I started the last missive just past the three-quarter mark. I was busy making lemonade from lemons and had lifted myself out of the inevitable funk of disappointment that tends to transpire when you work with new clay, new kilns, and new creative endeavours. Cracks were mended, alternative techniques tested and I was buoyed by the credo that my wise friend, Harlan House sent round at the time: “You can always do it better. And until you’ve done it a thousand times you haven’t done it. Until you can fix it you haven’t done it at all.” (Claudia Fleming, baker). The glass half-full, turned out to be a glass overflowing with learning and somewhat to my astonishment, achievement. I managed to create my “new-modernist” forms at large scales without kiln explosions, and put on a solo exhibition in a beehive kiln. I have left the work to be professionally crated by a past resident and now am actively shopping it around as, alas, David Kaye Gallery was forced to close its doors in the New Year.
Many of the highlights of Medalta for me were the people that I connected with over my time. I already mentioned Jim Marshall, the brick muralist who lives across from the artist lodge. I had the opportunity to more time with him, and I am looking forward to writing a profile about his life and work for an upcoming issue of Ceramics Monthly. I am writing this a a week after I left Medicine Hat – and I’m already nostalgic for the dry cold, the charming repertory cinema, the surreal small-town kareoke and the comraderie of new friends who are “in the know” when it comes to transforming mud. It was an honour to work alongside veteran scuptor, Grace Nickel, and watch the year-round residents as well as Heather Lepp, who arrived with me on New Year’s, flourish over such a relatively brief time. We weathered some rocky times and we all braved the -30C+ windchills, all of us except many of the vehicles who refused to perform in the permafrost. I believe I became somewhat cavalier about the deer waltzing by my window.
