I was recently asked what my pottery looks like. I realized that unless you have instagram, and you are checking my stories, you most likely won’t see my pieces. I launch shops once a month, but they sell out within an hour, and once they do, the shop closes and all of the photos of the pieces disappear.
I think I shared my very first pottery pieces that I offered for sale on this blog, so I thought it would be beautiful to share the evolution with a few photos of my latest collection.
This incredible Mama and her two magical children drove from Iowa to meet me at the River tonight. I cried on the drive home because their bond was beyond words, and I feel so lucky to have witnessed a love like this. Here is a preview. I cannot wait to share more.
Last night was magical. Here’s proof.
Also, life is so short and fragile and if there’s one thing I could make you promise me, it’s that you will pay attention to what matters most.
When I was a high school photography teacher, I’d joke and say the kids should get foreign language credit for my class. After this year, I realize I wasn’t joking at all.
The articulation of things that language cannot touch is something I have missed, entirely.
Photos as poems
Photos as evidence
Photos as a cry out in prayer
piercing through the noise
of endless pandemic earthquakes,
cracking everyone’s world in half
again and again
just as we finish the last stitches
holding it all together.
My camera has always been the only way to weaponize my fierce hope in an acceptable way.
I miss being covered in mud and river, night after night, the moon witness to magic.
(Thank, you Chali. I love you so much and am so grateful for our friendship.)
I’ve been with Artifact Uprising since the very beginning. My love for them feels like family.
I am so honored to be featured in this essay. And of course, any way to share more of Glenda with the world is a win.
