Know what's a great feeling?

The first time your work wins first place.

"That tears my nerves up"

Auntie says I say this all the time.  I know I do because something is always tearing my nerves up.

Today it was installing work at the Mill House.  I woke up an hour earlier than necessary because I was so anxious about it.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe it was because this is my first sort of solo exhibit and I wasn't sure I had enough work or work of good quality.  Maybe it was because of the place and what/who that place represents.  Maybe it was because it's election day.  Or maybe it's because I'm just a freak and shouldn't worry so much. 

Setting up went fine and I'm proud of my work.  I'm kind of excited actually.  Here are a few of the featured pieces:

The good with the bad

charcoal, embroidery on pillow case

The finer things (indeed)

lipstick, coffee, and wine on napkin

Famous Friend

embroidery

Talks

charcoal, embroidery on pillow case

Brandt owes me one

steel, wood, colored pencil, leather

 

Not how I imagined it would go

steel, paint, pen

I'm missing a couple, ones I don't have photographs for yet.  The majority of these are part of people + things.  Some of the associations are not just with "things" (such as pillows, teabags, machetes) but also qualities such as color and form.  I'm finding it so much easier now to make these connections than I did when I first started.  I thought a lot about each individual person I knew and what reminded me of that person.  Which became totally overwhelming or I'd just hit a brick wall.  It became easier when I started jotting down memories, words, conversations with people which later led to imagery.  I'm finding that I work better this way: starting with something large, like a sentence or event, and breaking it down in to specific, important pieces.  That doesn't mean that just any word or moment will guarantee a piece of art to come out of it.  It has to be something that stuck with me, rings truth, or something that stings.

In addition to being anxious about putting up work, I also had to write a biography. Ehhh.  I can ramble on and on (especially in a blog) but when I have to write something about myself and my work for others to see, my nerves get rattled.  So here's what I came up with:

Ali Hammond was raised in Saluda-South, not North-across the street from cows and crawdads.  The rural atmosphere and experiences of her upbringing provide rich imagery and are an inspiration for her work.  She is a 2010 graduate of Lander University and a master of odd jobs.  Her favorite pizza at the Mill House is the BLT.

So go by the Mill House and check out my work.

Feelings surfaced and disappointment

Sometimes emotions are just too hellacious and that's why I don't deal with them.  I prefer to say nope when they come up and busy myself with something else.  Like listening to music when I run or doing crosswords or watching old Steve Martin SNL clips on youtube.  Those always make me laugh.

But lately, because of creating, I've been thinking and responding more than usual to emotions.  Which would normally cause me to get the hell out of dodge.  Some days I'm so thankful that I have to wear a mask while I work.  But I'm finding that just because I create a piece that's about a certain someone or event, it does not necessarily mean that the feelings I have about them become resolved.  Instead, they just seem to surface and I walk around with what feels like an elephant on my chest.  I have been disappointed by this.  I thought that I'd create a piece and everything I felt about the inspiration would stick to the sculpture like welding tacks and leave me feeling cathartic.  So why hasn't it? 

I wonder if time has not allowed me to attach the thoughts and memories with every piece.  It's almost as if the connection is there while I'm working on it but when I finish I can look at it and feel nothing.  Again, disappointment.  Maybe that's how musicians feel after they perform their own music.  Maybe it's not about the final outcome of the song, maybe it's about created it and performing.  Although I feel disappointed, the process of giving one hundred percent can become so wonderfully engaging and liberating that it's pure pleasure.  That it's the most honest thing I can do.  Even when I put on dark glasses, I still find that I'm content just to be there.

This is all very Dear Diary to bring up- see how I'm changing? Eh.- but I just wonder if other artists have felt the same way.  I've heard people joke about how dating an artist is good because they aren't usually repressed.  I've found that the more of myself I put into a piece, the better it tends to be. This has been a great transformation, going from assignments and doing work just to make a grade to actually caring for each piece like a mother cares for a child.  But when it's finished, why do I still feel insatiable? 

Blackberry God

I think most of us would rather the god we serve conform to us rather than us to them- our own "personal Jesus" as Johnny Cash sings.  Picking what we can jive with and tossing out what we can't is just what we do.  In a way it helps us find a connection because, just like with people, we want to have something in common in order to like that person.  Essentially, we are probably all self centered and want it to be about us most of the time.  Or maybe that's just me.

These thoughts have stemmed from a recent conversation with a new coworker, Ms. Lillian.  Sometimes I think we are kindred spirits and our paths have so many similarities and that's why we were supposed to meet.  Maybe she's my future. I don't know.  She has so much class and is one of the most dignified women I've come across (one distinguishing difference between us).  She told me a story about when she was a little girl and her brothers and sisters (17 of them!) threw her in a pond to teach her how to swim.  She started sinking, got all choked up on the water and they fished her out, left her by the pond, and ran to their house.  Ms. Lillian says she remembers coming to beside a blackberry bush.  She said,"I don't know how I got there but I woke up and coughed the water out.  That's how you know God is moving.  I be he was up there saying, 'I know they didn't leave my baby in those blackberry bushes!'"

I love that.  Everytime I think about her saying that last part, it warms me up.  The idea that God would call his people "baby" is delightful.  It humanizes him and makes me feel adored.  When God talks to me, I imagine him speaking that way.  Like he's been sitting on a front porch watching everything go on and commenting on it under his breath.  Shaking his head when we do something michevious and think that we can get away with it.  Miranda Lambert has a line in one of her songs that goes, "I heard Jesus he drank wine and I bet we'd get along just fine.  He could calm a storm and heal the blind and I bet he'd understand a heart like mine."  That resonates, doesn't it?  Makes him like us but a little more forgiving and understanding.  And a little less gravitas on his part, someone we could kick it with.  What movie was it that the character said they imagined Jesus wore a tuxedo tshirt? 

I'm not saying that scripture is a salad bar where you choose what you want to put on top of lettuce and leave the other toppings aside.  I think it's more important to be human, to be what were created for.  Mistakes, imperfections, ugly inside-out crying faces and all.  And maybe along the way we sneak some unexpected goodness in there, some decency toward each other.  And that's how you know that God is moving. 

I've probably said these things before.  But sometimes, when my mind is a tangled ball of rubber bands, it helps to remind myself.

A closet door and picture frames

The dreaded changing of the clothes for the fall/winter season.  Em always zips up my "pop up" travel closet, pictured above, when she comes over and kills herself laughing.  I sent her this picture today and she said, "I can't wait for you to have a closet with a door and nobody else's pictures in your frames."  The things you do and have when you live out of a bedroom...

A glance of the golden years

Everyone has a favorite in their family.  A favorite cousin, brother, parent, aunt or uncle.  Today, mama and I saw my favorite great aunt and uncle at their surprise 50th wedding anniversary party. 

(I can get away with saying that they're my favorites because my family does not read my blog.)

Uncle Pete (whose name is not really Pete or Peter- no one remembers when or why he picked that name up) and Aunt Ellen are the one of the most adorable couples, and a true testament of a successful marriage.  Not only have they been together since they were teenagers, they've been members of the same church for just about as long as they've been married, they suffered through the loss of a teenage son, and they housed my meme and her six young children when she left her husband and had nowhere else to go.  Mama says it was like living with the 1970's George Jones and Tammy Wynette (minus the drinking and D-I-V-O-R-C-E). 

What sticks out in my mind about Uncle Pete and Aunt Ellen is their loyalty to family.  When my papa had his accident that caused him to be a quadriplegic, they stayed with us at the hospital.  In fact, they drove their RV to stay with us and someone broke in the thing and stole $500 out of it.  They took Mama and I to Lizard Thicket(s?), the only time I remember ever eating there, and Aunt Ellen was so warm and comforting to me.  She was also a lot of fun to just talk to.  Uncle Pete has a small farm and a horse with my name on it.  A couple years ago he had this horse that was trained and "housebroken" that he was saving for me.  I couldn't take it but I loved that he remembered how much I want a horse.

My favorite part of the afternoon, other than the unexpected soul food, was hearing how the lovebirds first met and decided to get married.  Aunt Ellen's cousin wanted to "sneak away" and get married to Uncle Pete's best friend.  So, unbeknownst to Aunt Ellen, they rode to Georgia with their friends so they could get married.  Aunt Ellen and Uncle Pete stayed in the backseat and got to know each other.  Before they left, Uncle Pete asked her if she wanted to get married.  She said, "I don't care, whatever you wanna do."  They weren't able to tie the knot that night and Aunt Ellen got her behind tore up when she got home around 2 am.  But her mom told them they could get married so they did, she was 15 and he was 18. 

I don't know anything about marriage or how in the world people happily stay together as long as they do.  But I'm glad that they do.

Keys me

The great thing about being the sculpture worker is having access to keys to get in when no one else is there.  If I go in to work during the week I get overwhelmed and distracted by all the students.  One class is pretty large and especially amusing. 

This week, and this coming week, I'm training at the new job.  It was supposed to be just a part time, every other weekend for a couple of hours job.  Now it's turned in to being the fill-in person, which is fine I guess because I need the money.  But the training means getting up at 5:45 am, with the roosters and school teachers.  I think maybe I need to be more assertive about my time, considering they never tell me when I'll finish for the day.  They're under the impression that I'm still a college student, which I don't correct them because it's too confusing to explain.  So when I say I've got to be at class at 2, they'll understand and let me go.  This is sneaky and I think some would consider it lying, but it would work to my advantage so I may have to go with it.  Heh heh heh.  Hey- I've got things to do!

This week I'm hoping to finish and fire my porcelain piece, finish two-three drawings, and maayyybe start my next steel piece.  GO GO GO GO GO