Chrysalides

Well. Last night was the opening of my show, “Chrysalides” at the Buckland-Merrifield Gallery. This is my excuse for falling off the blogging wagon recently–after being sick much of April, I really had to scramble to catch up, and the past several weeks have had me working in the studio early mornings, all day, and well into the late nights. Yesterday, I delivered the last three pieces, and met up with several beloved friends who drove long distances to support me, and I’m so moved by the knowledge that there are so many loving people in my life. Thank you so much beautiful friends. Michelle, Lily, Eli, Alisha, Lisa, Nat, Mara, Katie, Allyson, Marie-Helene, David, Jaye, thank you so much for your support!

I wish I had taken some photos during the opening, but I was too overwhelmed by…everything. So the pictures, above, were taken by friends–it’s nice to have some documentation of the event.

Lee also showed up to the opening with all four kids, who all looked slightly clean. Horus only initiated a chase once, near the end. I’m so grateful to Lee for helping me fire the kilns, for carrying huge pots here and there, for tolerating my, ahem, artistic temperament, for mostly keeping things kind of sort of together during my weeks in the studio, and for always being so encouraging and supportive of my endeavours. And thanks to my beautiful kids for kind of sort of tolerating my absences. I’m looking forward to cleaning the house next.

Special thank-you to Maja for saving my life by letting me use your kiln, and for being so supportive of my work, from way back. I’m truly grateful.

I also have to thank ArtsNB for providing me with generous funding towards this project. And of course, an immense thank-you to Shannon Merrifield, the co-owner of the Buckland-Merrifield Gallery, and Peter Buckland too, for their enthusiastic backing, flexibility, and the warm welcome they have given me and my work.

If you’re close to the Saint John, New Brunswick region, please stop in at BMG and check out the show!

I also finally have some small pieces available through my website, here at www.yolandenorrisclark.com.

Finally, I wrote the following little vignette while I was pulling the show together, that discusses a little bit of my process and inspiration.

Chrysalides

When I was a little girl, I was fascinated by caterpillars, butterflies and moths. I would capture them in jars and create elaborate homes for them with branches and leaves in the fish tank we had in the back yard. Usually, they would tire of their glassy prison, and in the evenings after I had been called in for dinner, they would simply trudge up the wall, and over the edge, to freedom. Once though, I awoke one glorious summer morning to find not a caterpillar, but a shiny cocoon, adhered to the underside of one of the branches. I watched it avidly over the proceeding days, and I was entranced to learn that inside the chrysalis was a soupy liminal liquid—unrecognizable as either caterpillar or butterfly—that held cells called “imaginal discs” containing the precise blueprint for the exquisite, ethereal and sometimes psychedelically chromatic flying creatures that would emerge. Sadly I missed the final metamorphosis, discovering only the empty proteinaceous husk. There were so many butterflies then, in the 80s, in our urban garden. Which one was mine?

In grade eight, I was assigned along with the rest of my class, to read the novel “Chrysalids” by John Wyndham. Wyndham’s dystopian tale of totalitarianism brought up so many questions that I still wrestle with today, and interrogate in a rather oblique way through art-making. These are questions about control, culture, tolerance, creation, environmental destruction and the impact that humans have on the world. Although I took my first clay class when I was three, it was in grade eight that I also started to hang out in my high school clay studio whenever possible, finding a resonance and sense of connection working with this ancient almost chthonian substance.

Over the course of my 9-year career as a professional potter, I have struggled, like every artist, to find my voice through my chosen media. When I started to combine the meditative, labour-intensive technique of coiling and throwing large forms, with instinctive, abstract, colourful swathes of surface decoration, it felt, somehow, like a sudden cracking open after lying dormant. My pieces undergo a metamorphosis by fire, turning from mud to indelible glass in the kiln, and I too, felt transformed as an artist; as though the years of plodding and frustration were part of a necessary dissolution which nonetheless concealed my imaginal discs; the potential for making something beautiful.

The process of creating my porcelain and stoneware forms is slow, primal, and insect-like. Each stage is layered with a snake of clay, glued with slip, squeezed and spun with my fingers, and then repeated. While I make, I imagine that I am building a sort of cocoon—mindful of the form before the form exists; ensuring the appropriate thickness; careful to maintain the integrity of the work, while pushing the boundaries of what the material will sustain; monitoring the level of dryness that will allow the structure to survive. I prefer to smooth the exterior, while retaining the interior seams and scoring patterns, and irregularities as evidence of the imperfections of what is a loose yet methodical, organic and ultimately very human practice. The glazing is undertaken with total abandon.

My objective is to make sculptural objects that are immediately bombastic, energized and joyful, exploring the juxtaposition between the stillness of fired clay and a sense of motion, vivacity and spontaneity created by the colourful abstraction of glaze and metal leaf. I hope my vessels suggest both movement and placidity; butterfly and chrysalis.

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Chrysalides

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