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Gardening and Torch Firing
Both of my grandmothers kept gardens. One in town, with red raspberries and greens, and the other in the country with all the vegetables, including sweet corn planted in stages so we'd have it for weeks. My mother continued the tradition with beans, tomatoes, onions and lettuce. I'm not a great gardener, but I like to grow things. Flowers are the easiest for me; vegetables never seem ready to harvest until they bolt before I'm expecting them to. Arugula that was perfect for my salad one day has become a wand of flowers the next. So I concentrate on flowers; mostly perennials, with a few zinnia seeds thrown into corners that need color. My own vegetable gardens have been small, with okra the best crop I can claim and asparagus the most disappointing. I have four small raised gardens now; one for squash, the second for tomatoes, the third for greens --yes, I still plant arugula seeds!-- and the fourth has tarragon, thyme and sage. Annual herbs go there as well, although the sage doesn't play well with its garden mates and overgrows its area.
Incorporating my gardening wishes with my artist wishes seems to be a natural progression. I've been doing enamels for about twenty years but the torch fired variety is the most exciting. It's much more fun than waiting for the kiln to get up to temperature, and then waiting again the two-three minutes that makes the powdered glass melt unto metal. Torch firing is instant: the first time I mixed pigments (with thin oil) and painted them on a piece of copper was spectacular. When I put the flame to it, the oil caught fire (of course! why I was surprised, I don't know.) and when the fire went out within seconds, the piece was totally black. Oh well, another experiment into the Failed Experiments box, I thought. Then the piece cooled, and suddenly, the colors appeared, just as I had imagined them! I've torch firing ever since. Disclaimer: artist Jamie Bennet and others do painted enamels much better than I do, but I think I have more fun.
Flowers and plants surprise with shapes and colors, sometimes lasting for weeks, sometimes just a day: they’re ephemeral, but a daily pleasure. Although I rarely draw them from life, their impression lingers. The invasive bindweed that overtook my garden late one season is the inspiration for the curling wires that hold the enamel domes in place. The squash blossom’s graceful petals call to me, as do the red stigmae of purple saffron crocus in the fall. That the latter two are also staples of cooking makes them that much more inviting!
Incorporating my gardening wishes with my artist wishes seems to be a natural progression. I've been doing enamels for about twenty years but the torch fired variety is the most exciting. It's much more fun than waiting for the kiln to get up to temperature, and then waiting again the two-three minutes that makes the powdered glass melt unto metal. Torch firing is instant: the first time I mixed pigments (with thin oil) and painted them on a piece of copper was spectacular. When I put the flame to it, the oil caught fire (of course! why I was surprised, I don't know.) and when the fire went out within seconds, the piece was totally black. Oh well, another experiment into the Failed Experiments box, I thought. Then the piece cooled, and suddenly, the colors appeared, just as I had imagined them! I've torch firing ever since. Disclaimer: artist Jamie Bennet and others do painted enamels much better than I do, but I think I have more fun.
Flowers and plants surprise with shapes and colors, sometimes lasting for weeks, sometimes just a day: they’re ephemeral, but a daily pleasure. Although I rarely draw them from life, their impression lingers. The invasive bindweed that overtook my garden late one season is the inspiration for the curling wires that hold the enamel domes in place. The squash blossom’s graceful petals call to me, as do the red stigmae of purple saffron crocus in the fall. That the latter two are also staples of cooking makes them that much more inviting!