Studio Notes · Dec 2024
Twin idols from neolithic-era Alaca Höyük, representing duality.
ON MY MIND
In Partnership.
November was an intense month, and anxiety about the future pushed me to look at the past…distant past. Returning to The Chalice and The Blade by Riane Eisler, which provides an account of the origins of dominant Western culture and possible models for the future, offered me another perspective on the tensions of our time.
The book goes super deep into cultural history, and I’ve barely scratched the surface. But the premise is that, unlike the common reading of prehistoric societies as being all about war, class war, and war of the sexes, there is strong archeological evidence to suggest that in the Near East, in places like Crete and Çatal Höyük in central Turkey, there were egalitarian social structures at play: not rigid hierarchies operating on states of inferiority/superiority but power equated with responsibility, care, and compassion.
Eisler also explains how most archeological interpretations resorted to the binary of “if not patriarchy, then must be matriarchy” when, in fact, these neolithic societies upheld values of interdependence. Instead of the dominant paradigms of “ranking,” Eisler proposes the alternative of “linking,” where partnership forms the basis of social organization. According to the historical accounts in the book, this is not only biologically possible (or divinely impossible!), but it is, in fact, our actual past. I find this bit of knowledge comforting, inspiring, and also infuriating — it was real and robust for thousands of years; how come it feels like a radical vision today?
Scholars describe life in the Aegean island of Crete around 3000 BC as an expression of “ higher human impulses through joyful and mythically meaningful ritual and artistic play.” Could the medicine for a fraught month and uncertain future lie in days full of ritual and play?
WITH MY HANDS
Aegean Blue.
I spent some time studying business models for artists and considering what makes sense for my practice now and into the future. Perhaps because of my background in architectural design, I felt comfortable with the idea of commissions and curious about how a dialogue with a client could take form.
This feeling was put to test when I received a call from a friend I had not been in touch with in a long time with a request to make a gift for her sister’s milestone birthday. My client’s sister had a substantial art collection, and imagining my work in that specific context infused my process with newfound energy. I was inspired to propose a few ideas as potential additions to the beautiful, textured, and eclectic home.
The dynamic with my friend/client was smooth and collaborative, partly because she has a discerning eye, is welcoming of exploration, and has SO much talent. After some back and forth, we settled on developing a piece I had started about a year ago but had put aside unfinished. I was motivated to return to the ceramic piece representing Devotion (a theme I have been working with all year through drawing) and explore possibilities for the spherical wool elements. After trying out a variety of different colors and techniques, staying in that phase of not knowing but seeing it through, I ultimately arrived at the monochromatic rendition dedicated to the deep blue of the Aegean Sea.
This experience was a glimpse of how supportive, collaborative work for a commission could be for my artistic practice. During the process, I appreciated that we connected through the work rather than me feeling too attached to a vision or my client having doubts about the outcome. It was a fluid process of mutual trust which amplified my work.
And the “finishing” touch was a gorgeous piece of poetry my client found and included in the note to her sister. I could not have created a better pairing. And as a true reward, I heard that the gift was enthusiastically received: “Wonderful! That color! Subtle design. It’s exactly me!”
Looking ahead, I’m committed to pursuing commission work further. Would you be willing to answer four questions to help me better understand how I can design my business?
Two bundled-up humans, Dilara and I.
FROM THE HEART
As if.
My three-year-old daughter, Dilara, calls me anne (“mother” in Turkish). She has been in my studio enough times now that she can recognize some of my work in other places and exclaim, “Anne made that!”
The first time I heard this announcement I felt a mix of emotions: pleasantly surprised and surprisingly tender. On a very immediate and personal level, I was elated. Dilara, who is Deaf and has a naturally well-developed visual acuity, noticed my work AND could speak her excitement — a big deal for parents of Deaf children who work hard at hearing and speaking with the aid of hearing devices. (American Sign Language is Dilara’s primary mode of communication.)
And I also felt a little ache in my heart. Yes, “Anne made that,” despite my constant questioning of the power and relevance of art (my art) — a refrain I know is not only mine but certainly feels personal. “Anne made that” by staying committed to a practice that does not validate its existence through earned income — our society's primary currency of value. “Anne made that”, little Diloş, by carving out excruciating time away from the duties and delights of being a mother/primary caregiver — a rock and a hard place type of situation almost all parents are shoved into in modern parenting.
But why even bother? One reason is that this work connects me with my roots of thousands of years in a different part of the world so that my daughter, who is a magnificent embodiment of so many uniquely American experiences, can witness me and share in that connection. I need to continue to do my work so that I can muster the energy, courage, and love to raise a person who considers “mythically meaningful ritual and artistic play” her birthright.
And how can I (anyone) continue an art practice under these pressures? Accepting that my society does not readily reflect pre-historic Crete’s values, maybe the question is how can I personally bring some of those qualities into my own little and precious world? Perhaps I need to do my work as an artist as if I live in a social structure assembled through linking and not ranking. So, here are my Studio Vows for the new year and beyond:
“There is room for all of us.” I vow to battle the idea that there is not enough space for me/my art.
“Without community, there is no liberation.” I vow to ask for help and have an open heart to receive it.
“I have no time to rush.” I vow not to feel hurried, always to produce more, but to take my time.
Apparently, in pre-historic Crete, the fear of death was almost obliterated by “the ubiquitous joy of living.” I wish you all many days in 2025 when we can get a taste of that ancient medicine!
Until next month, hoşçakalın!