far from the water anymore and I understand how it was fluently tsunami'ed to where we stand. I feel suddenly like an intruder in this wild, watery argument, replete with thrown items and an uncontrolled outpouring of passion. </span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">I'm humbled, as if the lake is a great and vulnerable artist revealing its changing moods. What a lovely opportunity to have a shared sort of experience. I don't mean to personify the lake; actually, it's the other way around. The spinning in my mind and all the worry and doubt I experience are like the moody displays of the lake, cacophonous and messy. I find a wonderful ease in accepting the lake as it unfolds each day. Perhaps I can try to turn that view inward as well.</span></div>
Unexpected opportunitieshttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/unexpected-opportunities2017-02-08T22:48:53.793000Z2016-07-13T20:29:30ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>During my recent time in Bloomington, Indiana, I had an opportunity to choreograph a dance for Windfall Dancers. Abstractly speaking, it seemed fun-- why not, as long as it doesn't conflict with my busy schedule? As June approached, the idea became something real, an opportunity for personal and artistic growth; a welcome and necessary challenge that I absolutely wanted to accept! It would fit so smoothly into this year of <span style="border-collapse: separate; color: #000000; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-size: medium;">new ideas and embracing change. </span></em></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The plan: choreograph something I haven't done before. Hanging out with modern dancers, it's the perfect opportunity to push ballet aside and try my hand at creating something else, with the goal of expressing nature through movement.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Inspiration: branches. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The music arrives first, from among a selection my duet partner suggests and I say, "this one's fine." I realize how much looser I feel with the music as a tool instead of something I connect with emotionally. It's like dissolving the ingrained influen</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">ce</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> of culture, family, or loved ones, simply moving forward with an open mind. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Inspiration: branches and vines. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Choreography builds slowly. After the first rehearsal I realize I'm letting ballet movement creep in to fill space. Undo, undo. Recut the music. It's an effort not to turn to the familiar and I feel tension creep into my body as if I can force progress<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span> to happen. Time to embrace ease; just like when I'm drawing on </span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">pottery, the ideas come when I relax.</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Inspiration: tree-climbing vines. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">During the week of the show my <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>"inspiration blurb" is due for the program and my vision becomes clearer. I choreograph the ending. We run through a few times and I'm still figuring things out each time but it feels exciting to have something coherent. This finished piece has become one<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span> step forward along the path. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">"Intertwined"</span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Inspiration: The slow, persistent movement of vines; curving around plants, climbing up trees, extending through air seeking new connections.</span></div>
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Reminiscencehttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/reminiscence2017-02-08T22:48:54.588000Z2016-05-30T00:42:06ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>Aix en Provence, France, a few years ago: </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">When I see this mischievous face and coyly flopping paws, I think he might be a distant relative of my silly dog, Vladimir. I'm completely enchanted by the playfulness of these lions! They are eight in total, perched on two fountains, each displaying his personality through the posture of his body and his facial expression. Walking around one of the fountains, I discover a view where <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>all three visible lions have their faces turned away, apparently engaged in something more interesting than posing for tourists. There's something so refreshing and vivid about these creatures. What draws them to me is also what<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span> I'm trying to capture when I draw</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia;">on my ceramic forms.</span><br clear="none"/></div>
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Early afternoon mysteryhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/early-afternoon-mystery2016-05-30T01:58:41.801000Z2016-05-02T03:28:52ZIris Cushman<div><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>Below the shouting of joyful birds, I lean my ear toward the grass, surprised. The sound is delicate but distinct, of Rice Crispies giggling and cackling in milk. I stay for several minutes, trying to conjure the scene in my mind's eye: <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>the sun pressure-cooking morning dew until it bursts with a snap.</font><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/></div>
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Violinhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/violins2016-06-06T03:07:38.533000Z2016-03-25T04:23:27ZIris Cushman<div><font face="Georgia">I remember a desire to build my own violin when I was a small child. It was while I was <i>drawing</i> the scroll on a block of wood and feeling a tickle of recognition that my imagination might not be enough to compensate for lack of actual ability that I suddenly and deeply understood the futility of creating a violin with scrap blocks of wood and a jigsaw. I threw the wood back in the bin.</font></div>
<div><font face="Georgia">Fast-forward to the present day and I'm standing at a workbench where a new acquaintance has been building his own violins through a course at IU. The process is much more complex and sophisticated than 9-year-old-me was prepared to take on, but it feels familiar and satisfying<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia">Violin deconstructed. Mid-repair. Vulnerable, exposed, and serene with graceful curving edges. I love seeing the normally shiny ensemble reduced to simple parts.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia">I run my hands along this raw form and catch my fingers on the rough surface. I like the crudeness, the visceral reminder of its primitive beginnings as the simple blocks of wood that bested me <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>many years ago.</font><br/></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia">Naked, pale<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> as bone.<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/></font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>It's the marks on the finished instruments that <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>I really value, the violin maker's process marks which recall the labor and the movement of the hands. The sound the instrument produces is lovely but I'm also captivated by the physical violin, reflecting the human body's own complex and wonderful imperfection.</font></div>
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As a blinking statuehttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/as-a-blinking-statue2017-06-02T01:47:31.292000Z2016-02-19T03:50:02ZIris Cushman<div><img src="https://cdn-images.postach.io/f08b1b3b-bda3-4632-a691-186756e1e88b/10c34204-01a0-4acd-bce3-92e7a71bae64/7e1eca00-7fd2-4d21-8f21-6ebfc1a02181.jpg" /><br clear="none"/></div>
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<div>People watching/ me watching/ bird watching. A stilled vision by the river flowing, flowing, flowing sound into my ears. <br clear="none"/></div>
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<div>Continuing to the next set of birds or returning to the last set of birds or staying, still. Each time as a blinking statue, feeling a deep connection to the scene and yet each heron the same as the previous and the next. Each egret the same as the previous and the next.</div>
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<div>Stretching ahead, stretching behind, wherever I am I am here: gently blowing feathers and time passing; shallow rushing water.</div></div><div><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span><br clear="none"/></div>
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<div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span><div>Big birds-- herons-- the Great Blue in the shallow blue. Egrets with yellow beaks and black feet-- the smaller ones have black beaks and yellow feet, galoshes, they're like * splosh, splosh, splosh * confidently through the fiercely-flowing puddle. <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>These are my favorite.</div>
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be your happinesshttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/be-your-happiness2016-03-31T06:01:30.328000Z2016-01-28T16:02:25ZIris Cushman<div><font face="Georgia">A very many years ago, basking in the flattery of creating a profile on Facebook, responding to all prompts about ME and MY life and MY friends and MY opinions, I entered as my religion: "Tree. Pretty tree." Later, I realized it really wasn't a bad answer. It's a simple, vague reference to a deep and clear inner expanse of peacefulness that I can't describe.<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/></font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia">Every once in a while I like to sprinkle a little nonsense between the incredible, mysterious, life-altering teachings that help me along my path. My dad once had a joke book about Zen Buddhism and my favorite punch line had something to do with an ice cream koan. <i>(Groannn.)</i> Sometimes I just want to scoop ice cream koans and enjoy something a little goofy, a little awkward, enough to jolt me out of my rational mindset for a sec and create space for breath and life and peace and calm.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>Thanks, I couldn't have said it better.</font></div>
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Sketchyhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/sketchy2017-06-14T03:40:43.933000Z2016-01-05T22:28:53ZIris Cushman<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">As an adult I've always held a curiously hostile attitude toward my sketchbooks. It takes an overwhelming compulsion to draw in order to push past my utter reluctance to do so-- and I actually really like drawing! Recently I've been cultivating a healthy attitude toward my sketchbook. (I got a final push from <a shape="rect" href="http://whitneys-pottery.blogspot.com/2014/11/make-it-mighty-ugly.html">one of my fave blogs.</a>)<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">This is what works for me:</span></div>
<div><ul><li><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Draw something every day!<br clear="none"/></span></li><li><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Start by grabbing 3-4 colors without looking.<br clear="none"/></span></li><li><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Use imagination only-- no copying in real life.<br clear="none"/></span></li><li><span style="font-family: Georgia;">No judgment before, during, or after. </span></li></ul></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I find myself doodling effortlessly, armed with colors I wouldn't ordinarily choose, pursuing ideas while they're still forming, unafraid of being silly. Obstacles are immediately absorbed into the process. A sudden inspiration to add Vlad runs headlong into the physical constraints of paper size, and it's time to expand. Besides, the sleepy puppy's paws flopped off the page. So... sew three pages together and voila! After a lot of effort I realize things are crooked; I mentally <span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>amend the adjective to 'tilted' and move on.</span></div>
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<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>I really love the no-judgment aspect. The satisfaction I feel from simply <em>finishing</em> the piece is surprisingly more fulfilling than the satisfaction of making something <em>good. </em></span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">It's revelatory: there's no mistaking the sudden hiccup that jerks my mind from the groove of <em>ah yes, another fun and colorful doodle</em> smack dab into <em>oh no, this is going in the wrong direction, stop stop stop you're making a mistake, it's terrible.</em> I smile to myself, taking pleasure in the gentle rebuttal: <em>No judgment.</em> And then I keep going. There's a hiccup nearly every time. How have I ever gotten any art done before now? How have I survived my own efforts to block my creative spring? (A mental click: it's no coincidence that I'm feeling stilted and stagnant in my ceramic work these days.) I feel relief as I witness, so clearly, this struggle within my mind. </span></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">What a breath of fresh air, noticing the struggle come.... and go..<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point: true;"></span>. </span></div>
Tis the seasonhttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/tis-the-season2016-03-31T06:06:14.738000Z2015-12-23T15:37:02ZIris Cushman
<i><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>It's the most, wonderful tiiime, of the yeeear... </font></i>
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<div><font face="Georgia">I love <i>singing</i> it, not <i>saying</i> it! Yes, I know, many (most) people don't welcome my enthusiasm so I try to direct my Christmas caroling to the dog. He may join in himself (he has a lovely voice) but he invariably accepts my songs, even without an ear scratch. Tis the season of unconditional love. </font></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><i>Christmas time is heeere.... la la la, lah laaah....</i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia;"> I serenade my sleepy pup.</span></div>
<div><font face="Georgia">Since these songs flutter into<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> my consciousness but once a year, I don't even remember most of the lyrics. I come up with my own alternatives: <i>It's the most wonderful time of the year! When your puppy is fluffy and joyfully bounds, you can give him an egg..... and he'll be, really flu-ffy.... the year 'round!</i> (Are you singing along?)</font></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Last year my aunt and I sang through a book of Christmas songs with piano accompaniment by my grandma. Joyous voices, laughter, and merriment, that's the best part for me. I'm always the last person to throw in the towel (or carol book). One more, anyone? Tis the season of magical, musical family moments.</span></div>
<div><font face="Georgia">This year I'm 1000 miles from my husband and sharing a home where other holidays are celebrated and I find myself with low energy. Not resentment, self-pity, or disappointment, but<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> the timing is off. Christmas is the caffeine that propels me through the end of the year. Normally, I'm overly sentimental and cuddly, gearing up for the holiday, wrapping a couple of nice presents and numerous silly gifts like gum and coffee because I delight in the innocent glee on my husband's face as he opens each item. In contrast, these days are tremendously ordinary,<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> without the extra sparkle of anticipation. I'm sleepy, quiet, vaguely wondering if I've forgotten something. Tis the season of being thankful even when you can't have what you really want.</font></div>
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An eye for flowershttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/an-eye-for-flowers2016-03-31T05:58:53.605000Z2015-12-16T01:06:32ZIris Cushman<div><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>A month ago it's a flower bud that catches my eye-<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>-<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> nearly hidden in its sheath, delicately veined pink on pink, only two blocks from my front door. My visits to this flower bud become a daily meditation in footsteps and joy and slow progress.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/><i>Astonishingly</i> slow. The bud nods and dips and stretches long. A second bud and soon three, five, six - a gluttony of excess to please me as I arrive day after day without any reward of flower. My feet stammer in confusion, impatient to turn from here and walk quickly toward tomorrow's update; and simultaneously without any desire to break this moment of intense contentment.</font></div>
<div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">When I do walk away it's with joy in my heart and the curiosity of tomorrow bubbling in my fingers and the corners of my mouth.</span></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia">Finally there begins a gradual, gentle opening of petals. Such restraint! I, on the other hand, probe daily, is this it? Flower, have you yawned and stretched into the full expression of your pose? The flower is partially closed and gazes demurely, parallel to the earth. There is something captivating about that<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/> pose, part lily, part orchid. I stand by the flower, my daily expectations hanging uselessly beside me, amazed that I continue to bring them and amazed that a solitary flower can so deeply challenge me.</font></div>
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<div><font face="Georgia">It's tomorrow again and that flower-seeking smile pushes forth as I hurry the last 50 feet. </font></div>
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Coming not-homehttps://wildiris.postach.io/post/coming-not-home2016-03-31T05:54:49.091000Z2015-12-10T15:14:20ZIris Cushman
<div><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/><font face="Georgia"><span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>Bleak, sunless morning. Nothing about the gray feels like morning but I've been watching the night sky lighten since 4:30. My body is similarly ambiguous, physically here but loyally minding Kyoto time. I've flown "back" -- but not back home, as my travels tend to conclude. That difference weighs on me today, as jetlag muddles what should be a sense of adventure. I look outside and imagine the unpleasant texture of the sky as a taut, sticky sheet of rice paper. If I could prick holes in it, tongues of sunlight would surely lick through and dissolve the paper with enthusiastic saliva.<br clear="none"/>
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I am the opposite of enthusiastic. By some miracle sunshine brightens the windows in the early afternoon. At 3:25 we finally emerge outside, my fingers laced through mom's, our elbows bent into Ls as we squeeze our arms together for warmth and stability, her post-surgery wooziness and my exhaustion tottering us carefully and successfully around the block.<br clear="none"/>
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Later, I pick my dog Vladimir up from puppy camp and he's very happy to see me though h<span style="-evernote-last-insertion-point:true;"/>e's in no rush to leave. He must know we're going somewhere familiar and comforting and also not-home. An accidental nap and a second wind later, it's 1 am and I listen to the gentle sounds of his breathing. He fell asleep around midnight. I saw in his body language, like mine, hesitation to trade the wariness of limbo for the trusting cushion of slumber.</font>
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