stone hopping on a morning run
For scheduling information call: 802.823.7977 or e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
There are a number of options:
6 week session – $300
2.5 hours (give or take, mostly give..) each session
this includes all materials and my time outside of class for taking care of your pots in between classes.
it breaks down this way:
*2.5 hrs. instruction/week
*all clay and glazes (up to 50 lbs of clay. glazes will be made ahead and set up on glazing day for you to choose from)
*taking care of your pieces in between class; making sure they don’t dry out too early and they’re “just right” for the next step.
*firing your pieces 2 times
*recycling your unused clay scraps
Private Lessons – $65/2hr. session
2.5 hour sessions, one on one instruction.
these classes will be tailored to your ability level and interests
weekday slots available
Just beyond the flower garden at the end of the lawn
the curvature of the earth begins,
sloping down from there
over the length of the country
and the smooth surface of the Pacific
before it continues over the convex rice fields of Asia
and, rising, inclines over Europe
and the bulging, boat-dotted waters of the Atlantic,
finally reaching the other side of the house
where it comes up behind a yellow grove of forsythia
near a dilapidated picnic table,
then passes unerringly under the spot
where I am standing, hands in my pockets,
feet planted firmly on the ground
this is an installment of how-to videos I’m putting together to give the viewer an idea of the kind of instruction they’ll receive in workshops at jackie sedlock pottery
I’ve been singing with The Wandering Rocks for almost two years. I’m often asked how I came to be associated with this phenomenal group of artists. This is how it happened, according to me.
I was out on a run on the back roads of Williamstown in Dec 2010, when a friend passing by stopped to say hello and tell me that our mutual friend Merritt was moving back to the area. Not only was she moving back, but so was her partner and her twin babies! My frozen jaw dropped. All who knew her were very excited to have her heading back our way. “…And, ” my friend said, “wait ’till you meet her partner, Karl. You’ll really like Karl. He’s a painter.” Cool.
Fast forward a couple months… We’re on our way to Merritt’s housewarming celebration now and it is frigid out and we are late and because Merritt is who she is, there’s nowhere to park because everyone in the world is at this gathering (which is at her house, thrown by her. Backwards? Yes. Surprising? Not if you know Merritt.) I just want to go home and go to sleep until June, but we have to see her and say how delighted we are that she’s back because, really, we are, and I have to see these babies. Oh dear.
Once inside, we get warm, are handed drinks and the best carrot cake I’ve ever had, and there’s live music. I’m stopped in my tracks. Someone is playing and singing in the living room and I’m thinking “this is the sweetest sound I’ve heard in a long time”. Eventually, I was introduced to Karl Mullen, the painter. The first thing I did was ask who had written the song he sang. ”That’s my song”. Oh.
A few weeks later we met again at a friend’s birthday party and, as can happen around here, some folks brought instruments. I was tickled to see that Karl had brought his guitar. When he began to play, he asked if I thought I knew the song and would I be comfortable helping out on the chorus. “Um, yes. I think I can follow… ” I had no clue, but I knew I wanted to hear that song, and singing it would send me into orbit. It did.
Not long after that we met few times to sing and visit. One afternoon Sarah McNair showed up on my porch with her ukelele and coaxed me onto the porch swing to try some harmonies. Not long after that Jason McNair started showing up at these get-togethers. Last spring Casssadra Cleghorn stopped in the barn with her fiddle one night and we four became five.
This thing works. It works because Karl and Sarah create narratives about true love and longing and the mercies of a universe that wants us to open our arms. Cass lovingly connects the pieces to these short stories; she reminds us we are all bound by heart and fiddle strings. Jason is always there, keeping us afloat, sometimes plucking, sometimes bowing us along the river. What a thing it is to get into a room with these 4 people and just listen sometimes. And then we play and sing. And the world is better than all right.