Pinky-Promises.

Writing is a creative outlet that I realllyyyy get down with. Journaling, jotting down poetic thoughts, even writing monthly newsletters for both businesses are my jam (I did want to be an English Major after all).

Since getting back in the studio, I dug up the root of why I opened the Collective in the first place - I needed space to create. Not for the hustle of it, but for the JOY of it. So, I’ve been focusing on what satisfies my self expression with and without clay.

Hello & welcome to my blog where you’ll find a behind-the-scenes glimpse of my creative lifestyle you won’t get anywhere else. Little by little you’ll learn why, what, who, where, and when inspiration influenced action. You know the “Instagram vs. Reality” reels where they first show you the beautifully curated, aesthetic photo and then show you the awkward, unaesthetic set-up that made that photo possible? This is the not-so-attractive Reality side of things.

Some of these blogs may be “sit down and listen up” story-time with an accompanying photo. Some of them may be a word vomit of emotions - I am human after all (and art is emotional). Some of them might be a heated opinion piece about why I’m currently disturbedly obsessed with Hieronymus Bosch (that’s up next and brokers no room for argument).

Maybe you’ll take little nuggets of wisdom with you. Maybe you’ll find comfort that our journeys aren’t as solitary as we think. Maybe you won’t like this experience at all because my grammar is wrong (which is the only acceptable reason given I never actually finished that English degree)*.

Okay now that you get the gist of where we’re going with this, lets circle back to how getting back in the studio after a traumatic experience has altered my approach to creating. It’s not every lifetime you get to work your dream job. Even more rare is the opportunity to continue working it after a natural disaster tries to take it from you not once, but TWICE. When you’re given that chance to do it again, you don’t squander it.

I had to quit running my businesses like I didn’t actually create it for my own benefit because all I really wanted was to feel like a member of my own studio. To walk in, grab some tools, brew some coffee and play. Pre-flood I would tell myself, “One day, I’ll get there.” “We just need to grow a little more.” “Just gotta hustle a little harder.” Its an age-old saga that sometimes takes a swift kick in the pants (or in this case 8 feet of flood water) to understand that “one day” won’t come unless I make it.

So, I made a pinky-promise to myself. I promised that if I had to endure that wretched time of utter brokenness, I would honor the vision I had when I first dreamed-up the Collective.

Then, when that precious moment arrived where my hands could create with abandon again I did just that - created with abandon. It is Hannah’s world now and ya’ll are just unwittingly living in it. I can’t be stopped. A grumpy toad wearing a crown? Made it. “Wooden” snakes? Made ‘em. Tiny clay pillow? Check. Hand holding a flower? Done. Flower holding a hand? Nailed it. Do these serve any practical purpose at all? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Do I care? NOPE. They had to be made. They practically burst from my mind via my hands. Having the time of my life is an understatement and I’m soaking up every single second because I know very intimately how fleeting it could be.

“But Hannah, I’ve never known you to do so much hand-building!”

So true, my friend. Aside from the beginners wheel class I took 14 years ago at our Community College - that I actually took twice because I couldn’t center the clay to save my life - I am self taught. And while throwing is my true love, I’ve always admired sculptors and have been eager study it for some time now. If Bernini and Rodin can make marble appear so squishy, fluid, and expressive surely I can do the same, right?

The functional-ware production hustle is all I’ve been doing since… well, honestly, since the very first bowl I ever made 14 years ago. You could say it stems from an internal compulsion where my self-worth is measured by how useful I can be to someone else so by extension I make things that also serve a purpose, but that’s a digression for another day. My production mode was largely born in a time when my kids were still napping and I had to whip out as much work as I could in a limited time. Let me tell you, I have that skill homed in finer than a frog hair split four ways*. When it comes to throwing a quantity of work, I can do it in no time flat.

Sculpting, however, forces me to take my time - to create more intentionally for only myself. Both the wild notion of doing something solely for oneself and act of slowing down are foreign to me but believe me when I say it has been something I deeply needed. Some days, I still find myself trying to rush the process. Feeling anxious in my belly when the day is winding down yet, I’m not done with the project. It’s a work in progress, as am I.

True to my word, I’ve been making active choices that reflect my promise. & it. feels. good. I feel at peace with whatever future is in store because I made it. At this very moment in time I have succeeded and that’s more than enough for me.

Thank you for reading along. Sometimes I have words to get off my chest that feel safest here in these blogs and I know (for those still present) that they’ll be handled with care, understanding, and grace.

At least until I offend you with my theory on Bosch’s 15th century butts.

LOVE YOU!

-Hannah B.

FOOTNOTES:

*It’s important you know that per tradition, Happy Hour at the shop begins at 3pm on Fridays and Saturdays - which is when I’m most likely writing these so the grammar will likely reflect the effect of mixing wine and words.

*It’s a southern phrase. You can take the girl out of the country (even though I’ve yet to leave), but you can’t take the country out of the girl.

Could I have thrown this log on the wheel in a fraction of the time it took to build it from a slab? Yes, but where would the fun learning experience be in that!