Mostly about how I want to be Tolkien

Someone asked me recently what I was doing artistically lately. I dislike update posts, partly because I think, "it's none of your business, Mr. Internet." Also, I find writing update posts to be rather depressing for me. I suppose I'm afraid of being judged. I don't often measure up to cultural ideas of happiness or success. This is my life right now. I don't mind it, but it might look different from the outside.

However, the question reminded me that I do want to write about what I am up to artistically. But I have to find a balance between shameless self promotion, and the more reclusive and secretive impulses of my introvert personality.

I haven't expounded upon the glories of Tolkien on this blog nearly as often as I should. I shall take this opportunity.

I think one of the reasons I love Tolkien's work is that he has captured and explored, in some of his works, a particular creative experience with which I identify. Lord of the Rings is his most celebrated work, but to me, The Silmarillion is Tolkien's richest and most personal work. Having read The Sil a few times, I feel like I know where Tolkien himself is peering out of his creations. There is a part of him that I can understand like a good friend.

Detail of a painting of Aule by Ted Nasmith.

There is this wonderful little story about a powerful artist, named Aule, who is inspired to attempt a creative act far beyond his power. He has a burning impatience, and an abundance of love and knowledge that he wants to communicate, somehow, to someone. His timing is bad, and he is less than competent to achieve his goal. In pursuit of his goal, he must submit his creations to a higher creative power, whom he is imitating. Realizing that his imitations are unworthy, and that imitation might be presumptuous of him, Aule tries to destroy his work, though he weeps as he does it. But the higher power steps in to save Aule's work, imperfect as it is, and completes it, filling in for the artist's incompetence.

I write, and sing, and draw, and make ceramics* because of a sort of pressure. I have all this energy which comes from beauty that I see, and people I love, and truth that is earth shaking, and from the painful joy and sorrow of just being alive. I am hopelessly incompetent to express or otherwise relieve this pressure. I can't wait until I am skilled enough to realize my vision. I'm not even patient enough to get a firm idea of what my vision is, or think it through. I suppose I will spend a large part of my life trying to develop patience and discipline. In my pride, I imagine that someone really needs a mug that I am making, or that my story will change the world. At some point, however, I become keenly aware that all my creative efforts will mean nothing if I do not offer them to God. I am jealous and somewhat in love with what I make. But the truth is, no one needs to hear ZitaLouise sing, unless it can help them seek the face of God. All my inspiration has its meaning in God; the art must also. But of course, when I adjust my intentions to God's glory, I find that nothing I have ever made with hand, or voice, or mind can ever be worthy, or capable, for that matter, of playing even a small part in this story. On the other hand, my incompetence is no excuse for withholding my poor attempts. Some grace must fill in the rest. I make my pitiful offering and then it isn't mine anymore.

I can't help but think that Tolkien identified with Aule at least as much as I do. Tolkien articulates what I could not, but perhaps the two of us felt the same. Perhaps there are lots of people who have this rather maddening relationship with God and their creations. Perhaps I can connect with them by making something that also echos that story.

So, lately I have had limited space in my house for painting or drawing. But I have had studio time at the local potters guild. So I have been making mugs. It is a slow start, but it is a se

ed that I think can grow. One has to start somewhere.

In search of a stable source of inspiration to focus and motivate my work, I am making mugs inspired by Tolkien. Tolkien's world is rich with cultures and characters and when I read it, I feel as though it were a real place that exists, somehow. I would like to go there and bring back a souvenir. I am trying to make mugs that either look as though they might belong to someone, or reflect and represent a person or place in Tolkien's world.

Artistically, it is a great design problem. How do I convey humility in a mug? Can I make this mug look brave and friendly at the same time? How do I express wildness and danger without sacrificing the functionality of this mug?

As a work of fan devotion, it is a lot of fun. What kind of mug would Gandalf drink out of? What would Gandalf look like if he were a mug? It makes me feel like I'm somehow part of that world. If not adding to it's imaginary existence, at least making the magic last a little longer after I close the book.

I'm hoping that somewhere out there, there are other human beings who would like to continue the Tolkien magic by drinking out of a hobbit mug. I am selling my Tolkien mugs on Etsy. You can see my shop here, if you want. My big impractical dream is to make lots and lots of Tolkien inspired ceramics, jewelry, drawings and other art. For now, all I've got is a few mugs. In all honesty, most of what is up there are drafts and essays of the designs I want to make. Perhaps someday I will get there. The part where these simple, imperfect mugs somehow lift hearts and minds to God is out of my hands. I pray that somehow it works out that way.

*I need a better layman's verb for the act of making ceramic art. I'd just say "I throw pots," but that is both limiting, since I rarely make "pots," and too violent when taken literally. Anyone know a better word?