Me and myself.
I’ve been keeping my polymer clay stash on the floor next to my computer and fiddling around with it whenever I get an idea or need a break from whatever computer-stuff I happen to be working on (which is relatively often). There’s been no theme to what I’ve produced thusfar, outside of the shared media. I’ve made skulls -even more than you saw previously, though none are remarkable enough to photograph. I’ve made rainbows, which I believe to be destined for brooch-dom:
I’ve made cuttlefish, these for necklace-dom. I named them after PZ Myers, who I greatly admire as a scientist, blogger and (from what little I know of him a la internet) person. Having clay cephalopods named after you is a dubious honor at best, but hey, it makes me smile.
After deciding the rainbows just didn’t cover all the bases, I’ve made little purple-magenta-blue triangles, also destined for brooch-dom (and maybe a necklace… maybe).
And then, faced with a wealth of pink pearl clay and a distaste for pink, I began to make me. Now I’ve never been much of a doll girl- I’ve rarely owned them, rarely played with them as a child, and certainly never made my own. I’ve never been much of a self-portrait type either, outside of my art journal (wherein it’s never just me but instead me with symbols and words and the ilk- me as an accent to communicate another idea, not me as the focus, not me as just me).
Well, I thought, I’m always up for trying something new. Thus decided, I took up my clay and I began to sculpt.
I started with the kind of basic, stylized form I’ve seen from other polymer clay artists with a penchant for doll-making, then looked at my little clay stick figure and said “That’s not me.” For one thing, I’ve got curves.
And so I added breasts and hips and thighs. I pinched in wrists and ankles and contemplated how hyperaware I was of my own flesh at that moment, while trying to rebuild it in malleable pink clay. I contemplated how I couldn’t fool myself about what I was proud of (strong calves- fill those in) and what I was uncomfortable with (I’ll come back to my thighs later), and contemplated why it is I’m uncomfortable with my own anatomy. I did a lot of contemplating.
I don’t know what I’ll do with it when I’m done, but that’s okay. This one, I’m definently in it for the process.