The Genesis of Ann Metlay Art

I must have been asleep during that conversation with my Guide. I do not remember exactly when it occurred. But, as I move forward with this life, snippets of it come back to me. 

Maybe it happened when I suddenly had to retire. I did the math. I knew I could not remain in the DC area, so, virtually sight unseen, I chose to move to the Verde Valley where I knew no one. 

Or, maybe I spoke to my Guide  several years later when I was on oxygen 24-7, and the bulky oxygen tank made it impossible to walk my dogs. I closed myself in my house then, vowing only to come out when I had a way to go about without hauling the ten pound tank with me. I sat inside my house for five months, making tissue paper collages. Then one day I lost 100 pounds and realized I did not need supplemental oxygen. My O2 levels have remained high ever since. Maybe that was when I bargained for this life change.

Or maybe I had the conversation without any dramatic fanfare. Maybe I simply put one foot in front of the other. Did not look back. Trusted something was going to happen. And it did.

For my entire life I have been a writer. I breathed words, taught them to others, even wrote a book,. Then a day came when words did not fully express my internal emotions and my vision. First I found papier mache. I learned how to connect tree branches using it. I was hooked. I had to represent my thoughts in three-dimensional fashion.

Forty years ago I discovered clay in a sculpture class in adult ed in Berkeley. I knew at that moment, that although I left my new-found passion for sculpting as I moved eastward, I would reconnect with clay someday. I moved around the country, from Berkeley to Indiana, on to Boston, then to the DC area. And from there I moved here to the Verde Valley. With each move I asked myself, “Is this the place where I will find clay, a kiln?”

Late one summer I was up in Jerome in my studio, making assemblages with papier mache and desert wood. I passed a fellow artist. He handed me a flyer for the newly opening Reitz Ranch for Ceramic Arts. I drove out there immediately.

As I drove down the dirt road along the Verde River, I knew I was on the right road for my dreams of clay.  I met Sheryl the new owner of the Reitz Ranch, took a tour, and signed up on the spot, becoming the first member of the ranch.

This conversation I had with my Guide, I know it happened before I found Reitz Ranch. As I drove back down the road from the ranch, I realized I had yielded to passions. My life from now on would be totally immersed in ceramic sculpture. I have now found the sacrifices I would make for this passion. I have relinquished the joy of close family connections. I have watched one close friend after another move on, whether by crossing over, or becoming engaged, or moving away to be closer to family because of illness. I have settled into a sort of loneliness.

But, at the same time, I have found my release by sinking my hands into clay, by molding it, becoming totally immersed in each piece I create. Part of the time I work the clay, my mind is not even connected to what my hands are doing. I travel to another dimension.

It has been two years since I drove down that dirt road to the ranch. I have begun to appreciate the eccentricities of clay; the way it slumps when it is not yet dry enough to stand tall on its own, the way it needs direction for sharp corners; the way it can look lumpy and formless if I do not define its shape with authority when it is wet; the way glazes seem to have a mind of their own, come out muddy and brown when I do not meet their seemingly persnickety needs. The underlying lesson I have learned, I think, is not to yield to shortcuts, not to plow through my work in a careless fashion.

Although, at this time, I do not have the network of close friends I have thrived with in the past, I am finding my way into a wonderful community of artists. Through being involved in Made in Clarkdale, through SVAC Open Studios, through the OTC Muse Gallery, I now have begun to feel at home with a group of people with whom I never believed I shared common experience. Yes. Much of this community began this way of life 50 or 60 years before I did. But I had this conversation with my Guide, which I do not fully remember. I signed on to this new way of life. I cannot go back now!
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Now, I look forward to opening my new incarnation of a gallery, Ann Metlay Art. This gallery will display the work of a fine artist, an artist who is confident in her artistic talents. Her art stands tall, alone; nothing attached to it. I no longer doubt my artistic voice. This art is my affirmation, my expression of the beauty I find around me.