It's been weeks since i came home from Denmark. Getting off the plane in Chicago was a trip in itself. Hearing the strange, yet familiar voices and even more strangely alien accents. I had heard them dozens of times before-- on tv, in person, on the phone and in movies. Something just felt off. After a month and a half of living in Scandinavia, everything seems bizarre. The air smells different, feels different. you can even feel everyone around you. It's all so busy. It didn't take me long to realize that i was experiencing a form of reverse culture shock. I remember when my dad dropped me off at the airport how scared i was to be going so far away on my own. I actually started crying a little bit. The TSA woman in Lambert thought i was acting unhappy for someone who was going to Denmark. The plane took off and there was no going back, no more reason to be scared--There's no crying in baseball, so there surely isn't any such thing in traveling. 16 hours and 2 extra flights later, I arrived in Copenhagen, in one piece, exhausted yet extremely excited about the new sounds, smells, and sights. Foreign airports alone are intensely interesting places. The people were all smiling and courteous, forgiving me for my ignorance and helping me to survive the perilous last leg of my journey.
I started this trip years ago, in my mind when i first attended NCECA. In my head, it was an exotic place i knew really nothing about other than where it was and that it was an amazing opportunity. I knew i wanted to go, but i never thought the occasion would actually arise. It was a table with a white cloth and brochures and smiling faces behind it. Now, I spend every day thinking about the trip: the experiences I had, the people I met, the way in which it changed my work, and how all of it changed me as a person. I went there scared and alone, afraid that I would mess up everything and the streak of bad luck in the studio would continue. I left feeling sad that i was leaving so many wonderful friends, but feeling great because i met all of them. For a month and a half, I worked with these people, made dinner once a week for all of them, sat down to dinner with them every night, watched movies in the library, shared wine and cheese and exchanged stories and food from our lives back home. Together, we went to town to shop for groceries, second hand treasures, pastries, and to explore. They became my family and that quiet little scandinavian town became our home.
I spent about 2 days handbuilding a sculpture before it died. I reclaimed the rich red clay and made a decision to throw it on the wheel and let the environment i was in influence the outcome. The fog was so thick, water fell from the trees. In the distance there were the smoke stacks of the brewery chugging away. The environment you work in truly does inspire your work. I threw a cylinder, started pushing, poking and pulling. I was a machine. I made almost an entire table set for two. It wasn't what I came there to make. I didn't think i could do what i intended to in such a short time. Fortune smiled on us all, and due to a miscommunication, we had one of our guest artists come extremely early. Talking to Richard Launder was an amazing experience. It changed the course of my work for the rest of the time, as well as my construction methods. I cleaned everything and started throwing porcelain and began the painful process of learning to think and build in a way previously alien to me--the results of which were a dramatic improvement to the sculpture i had handbuilt previously.
Going to Denmark has done so much for me. It's helped me grow as an artist as well as a person. I spend every day treasuring the relationships i have here in the states, as well as wondering how everyone else is back in europe. I look forward to the future, where I'll end up next, what kind of adventures are waiting for me, and who i'm going to meet while i'm there. I am more whole, more optimistic, and entirely sure of how i want to live my life. I left scared and came back reinvented, reborn and rejuvenated-- unafraid of what is to come and ready to live. I've taken so much from the people I met and the experience of being at Guldagergaard, it just seems impossible to live the way i was beforehand. To anyone out there thinking about applying for Project Network, or even a resident artist program at Guldergergaard: Don't think twice about it. It's worth every penny you spend and more.
I was inspired to write this entry due to terrible news I received this morning in my email. Among the people I met was a wonderful English woman named Liz Krcma. Liz was a hilarious and cheerfully outspoken lady. I enjoyed her company very much while she was at Guldagergaard. She had suffered a stroke about 3 years ago, had to relearn how to do everything, and bravely returned to ceramics and used the clay as a medium to tell her story. She came to Skaelskor for a residency, and ended up moving into a flat in town with her Danish boyfriend Henning. She had found a studio to keep working in up the street from her new flat. She had another stroke 5 days ago, and died in the hospital surrounded by her family and friends yesterday. She was an amazing and brave woman with a spunk and zest for life that inspires me every day. She understood she had limitations, but kept pushing ahead regardless and was still living as amazing of a life as she was before her original stroke. She had no regrets and didn't feel sorry for herself. I can only aspire to have the grit that woman had, and I'm extremely thankful for knowing someone that strong and wonderful and having her as a friend. Rest in peace, and forever live in our memories.
I spent about 2 days handbuilding a sculpture before it died. I reclaimed the rich red clay and made a decision to throw it on the wheel and let the environment i was in influence the outcome. The fog was so thick, water fell from the trees. In the distance there were the smoke stacks of the brewery chugging away. The environment you work in truly does inspire your work. I threw a cylinder, started pushing, poking and pulling. I was a machine. I made almost an entire table set for two. It wasn't what I came there to make. I didn't think i could do what i intended to in such a short time. Fortune smiled on us all, and due to a miscommunication, we had one of our guest artists come extremely early. Talking to Richard Launder was an amazing experience. It changed the course of my work for the rest of the time, as well as my construction methods. I cleaned everything and started throwing porcelain and began the painful process of learning to think and build in a way previously alien to me--the results of which were a dramatic improvement to the sculpture i had handbuilt previously. 
I was inspired to write this entry due to terrible news I received this morning in my email. Among the people I met was a wonderful English woman named Liz Krcma. Liz was a hilarious and cheerfully outspoken lady. I enjoyed her company very much while she was at Guldagergaard. She had suffered a stroke about 3 years ago, had to relearn how to do everything, and bravely returned to ceramics and used the clay as a medium to tell her story. She came to Skaelskor for a residency, and ended up moving into a flat in town with her Danish boyfriend Henning. She had found a studio to keep working in up the street from her new flat. She had another stroke 5 days ago, and died in the hospital surrounded by her family and friends yesterday. She was an amazing and brave woman with a spunk and zest for life that inspires me every day. She understood she had limitations, but kept pushing ahead regardless and was still living as amazing of a life as she was before her original stroke. She had no regrets and didn't feel sorry for herself. I can only aspire to have the grit that woman had, and I'm extremely thankful for knowing someone that strong and wonderful and having her as a friend. Rest in peace, and forever live in our memories. 
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