Space and contrast, storms and clay

It’s still storm season, although the more severe (read “interesting, beautiful, thrilling, where-I-wanna-be”) thunderstorms are up north this time of year in my native Nebraska. I’ve taken a number of photographs this Spring of cloud forms as they pass by, and am also mulling over a couple of new thoughts with respect to their influence in my artwork.

My first observation is pretty simple. It is a comparison between my material of choice, clay, and the material of the storms and clouds I so often choose to represent. The finished ceramic product is very hard, more or less a rock. Clouds possess a volumetric and spatial presence, but are “wispy” as my wife suggested yesterday. They are atmospheric, per se, as opposed to solid. Regardless of this stark contrast, wet clay may be the best material (that I can think of) for molding the nebulous nature of thunderstorms. Stone and wood are harder to cajole into such organic forms, and with clay an artist can model almost as quickly as a summer tempest pops up through the heat and humidity.

Observation number two. I’ve focused, with good reason, on the dramatic forms and colors of the storm clouds themselves. Recently more of my attention is being drawn to the space in between the bottom of the thunderstorm, with a commonly flat appearance, and the horizon. The characteristics of this defined space are a new fascination for me. It’s an enormous space, hard to discern when you’re in the midst of the squall. The colors contained in this environment seem to penetrate the air; they take on a tactile quality. The observed “room” is huge, the size of a city, but only able to be comprehended from a significant distance — to the point the powerful storm becomes an icon instead of a threat.

I don’t know where these new thoughts will lead, but I’m eager to find out. I’ve begun with some sketches to further this novel surveillance and hope I can act on them in the next few months.