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We seek community. We find our way toward those who share our passions. Last evening I had the pleasure of joining my husband, William Sulit, at the opening reception for
Craft Forms 2016, an international juried exhibit featuring textiles, metal work, ceramics, jewelry, wood, furniture, and basketry held at the magnificent
Wayne Art Center. This year's exhibit was curated by Stefano Catalani, Executive Director of the Gage Academy of Art, and what a show it is. One could spend a lot of time appreciating the materials, hand work, stories.
And one could bask, as I now am at this early morning hour, in the friendships strengthened or rediscovered last evening. Many of our clay friends were there—all dressed up and mud free. But so were friends from other spheres of my life—Bill Thomas, the Executive Director of
Chanticleer, with whom I worked on the book,
Ghosts in the Garden; Peter Archer of
Archer and Buchanan, an architect of great talent whom I first met so many years ago when we both worked for the same firm; Susan, a former family neighbor. The Wayne Art Center is a world of windows and light, ideas and the people who have them. It is led by Nancy Campbell, who achieves much and dreams forward. It is a welcoming place at a time when we could all use a little more welcome.
Today, from 1 to 2:30, Stefano will discuss his selection process and some of the artists—my husband among them—will talk about the pieces that were selected for the show. The event is free and open to the public.
Bill's selected piece is right there in the middle of the room, by the way. A close-up image can be found
here.
A few weeks ago we got the stupendous news that my husband's work had been juried into
Craft Forms 2016, an internationally recognized premiere contemporary craft exhibition showcased at the Wayne Art Center from December 3, 2016 through January 28, 2017.
This year's juror is Stefano Catalani, Curator of Art, Craft & Design at the Bellevue Museum, who will be here to lecture on the chosen works on December 3rd, at the Wayne Art Center.
I am infinitely proud of William Sulit, this husband of mine, who disappears for many hours of many days into the basement to create
sui generis work with extraordinary care. His work has sold well at Show of Hands in Philadelphia, where the gallery owner extended Bill's solo show an additional two months and has now maintained a dozen pieces for the shop. Bill's work will again be exhibited at Jam Gallery, in Malvern, PA, this November.
And this selection into this international show represents yet another turning point in Bill's clay career. I married an artist, through and through, and nothing makes me happier than to see his work make its way into the world.
I'm off to Oklahoma to teach memoir (among other things) at the
Nimrod Conference (and to see my beautiful Katherine and her twin babies). I'll be back next week with news on what I learned while away (and my thoughts on the extraordinary National Book Award finalist
The Turner House, by Angela Flournoy, with whom I'll share a Saturday panel).
All best to all of you in the meantime.
In our tiny but (dare I say it?) much-loved house, there are two bedrooms, one kitchen, one place for me to work, two rooms full of books and a basement and then again a garage where my husband does his thing.
This is a view of the basement. This is Sunday morning, 7:50 AM, as my husband prepares for his first solo clay show, opening in early June at the Show of Hands gallery on Pine Street. Bill has dozens of pieces of extraordinary originality and craftsmanship being cued up for the show. This shape is but a very early iteration (trust me when I tell you it will look nothing like this when it is done).
Meanwhile, Bill and I will be down at the Clay Studio in Old City on Friday evening, for the
Clay Studio National reception. The show, which honors "the best contemporary ceramic art being made in the United States now" features a collection of pieces culled from hundreds from across the country. One of Bill's architectural pieces will be on display.
We've been so thrilled by the response to
Juncture Notes—the writing elicited by our prompt, the questions about memoir, the interest in
our five-day memoir workshop. We're now at work on our second release, which should go out in a week or so. If you're interested in receiving a copy, just click on the link to the left of this blog post (or on the workshop link above). That's the sure-fire way of beating the spam filters, or so we believe, anyway.
One of the questions we've been receiving relates to the art that is folded in with the words. That art is, as many of you have guessed, the work of my partner in life and in this Juncture enterprise, William Sulit. I've
shared his work in many media from time to time on my blog. Bill's work was recently selected for the prestigious Clay Studio National exhibit, beginning on May 6th. We'll soon be celebrating his first solo show—in ceramics—at
Show of Hands Gallery in Philadelphia, beginning on June 3 and ending July 24.
Bill will be creating or sharing original art in each issue of Juncture. Here, above, is a taste of things to come.
Sign up if you'd like to see (or read) more.
There are just four spaces now left at our inaugural memoir workshop. Please let us know if you are interested.
The first time I ever saw my husband's art was after a softball game played at Memorial Hall, on the former Centennial grounds in Philadelphia. He was working primarily with watercolors then—almost-abstract landscapes on postcard-sized rectangles that depicted imaginary, possibly believable places.
In nearly uncountable ways and within an astonishing array of media, Bill has carried those motifs forward—and now he is translating them into clay. He's building bridges and tunnels inside cones and squares, perfecting surfaces in a medium that is notorious for having a mind of its own. He does that work quietly for hours every day in a basement studio, and then again on Wednesdays, among our friends at the Wayne Art Center.
Yesterday, a beautiful autumn day, we were grateful that that work was awarded the Wayne Art Center Ceramics Award at the Fall 2015 Members' Exhibition.
Mario Sulit, my brother-in-law, came in from Dallas to help us celebrate (among other things) my husband's first gallery showing, at Jam Gallery, in Malvern, PA. Bill (pictured in the dark shirt behind two of his pieces and beside sculptor
Doug Mott) joined painters, ceramicists, sculptors, egg artists, woodworkers, metal works, and salvaged-wood artist
Laura Petrovich-Cheney (whose work—built from the salvaged wreckage of Storm Sandy and incredibly inspiring to me, as the author of the forthcoming storm novel
This Is the Story of You—hangs just behind Bill) for what proved to be a wonderful reception and conversation.
Our friend, ceramicist Lisa Lynn, braved the rain and joined us as well.
For more on Bill's work, please visit his
web site.
To see his work in person, please visit the very hospitable Jam Gallery, located at 321 East King Street in Malvern, PA.
How proud I was this evening to accompany my husband to the Wayne Art Center (about which I have written
here), where he won a first award—a student award—for his work, "Industrial Landscape." This is an evolution of work that is exquisitely considered and well made, and a happy validation of the long hours he spends planning and building these pieces.
For a glimpse at an earlier collection, please go
here. So I got all dressed up. Wore heels for the first time in forever. Almost fell off the heels. Had fun seeing two of my own pieces on display. Which I'd entered just for fun, though, once I got there and saw the serious talent, I died a thousand deaths, then decided to stop dying and had the aforementioned (twice) fun. I don't think I'm good at this. Seriously. It's just — a community. I love the community. And sometimes the glaze does nice things.
So, hats off to my husband. I honor the originality of his vision. And the care with which he builds things.
From time to time I am privileged to share the artistry of my husband here. His photographs embellishing
Ghosts in the Garden, his illustrations alive in
Dr. Radway's Sarsparilla Resolvent, his graphic and typographic sensibility behind the annual reports, commemorative books, and employee publications we create for our clients.
Today I'm (very) happy to share Bill's stunning photographs of his gorgeous ceramics, which are now for sale as framed prints, gift cards, even pillows. His Fine Art America page is located
here. More work—graphic, illustrative, wildly interesting—will soon be available elsewhere.
I see this work hanging in kitchens and living rooms around the world. In the backdrop of independent films. On the stages of Broadway. Floating through the US mail.
Please do help us spread the word.
My thanks.
A few days ago I posted
here about my husband's work as a ceramicist and photographer.
I can now share that exquisite work here. Bill made all of the pots, arranged, lit, and took the photographs, and designed the book, which he will soon be sharing with ceramics studios.
I, however, love the work so much that I have asked if I might share it with all of you.
The link to the Blurb book preview is
here.
In a few weeks I'll be sharing Bill's new web site, which features this work, his 3D design work, and his photography.
This summer a quiet new book has unfolded in the studio space behind our house.
Shades of Hamlet is a collection of ceramic works presented as a series of still life photographs accompanied by excerpts from Shakespeare's "Hamlet." William Sulit, my husband, made the ceramics, staged and lit them, photographed them, and designed these most exquisite pages.
I share a glimpse of that today.
In less than two months,
Dr. Radway's Sarsaparilla Resolvent, my 1871 Philadelphia novel (and prequel to Dangerous Neighbors), will be released by New City Community Press/Temple University Press.
This illustrated book (all thanks to William Sulit) is another song to the city I love, and more about it can be found
here.
Nearly two years ago, I posted the first words of the book
here.
Today I share the whole of a very short chapter two:
Chapter Two
“I keep losing things,” Ma says to William. The room is swampy, the shadows smug. A bottle of Bitter Wine of Iron sits lidless on the near table, a sorry spoon beside it. William wipes his forehead with his sleeve and studies the single mourning dove that will not leave the sill.
“Ma,” he reminds her. “I’m still right here.”
He stands up from the chair where he’s been sitting. Measures the Bitter Wine onto the spoon while the dove watches with the flat disk of its eye. William worries briefly for the dove’s mate, disappeared on the same day that he and Ma lost Francis. The one dove staying and the other dove gone, and William’s mother dying by inches of heartache.
“Take your medicine, Ma,” he says. “Doctor made you promise.”
Nothing.
“Rejuvenation, Ma. Comfort. Says it right here on the label.”
Ma turns. She closes her eyes and leaves William standing with the thick drip of the stuff on the spoon—E.F. Kunkel’s Bitter Wine, bought with Francis’s stealings for a hard one dollar. Lifting the spoon to his own mouth, William sucks it clean, then pours himself a foul second. The mourning dove cocks its head in a sideways scold.
“Mind your own,” William tells it, but the bird just stares. Everything that’s broken is William Quinn’s to fix.
Not long ago you
heard me boasting here about my dear friend Karen Rile, uber Penn prof (check out
this article in the
Pennsylvania Gazette on a recent award Karen deservedly won and what she did with that honor) and (with her daughter Lauren) lit magazine maker.
Today, I'm again privileged to share the news that the first true issue of the magazine has been launched (the last issue was the meta issue, or the half issue, or the .5). It's called
Issue No. 1. It features some astonishing work by talents new and established, and it's worth every second you will now spend reading it.
I insist. You will stop now and you will read it.
There are, I warn you, chickens afoot. But I had nothing to do with that.
Almost nothing to do with that.
I'm not actually done talking about those fabulous YoungArts writers yet. Indeed, for the past several weeks, I've been eagerly anticipating the arrival of
Hairography, the book my husband and I created to celebrate the work of these super novas. Bill took the gorgeous portraits; he designed the book. I encouraged and prodded. The National YoungArts Foundation made the publication possible.
Today
Hairography arrives in the students' mailboxes. I am immeasurably happy about that. This, above, is Miss Shelley Hucks, whose beautiful words close the book. And here are some of my words, from the preface:
-->
The thing about being a “master” teacher in the National YoungArts Foundation program is that there are no rules. You are invited to come to Miami in early January, to stand among the finalists of a rigorous national contest, and to divulge (perhaps) who you’ve been, where you’ve traveled, what you’ve learned, what failure taught you, what the dream looks like on the opposite side of the moon. As a writer who has experimented with all genres and published in most, as a person who takes greatest pleasure from watching others soar, as a woman more inclined to listen than to speak, I chose to invite the two dozen bright lights to see themselves new and to report back on their adventures.
Hairography I called it. What does the stuff on the top of your head have to say?How will it say it? What is the mood, the tone, the diction, the lexiconical reach? How does the hair manage to think when it is perpetually leaving itself behind?Is it at peace? Can it know peace? Find the pronoun, name the gender, consider plurals and singulars, tense and tone, or don’t. Write the autobiography of your hair.
By:
Beth Kephart ,
on 10/25/2012
Blog:
Beth Kephart Books
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It's been quite a week here, as proof pages for both
Handling the Truth and
Dr. Radway's Sarsaparilla Resolvent arrive. Over the next few days I'll turn my attention to the second, my 1871 prequel to
Dangerous Neighbors, which features Eastern State Penitentiary, Baldwin Locomotive Works, Schuylkill River races, George Childs, a famous murder, and a boy named William who rescues animals for a living.
This book also features illustrations by William Sulit and a book design by Elizabeth Parks (and copy editing by my blogger friend Quinn Colter). It will be released this coming March from New City Community Press/Temple University.
Lana and Tirsa
Lana
You know how it is when you wait and wait and wait to share a (good) secret? That's how I always feel when I'm waiting to showcase my husband's art on my humble blog. I was able to release
this image not long ago. Today I can share more.
This work is months in the making. It all began with a photo shoot at DanceSport Academy and features our talented, beautiful friends—Jan, Lana, Scott, Tirsa—whom Bill photographed against a green background. Everything else in these images—the furniture, the hats, the mannequins, the cloth, that pair of legs—was fashioned with a variety of 3D software tools, about which I know nothing.
I just know that I'm amazed, all the time, by what Bill does.
Click on the image to see it in bright detail.
When your heart has been pounding, like my heart has been pounding, when you're averaging five corporate stories a day and still behind, when the Zumba ladies ask you if you are a size bigger than you thought you were (could this be from sitting on your bum all day?), you see the mail truck drive up and you run. First, to get that dress size down. Second, for some relief.
Today, my running relief revealed a package that contained the Dutch edition (Sdu Uitgevers) of ZENOBIA, the corporate fable I penned with Matt Emmens, a good friend through all these years and now the chairman of the board of Shire, the international bio-pharma company. The illustrations (my husband's work) look exactly the same as they do in the English-language version.
The words? Not so much.
Matt, did you ever think we'd be so multiply
translated? I hope this makes you happy today.
oh, oh, so intrigued. and I remember these beeeautiful illustrations from an email long ago.
So poignant.