Sparky the studio cat.

Of course we always hear it repeated that for an artist it's the process that matters, not the end result. I'm reminded again of how true that is. I finally had my five pieces from the Mourning series fired. One piece exploded in the kiln. Gail thought I would be devastated but I was completely sanguine about it. It was the piece I liked the least and so it was no great loss. But mostly, it was done already and I had moved on.

I've moved into the English Potter studio in Lakefield and started work already. I rent three days a week (which includes a pottery class) and have my own space for storage. I share the workspace with Gail. We work well together sometimes bantering, sometimes commenting or questioning and often we're silent. The pottery class is to learn pottery techniques that I can carry over into sculpture. Gail is trying to teach me to throw a pot, which I find really difficult. I will keep on trying. It requires a sense of balanced pressure that keeps eluding me. I'm weaker on the right side and still don't know how to compensate for that at the wheel.

Gail is warm and funny and we share most values. Her aesthetic is light, whimsical and beautiful. Mine is heavier, expressionist and sculptural. I don't believe in waste and like to recycle failed pots into comic sculptures. I'm saving my failures to see how I can reinvent them later. Now Gail is experimenting with her failures too. Lost and found art we call it. We can learn a lot from each other.

I've been tidying up the fired pieces readying them for finishing and I started on a new piece yesterday. It has always been my way to work on more than one piece at a time. That way I don't have to face the fear of starting something new.

How do I feel? Like sleeping beauty, only the prince doesn't wake me - the muse does.
I head up to Lakefield with a happy heart, full of anticipation, settle in at my bench and get lost in the work. Not since I shared a studio with Julie in the 1960s, have I felt this way. It's an incredible gift to find my hands and my spirit again at age sixty-nine. Gail has no idea what a catalyst she has been in this process.

Sparky,the cat mentioned in the heading, is Gail's very obese Tortoise-shell cat. I mean OBESE. She is very sweet and loves company, but exerts no energy whatsoever. She likes to look out the window and sit on the door sill. She talks to the birds but they know she is powerless to catch them. Gail has her on a diet which seems to be pointless. Sparky is loving and very present like warmth in a room. So I include her in my cat diary because she marks a new stage in my life.