Now is the time of Monsters

“The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born: now is the time of monsters.” ~ Antonio Gramsci

The mini-monsters emerged about a year and a half ago. Jelly bean bodies, stubby legs, simple mouth and pin-prick eyes. A whimsical (misplaced?) juxtaposition amidst the social and political chaos of the moment. But there they were.

The new-for-me form came through my hands as curiosity informed play and mimicry. I saw a picture of something rounded, small, and charming in an art book. How was that made? I wondered. With some trial and error, I found a way to render a similar form and add my own panache. Three of my little creatures embodied enough skill and craft to be included with my heirloom dinnerware at an art show.

The first three monsters sold. Just. Like. That! 

Knowing that the mini monsters would find homes helped me navigate a real yet delicate balance: the urge to create and the necessity of placement—storing OR releasing what one makes. An obsession was unleashed. 

I made tiny monsters, and itty-bitty ones. Monsters with noses, monsters with teeth. Some glazed in glossy colors, others in black and white, each with a bit of flair. And then I found the words of Antonio Gramsci. Ah. There it is.

Now is the time of monsters.

While I flow with the mysterious nudges and tides of intuition, my art practice is often a response to life. I can be intentional about addressing social issues. See Article 24 and empty. I can also be surprised. And be a bit judgy. Are you shocked?

When the monsters arrived, I welcomed them but with some reservation. As the old world falls apart, why am I making these silly, sweet things? Often I wonder why folks collect things that are cute, yet serve no function. And here I was making witty little monsters and hoping someone would collect them! I am a walking contradiction. 

A year after their introduction, I took an entire fleet of monsters to the annual art show. Many of them went home with new collectors who knew their function: Joy. I gave away a coloring sheet with monster sketches from my studio journal. You can download yours for free RIGHT HERE.

And yet…by year’s end I stopped making monsters or almost anything at all. 

By the end of January a whale of despair swallowed me whole. I all but abandoned my studio. Anxiety simultaneously activated me and shut me down. Sadness filled me to my heart. Noise clanged my head. Detention centers, ICE raids in my city, citizens shot in Minneapolis, the Epstein files. Too many atrocities to name. I marched, went on strike, wrote postcards, called representatives and felt overwhelmed and grief-stricken.

Deafened by despair. Silenced by sadness.

Then Ken and I went to Kauai. A spring break trip we had planned before I bottomed out and before the war with Iran. Going felt wrong somehow. But we had our tickets and a place to stay, so I boarded the plane. 

The natural tropical beauty of the island enveloped me. Each day we woke to the raucous crowing of wild roosters. The wall of windows in our 8-sided room framed the horizon and a sliver of shining sea. Every day we explored: beach walks, canyon hikes, snorkeling spots. I. swam. with. SEA TURTLES! My daily impulse was to kiss the Earth. I was utterly enchanted! Thrilled to live on the BEST planet! 

Without my notice, the sadness that almost drowned me drained away. It was replaced with wonder! The din in my head gave way to the rhythm of waves washing the shore and the steady inhale and exhale of my own breath.

Joy. Delight. Pleasure. I was reintroduced to the whole range of emotions. I returned home from Kauai carbonated with gratitude. I recommitted my Self to my voice and my calling. And to listening to my own imperfect and ridiculously beautiful life.

The artist Kiki Smith puts it well. 

“I think a lot of making art is listening to yourself. You can have fantasies about having control over the world, but I know I can barely control my kitchen sink. That is the grace I'm given.”

The grace I am given: to live and listen and be an artist. This is something that continues to evolve. To live into my calling and listen to my life I need to protect my soft and tender parts so this evolution continues. Overwhelm and anxiety collapse my capacity and access to wonder and awe. 

One thing I did on return from Kauai was to make pocket-sized sketch books that I can carry just to doodle. Not to solve problems, not imagine new projects, simply to scribble and make marks. And I got back in my studio with gusto.

I made hens. I fiddled with a few before Kauai, but after the hilarious morning racket of the island, I surrendered to this new creature. And collectors snapped them up! Owls wanted to join the menagerie. Then a collector asked if I could make dog treat dishes. Well, why not try? And the dog-shaped dishes were just right. Last week I made my first little bird. What has happened to me!?

Now is the time of monsters. Of hens, of owls, dogs, and birds. In the face of horror and injustice, my practice keeps me human and whole. It is from this place of disruptive joy that I can resist. I learn things as I work with my hands that no amount of journaling or contemplation can reveal. I recharge and reflect. I listen.

While we are losing many freedoms we must not become monsters ourselves. Except in the most winsome and subversive ways: warmth, decency, kindness. One freedom that I will not voluntarily surrender is my voice and the grace of listening to my life. To feel all of the emotions so that I remain a compassionate, sometimes silly, earthling.

And if I become a monster, may I be persistant and patient, winsome and whimsical, disrupting evil systems with generative, loving joy.

*****

To see how I make monsters, CLICK HERE.