Usually I'm more of a designer artist ... meaning that I prefer to sketch out and plan what I'm about to make, even if it's ultimately another drawing. It's hard for me to just play. However without play my muse becomes quiet and reluctant. I suspect that she's not as uptight about perfection as I tend to be. On most Tuesdays I'm slowly learning how to play again. That's when I go to my friend Rachel's house for a clay day. I don't know too much about it and I doubt that I have a very good touch with it.
There's something about clay that is reminiscent of being a small child making mud pies. Not that I ever really did that. I'm picturing one day in particular when my brothers Derrick, Mario and Jason were playing football in the wet backyard. My mom forever captured them on film just dripping from head to toe with mud. Yet they were smiling from ear to ear. Obviously the spirit of play was alive and well for them. That's the feeling that I'm trying to rekindle while I'm playing with clay.
Sure, part of me, well okay, the majority of me, has sketches in mind of what to make when I go over there. I'm fighting that fiercely. So much so that I'm just going with the flow. I'm not worried anymore about the outcome and instead enjoying the moment. It's a freedom really. My muse is happy, very happy indeed.