Author: cclay

I started to regret this choice pretty soon after submitting this. I felt as though I had missed the mark on the assignment. Instead of trying to move forward from my previous actions, I took a step back into them. I was putting myself in a box. Uninspired, I couldn’t comfortably focus on this statement. By the time I began reflecting on this action, after beating myself up a bit over this, I came to some realizations. I may not have actively made something for the terms of this studio action — but I certainly did make moves.

Saturday was my first day in the Emily Carr ceramics studio. It was a glorious fall day out, and because of that, the studio was all mine. I found some space to call my own, and started wedging. I haven’t been throwing much this semester. I’ve felt as though I didn’t have time for it what with all of the coursework, my job, and day-to-day life being a full load. Being back in the studio has been such a breath of fresh air, reminding me how I got here, and where I want to go. I started making plates, a new venture for me.

Sunday we’d planned to go to an exhibit at a favourite Japanese store nearby, Itsumo. The exhibit was a collection of over 100 wooden cups, bowls, and plates, all made by a local furniture maker, Joji Fukushima. He crafts these pieces out of off-cuts from the furniture making, and therefore the space was filled with different varieties of wood. As they were all for sale, they’d mostly cleaned out by the time we arrived. Speaking with the shop’s owner, Natsumi, about the artist she knows so well, and her passion for craft, sparks began to fly.

Above, some of Joji’s pieces from the IKE | いけ exhibit at Itsumo, October 2020.

This ignited the conversation around the possibility of acquiring a lathe, something that’s been of interest in our household for some time. Within 24 hours, we’d found one. And bought it. Last week we’d brought our first kiln home, and now we’re driving around with a 4.5 ft, 50 lb lathe in the back of our car. Things are a bit messy, but full of so much possibility and fun.

I’d tell you what comes next, but it turns into my next action (7). I’ve decided to listen to myself more in these actions. Instead of pushing myself into a wall, I’ll walk with the wind, the trees, the hallways of studios and shops. I’ll keep exploring the new mediums I’ve always wanted an excuse to try, and strive to connect these actions with the materials I use.

Reflections:

I found this action to be quite trying. Without a clear picture of where to start, I decided to take it as an opportunity to transition my actions away from the forest on Piers, and acknowledge that I had been extracting elements from my living environments.

I shot the outdoor footage in Strathcona Provincial Park over the reading break. While a provincial park, a place I associate with conservation and protection, we witnessed industry all around. Right outside the park, man-made dams surrounded by cut blocks. Within the park, mining operations, and a large fuel semi coming from the dead end one-way park road. You’ll see some evidence of these human footprints in the footage.

Though on a much smaller scale, I have been collecting from the forest. I needed to take the time to appreciate that tendency, to question it, and reconcile with it. Not such a straight forward process.

My second video sprung from that point. A certain amount of romanticism and value tends to be attributed to handmade household objects, especially those made with natural materials. By this, I refer to handmade ceramics, expertly carved wooden spoons, or hand-woven textiles. Either purchased for oneself, received as a gift, or self made, the craft element of the object identifies it. For the most part, I treasure these kinds of objects much more their commercially produced counterparts. This video was my foray into how we quantify the handmade v. the artificially made. Craft v. industry. There is a lot to be considered here — i.e. financial accessibility, ethical production, and environmental consequences. I look forward to unpacking this more throughout the semester.

I definitely learned that making videos can be scary. Which is why I need to try it more. There are few mediums that can transport you the way that motion pictures can, particularly in a day and age where we can’t leave our homes and communities all that much. I strive to take on the challenge going into next year of incorporating this medium further into my practice, however that may work out to be.

Coincidentally, I happened to be returning to the site where the cedar bark from action 3 was collected — Piers Island. It was an awfully foggy weekend, zero visibility across the channel. Therefore, we stayed off of the water, not exactly by choice, and kept to the forest.

The air was thick with mist and smoke from the neighbor’s wood stove. It wraps around you like a blanket and reminds you that it’s Fall. That, and the fresh layer of fallen leaves in every direction. I stood amongst the trees, looking to the towering cedars for inspiration. I made the paper from cedar, sure, but the paper that I am always drawn to on the west coast was at my feet — arbutus bark.

I then noticed that it is the time of year when the arbutus trees produce berries. They are clusters of yellow, orange, and red, that you can only find still in spots where the deer cannot reach. I plucked a few out of curiosity from a tree on their beach that hangs just high enough from the ground to survive.

I didn’t want to think about the action directly. The next day I took a break. Our last several hours on island, we went into the forest to see if we could find any chanterelles. I found a couple at the end of the season last year somewhere off the main trail, and we were hoping we could find a hidden trove of them. Piers has several moss valleys that are filled with douglas fir and salal bushes, which is supposed to be where yellow chanterelles thrive.

Searching for the golden crowns, I was constantly reminding ourselves of the yellow leaves, as they were a deceptive pop of color amongst the greens and browns of the forest floor. Each one could be a mushroom! At this point, color became a distraction. I was so aware of it, so focused on it.

The yellowing oregon grape leaves reminded me of their vibrant roots — a well known natural dye — and I pulled a few to add to my basket of goods.

This last forest photo was us leaving the canopy, and I stopped due to that front and center arbutus towering at the end of the trail.

Taking this all back to my apartment in Vancouver to digest, I spread everything out. My collections from the weekend, the paper from action 3, and some sunflowers that I planted in the first weeks of the pandemic over at the cabin. I kept getting drawn to the yellows — the berries, leaves, sunflower petals, chanterelle caps, and the oregon grape root. in order to bring these out, I decided to dye with them (all except the sunflowers).

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I used some extra canvas I had laying around, and here were the results.

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I wanted to synthesize how the colors spoke out of the forest, even though these all turned out to be quite muted examples. In looking for the golden mushrooms, which assumedly would have been highly viable amongst the mossy forest floor, I instead found all of the yellows (along with a few chanterelles).

Then I hit a wall. Uncertain of how to connect action 3 with these new findings, I put all of these observations, materials, and photos in front of me and looked for what I wanted to say.

Then I realized that the colors could speak for me. The first idea thrown into the mix was a small quilt. With limited time and fabric (and very simple sewing skills), I sketched it. Then I charted this color map. My plan was to use this as a pattern to sew the dyed fabrics together. And while I am still planning on doing this, I wanted something a bit more comprehensive.

My final collage ended up being more multi-media than planned, and far from my usual ideas of making. Though it contains pieces of things I made with raw materials with my hands, it is two-dimensional and now virtual. In this form, you as the audience can see and interact with this piece the same way as I am now. We are all relating to it on a screen, wherever that may be.

I read the action and looked out my window to sheets of rain. Comical. After months of working at home, and just being at home more than usual, I craved to escape. This action felt like it was telling me to leave, and my first reaction was to go outdoors. But it was dreadful outside. A bit overwhelmed with my workload for the day, I pushed on to more pressing tasks. I finished my other coursework and job-work and tried to leave the weekend to my loved ones. I did a bit of coursework… but helped brew beer, and spent time with family.

On Sunday I had had enough, I wanted to leave my house. My expectations for the day shifted, and I felt trapped. Instead of letting that define my day, or my space, I strove to find productivity and creativity there. I read the list of terms on the ‘what is it to make?’ pdf, and the first thing that jumped out to me was to Have Someone Do Something. I had it. I thought of a bag of cedar bark in storage in my apartment (an oversized tote in a repurposed murphy bed designated for “crafts”). My boyfriend had collected it years ago for paper-making from Piers Island, but never got around to it. I decided that it was time. He was keen, and we made moves.

I took the bark out, and began to tear it into pieces. Though I know I want to experiment more with paper making, and eventually would love to make a lantern, this was purely action-driven. The paper was getting made by Wednesday morning. Back to the ground — where I was sitting with my pile of bark. Our puppy Millie quickly found me to check out the scene. Finding me playing with bark, a favorite pastime of hers, she promptly took was was hers, the bark, out of my hands, and ambled over to her bed. Where she collapsed and proceeded to rip the bark strips into smaller pieces. She was helping!

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Eyes blurry, and back aching, I filled a basin with water, and soaked the bark overnight to process in the morning. The next day, I tended to the bubbling pot on the stove of Tide laundry detergent (what we had on hand), the cedar, and some water. I checked on it periodically during morning class for the 3.5 hours that it took for the fibres begin to break away from their prior structure. I yearned for the aroma of cedar, for the sweet, pungent, damp earthiness of it. Instead, my apartment was saturated with Tide. A bit of a punch in the gut, honestly. If you’re wondering, I wouldn’t go that route again. I’d instead opt for lye or soda ash, but I digress.

That evening, Kevin took the soaked, boiled, and rinsed cedar out in our back alley to smash the life out of it. Now, I wasn’t there — I was prepping for the next step upstairs — but I’m told it was quite a sight. He was, after all, sledgehammering a pile of mushy wood on top of a sheet of plywood with a 4ft long sledge. In the dark. Can’t deny his dedication though. He came back with a glistening face and a readiness to tackle the next step.

Making the deckle was another feat. Well, not so much a feat. As I forgot to buy staples to secure aluminum mesh to the frame, a late night duct tape run was in order. We made it work.

In the end, we learned that we have much to learn. We spoke about forms we could experiment in making, and other textures to try. It was a great exercise, but now it’d be really cool to do it more. And to do it differently.

We ended up with 10, three inch squares of paper. They are brown, small, and filled with texture. They feel rough, but they are delicate.

Before the making began, I thought that I may focus on ecological literacy and relational design. I now concede that this was much more skewed towards the latter, though I still feel as though both elements played a part.

I did not photograph this process. At all. I spoke with Zach about this at our one-on-one. I felt a little burnt out from all the documentation of action 2, and didn’t want to take away from the experience. Admittedly, I am the same way in general. I take very few photos, as I feel disinterested in my phone/camera when I’m in my day-to-day. I hope to get better at that.

I will attempt to scan the paper and upload it here, though for some reason, my computer and wordpress are at odds with me trying to upload images.

Ultimately, I learned more from my conversation with Zach than directly from this action, though that deserves an entry alone. Moving forward, I am excited to see what comes. So thank you, all of you, for being a part of the process.

Pen in hand an blank paper at face, I began to draw ingredients. Tomatoes, onion, garlic, cilantro, peppers, and limes. And to boot, a bag of chips and a bottle of beer.

Action 2 very much felt like an extension of Action 1.

Had I known that the assignment would have been about food and terroir, I may have gone another route initially. I had several ideas in front of me for this action, including tamales, breakfast tacos, and a Thanksgiving feast — a quick chat with Maleeka helped me narrow down what might be a good place to start, salsa.

I chose two of my three staple recipes. The ones I shared with her are nearly the same ingredients with a very different result, one is charred and one is fresh. Pico de Gallo and Salsa Roja. I’m more than happy to share my third as well with those who dare, the Doña, also known as the jalapeño death sauce by some.

I’ll share what I included in my offering to Maleeka, as I feel that it introduces this action well.

Salsa is the glue that holds every occasion together, from the complimentary basket of warm chips at any self-respecting Mexican restaurant, to the stock of ingredients you have at home to whip out at a moment’s notice. I can remember few occasions where it wasn’t on a table to be shared, and certainly no family gathering is complete without it. 

I could have chosen to talk about the tradition of making tamales, or handmade tortillas with refried beans. But in truth, we always had access to the best tortillarias and tamale makers, and supported them with what they did so well. And not to say we don’t buy salsa, but it is almost always homemade. 

Simple ingredients, and a quick turnaround time, it is undoubtedly the most consumed snack in the state. I’ve gone through the motions of making batches so many times, that I can almost float through the routine. But when I get the chance to do it slowly, and to make all three of my go-to recipes, nothing brings me home more immediately. 

I hand-write all of my best recipes, and in that way this assignment didn’t feel very different, so I struggled to find a way to expand the experience. Ultimately, I wish I could make this for all of you and hopefully someday I will. 

I don’t follow a recipe for measurements, and every time is different. I like that about it. 

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Maleeka’s offering to me was Channa Chat, a chickpea dish very popular in Pakistan (and India). I noticed quickly that our ingredients were pretty similar. I pose that you could substitute tomato, onion, cumin, cilantro, and chiles in her recipe for a generous scoop of my pico de gallo quite easily. Would be fun to try!

I, like my classmates, did find myself caught up in the process of documenting the process which dragged it out substantially. My dinner guest noticed sooner than I.

These kinds of offerings are not new to me, I have often cooked with friends from all over the world, and kind of live for these experiences. I had never experienced Pakistani cuisine before, so I hope I did it right, but I find that there are few better ways to experience a culture than through eating their food. Especially in the world we’re in now, where it may be the closest we get to taking a trip overseas.

My first educational experience of terroir is with wine. I have a background in working in restaurants and curating a wine program for a time back in Austin. I first learned about natural wines, wines made in the spirit of doing the least to get the grapes into a bottle. That missionis to get the most unobstructed sense of terroir in the final result. Being able to taste the elements of the soil, temperature, and overall conditions of where the grapes where grown. Terroir is something I think of constantly, as the west coast has become a large source of inspiration for me and my practice. Without it, I have trouble finding meaning. Bringing things back to the earth is how I orient myself, and how I ascribe worth to the things that I make.

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assignment:

• explore how we can learn about each other’s home place / ground
• is home ground where you are in the moment?
• is home ground an ancestral location?
• what/where has meaning to you?
• what is part of your identity?
• how can you share the experience of your home ground in visceral, emotional, or sensory ways?

Let me make you breakfast tacos:

Though I am certain that I am exactly where I should be, I am very thankful to have my roots in Texas. That is where my entire family still lives, where I was born and raised.

I’ve built a home here in British Columbia over the last two years, and through that have led a life much different from that of my family in the South. I feel as though this is my home just as much as that is.

At the same time, I don’t believe that my living in Vancouver makes Vancouver my home ground. I feel as though it would be more appropriate to call the family I’ve found here to be home. British Columbia even could be my home ground, but not the city of Vancouver.

I make salsa, and eat salsa, often. It is cheap, it is salty and spicy, but it is also home. I was raised on Tex-Mex cuisine — on the border between Texas and Mexico — and I treasure that. I share it, if I can hold myself back from finishing the batch myself, and ideally I share it alongside breakfast tacos. My bread and butter. Making that dish for people is one of my most satisfying actions. It as though like I am exactly where I should be, feeding the people around me with the food that raised me. Now I’ve taught my second family here in Canada how to make this food with me, and it fills my heart and stomach with peace.

Reflections:

Sitting at my desk in my apartment in the South Granville neighborhood of Vancouver, I looked at my surroundings. I, like my desk, face a wall — so I glanced to my left and right trying to find inspiration for action 1. As I do not currently live where I was raised, I scanned for pieces of that place around me, and my eyes landed on my refrigerator to the left. The two years I’ve lived in British Columbia have come to define me in ways I never saw coming when I moved here for a six month breath of fresh air. I have worn a few hats in that time, that of a temporary visitor, now expat, student, and forever a cultural ambassador to my homeland. I have a partner of two years here (a coincidence that we met when I had just arrived), and we share a home, a puppy named Millie, a vehicle, and dreams for the future.

Even though I feel grounded by these pillars of my life, I cannot shake the feeling that my roots are shallow here. I have always been officially a “temporary” resident of Canada, and am currently residing here on my third short-term visa. This place has taught me that you can have more than one home ground, even though if my roots are undoubtedly deepest in Texas. If my life here were to crumble, that’s where I would go to regroup. That is why I chose to make salsa for Action 1, and to make a lot of it.

I do not have a southern accent. I did not grow up around horses. I have never voted Republican. I grew up in the city. I do not fit with many non-Americans consider to be the picture of a Texas-raised American, at least from my experiences outside the U.S.. I did have a large pickup truck as my first car when I turned 16. I technically own a gun (inherited, I’ve never even laid eyes on it). I grew up in the Baptist Church where I attended services twice a week for most of my upbringing, and was baptized at age 16. I grew up with many gender roles impressed on me, though I don’t hold it against my parents. They always have, and always will, love me and care for me unconditionally. I instead carry this awareness with me, so that I can unlearn them for future generations. I devotedly keep up with American news, though often I find it is easier to digest when I am hiding here, unaffected by much of it. I feel conflicted about that.

Something I think back to with only fond memories, are the times that our family gathered to eat together. This is not unique to us, I know. But it is a piece of my childhood and of Southern culture that will continue to age well. It will not be reframed with new perspectives on social norms or political correctness. It’s not perfect, but it’s as close as it gets. That is home for me, always will be.