COLUMBIA The Dogged Process By Debra Sloan She was seated on a velvet cushion —my first attempt at making a life-sized dog in clay. She was 32.5 cm high and weighed in at about 13.5 kg, a veritable brick. There are stress cracks throughout the body where it had threatened to explode, and her little ankles were bending under the weight of her chest and head. It was 1976, and I was in the process of teaching myself how to work in clay. The Pug on Pillow was all about love, my love for the pug, and my new love of clay. I did not know how to make her, I only knew I wanted to make her in clay. Dog on Mat, by Debra Sloan. Clay is a difficult material to master. It demands that we work with grace. For the purpose of this article, I wanted to walk through that ‘valley of the shadow...’ where virtuosity temps us to stray. It is a dangerous but unavoidable walk for artists of the traditional media when their chosen material leads them through a maze of process. Philip Rawson so neatly says, “Even though pottery must be based on technology of some kind, it is the good pottery that eludes the tyranny of its technology.” How often has one heard (usually during question period after a lecture,) “Why do you work in clay, anyway?” Where the clay artist is obliged to defend his or her affinity for the medium. The question implies that those who work in clay are technicians first, and artists second, that their attachment to the material takes precedence. That being said, being moved simply by the smell, or physical contact, or a fascination with glazes, or the fire—these attachments to all, or particular, ceramic processes, are integral as to why the artist has chosen clay. Nicholas Baurriaud says, making art is “elaborating a form on the basis of raw material.”? Artists using traditional media have a commitment to their material, and a part of their process is emotionally interactive. ‘There are many particulars of clay work, all accompanied by physical requirements— insistent subtexts that underpin the methods used to support the central notion. Process is immediately engaged, as in every manner the clay is touched there is a significant effect on what is being communicated. There are physical, sensory, conceptual and historical implications on whether the work is thrown, coiled, slab built, cast or sculpted, electric fired, wood, raku, or gas, slipped, painted, or glazed—or not. Clay artists have, arguably, the greatest historical resources of any medium. Most clay practices have an historic parallel, and therefore a potential reference. Historical reference also functions as a foil, like a Greek chorus, motivating—or goading—the artist with its running commentary. A ‘good piece of pottery should not rely on the viewer being privy to millennia of ceramic tradition, or even cognisant of the contemporary response, however, these allusions add a rich element of insight for those who know and love the Potters Guild of BC Newsletter - February 2009 ceramic practice. It is knowledge worth having as it illustrates, from the beginning, the human journey towards a civilised life. Throughout what has now become a composite interactive process; the conceptual development, the making and experiencing the effect of contact—the clay practice offers time and again choice and chance. Although this is common to all art practices, for the clay artist there are so many transformative stages in the process. The challenge, as we toil, is to not stray into the ‘valley of the shadow’...and fall victim to convention, blind attachment or habit, but to remain alive to those transformative events as they appear out of the mud, or the brush or the kiln. The material and the processes are ever changing. The notion is the engine, and our empathetic process is the fuel that keeps the notion interactive. Over the past 10 years, I] have made a number of dog sculptures, each a result of explorative and learning processes to support what I wanted to convey. Each solution sug- gests another method. Each method has its own effect. In itself, this series of investigations has been a process of personal, technical and notional, evolution. I started my clay practice as a potter, and after the Pug on Pillow lesson, my early sculptural pieces were disguised pots built around a space. Though my methods have evolved, the notion of the sculptures being containers is irresistible as a metaphorical connection to our own corporeal sentient state —the walking, thinking, emoting containers that we are, Scale is another critical decision as it impacts not only on the dynamic effect the piece has on the viewer, and the amount of space it absorbs, but scale also has a profound impact on how the work will be made. The process of building large-scale involves acquiring strategies and skills to oppose clay’s adversary—gravity. Moving the work to and from the kilns in the fragile bone-dry stage is another nightmare. These skills can become vanity potholes, a temptation to do something just because you can. However, there is also an exciting dynamic to life-scale where the dog image suggests the notion of shared space and companionship. After the Pug on Pillow, 1 did not return to Contd on Page 5, Return to the Dogs