For most people, guardianship is not the warm fuzzy relationship it is for us. When Summer and I met, it was my intention to adopt her along with her two brothers. Unfortunately she aged out of foster care before we could reach adoption day. DHS and the court determined that she was not competent to sign an adoption release for herself. In an attempt to create permanency and family with Summer, I became her guardian, but in our hearts, I am her father and she is my daughter. The day I became her guardian, October 3, 2019, we changed her last name to mine. The judge asked me on that day if I could think of a less restrictive alternative to guardianship for Summer. I again suggested adoption, and of course that was not an option. I said I could not think of a less restrictive option. The court agreed and granted guardianship. I reiterate this to affirm that I understand the gravity of this relationship for a 20 year old woman like Summer. I do not take this role lightly, and I do not receive any compensation for it.

Guardianship by nature brings restrictions. It’s true that Summer needs supervision and support, but I think what Summer needs more than anything is unconditional and appropriate love and acceptance.

I tell Summer and all of my kids that there is nothing wrong with them. Everyone is different. Everyone has their own strengths and challenges in life. Because of this, Summer has a lot to teach me, just as I can support and nurture her.

I will advocate for her, I will march beside her, I will fight for her and I will love her always.

These cut-outs hung over my parents’ bed on the farm. I remember them being made, but I can’t remember where it was. They are in my bedroom now. Can you recognize me?

It seems like people want me to live on the surface, caught up in the frenzy of details, most of which are just manufactured in order to promote an unspoken agenda. When I was a kid, we had an in ground swimming pool. I liked to go to the deep end and see how long I could hold my breath. I’m not just saying this to draw an analogy. When I was a junior in high school, I was able to hold my breath longer than any other kid in my school. When we sold that house, we moved to a palm lined West African beach. I swam in the hot springs at Yankari National Park in Bauchi State, Nigeria. The sides of the spring were clay, and when I dug at the sides of it with my fingertips, the water turned milky. I held my breath a long time and stayed hidden in the opaque water until those around me became worried.

This was my intent.

They make so many products to keep kids on the surface. Life jackets, water wings, boogie boards, pool noodles. I understand wanting to keep your kids safe in the water, don’t get me wrong.

My brother shared some videos with me about people who hold their breath for incredible lengths of time, swimming deep in the ocean, with no oxygen tank. They say they are tapping into some latent ability from when our ancestors lived in the sea. And yes, I draw a metaphor here.

I think people want me to live on the surface, where all the splashing and screaming, all the thrashing and drama happens. I want to see how long I can hold my breath, and watch the ribbons of refracted light undulate along the wall of the pool.

I want to find the currents that flow deep down below all that craziness. I know I’ll return to it. To the madness. To the fever, but when I am painting, or writing, or throwing a pot… when I am reading, hiking a river, sitting by a bonfire, or doing anything authentic that nourishes my soul, I just want to hold my spiritual breath and stay there for as long as I can.

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I made several pieces over the weekend. One is this fish bowl. I made it to match the cup I used at work last week. I spent quite a lot of time looking at the design which only took me a minute or two to inscribe into the wet clay. There is a different feel that happens when the clay is wet, rather than leather hard.

I want to glaze it the same way, too, with that cobalt blue, and wipe it away in places to give that pop of brown clay, and the wonderful surprises that happen along the transition line and in the recesses.

I love the texture of the drawings against my fingers. It gives a secure grip, and a connection to things I love. Art, time alone in my studio, connecting to my innermost self… When that path becomes well worn, as it has, it is easily accessible… almost effortless. Some days, a touchstone like this may assist me.

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My daughter shared this story to help me get started:

When I’m just sitting, I’m drawing pot shapes. I carry a sketchbook around with me, and sketch variations on forms. Sometimes I draw the same form over and over so I can expirament with decoration. One pot design stood out to me more than the others. It was a quick sketch, and it just appealed to me. I would have paid an experienced potter to make it for me. The more I looked at it over the next few days, the more I realized it was really just two bowls and some simple handles.

I didn’t sleep much at all last night. One of the the things going through my mind was that sketch. I had nothing on my calendar for today, so I decided to try to make that pot. It was worth a try.

I’ve been in my pajamas all day.

I’ve been doing a lot of things, but I haven’t left the house. I like days like this. I can devote my entire mind to creative thoughts. Sleeplessness isn’t so bad when I know I can take a nap anytime I want to.

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attempt #1It didn’t come out exactly as I had hoped. On top of that, I have to make a whole new lid for it. Part of the rim broke off in trimming. That’s the way it goes sometimes. I think I can make it better.

attempt #2

A few years ago, I was floundering a little bit. I was kind of overwhelmed. I was in the process of adopting my kids, but I hadn’t met them yet. I felt some pressure about a painting, and so I just started painting flounders. I guess you could say flounders became my spirit animal for a while, and entered my visual vocabulary. They still show up from time to time no matter what medium I am using to express myself.

Two days ago, I drew a bottle design with a stopper in my notebook. Yesterday I made it. This morning I trimmed the bottle. Today I worked out how I liked a flounder to lay across the fat little bottle. After work, I inscribed the design into the leather-hard clay, and left it to dry. It was all very satisfying.

Today my friend Lisa sent me a picture of a stuffed halibut at the local second hand store, so I went over there as quick as I could after work, sure that something like that would sell quickly.

I really didn’t need it. I had already made a life size flounder that lives on my bed. It’s quite friendly. When I get under the covers it likes to lay across my lap. It lets me rest my computer on it, and then it lies very still the way flounders do.

I made one for each of my kids’ beds, too.

Well, the halibut was still there, but I didn’t buy it. It wasn’t the sliminess or the smell of seaweed that put me off, it was just much smaller than I expected. I was disappointed, but happy to have been thought of. Instead, I bought something else I definitely didn’t need… two earthenware jugs. They matched a collection I already had. Don’t judge me. I’m judging myself enough for both of us.