We were lucky to catch up with Marlene Miller recently and have shared our conversation below.
Marlene, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Can you talk to us about a project that’s meant a lot to you?
In 1998, I created a monumental ceramic relief sculpture in celebration of the 30th anniversary of Illinois Central College, where I taught in the art department. I drew inspiration, compositionally and thematically, from the Italian Renaissance painting “Tribute Money” by Masaccio, which I had the good fortune to study in person years before in Florence. In this three-part narrative, I focused on the history and mission of the college, with depictions of notable faculty members and a cross section of the student body.
Although I had never created a relief sculpture in fired clay before, I trusted that with over 25 years experience as a ceramic artist, and the generous mentorship of highly experienced artist Bruce Howdle, I would be able to achieve this monumental task. The project involved 16,000 lbs. of wet clay on a floor to ceiling constructed easel, requiring intense physical labor. I worked 12 -14 hour days, 7 days a week, for over 12 months with student assistants. The project brought constant technical and aesthetic challenges that demanded attention and daily resolution.
This project holds special significance for me, personally, professionally, and artistically. Challenging me completely, I learned what I was capable of, and that I could trust myself. I gained self-confidence. I felt stretched in the best possible ways and enormous gratifying fulfillment, so much, that I decided to leave my tenure track teaching position and forge a new career as a full-time artist. It was a terrifying decision, yet I never felt more alive, throwing myself into the unknown.
Artistically, the enormous canvas of clay required me to shift my approach, relying increasingly on intuition and instinct. I moved in the direction of allowing evidence of my artistic struggle and my hands working the clay to shine through. As a little girl, I once visited a museum and saw the fingerprints of ancient potters on the surface of fired pottery and I was in awe, sensing the presence of the artist from long ago. There was something sacred in those fingerprints and ridges. I started to allow my own presence and life struggle to shine forth. This pivotal experience ultimately has led to many years of sculptural work that has become increasingly free, authentic, and deeply personal.
Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.
I was fortunate to have discovered my love of painting, ceramics, all the arts, as a little girl. In kindergarten, I distinctly remember standing in front of my easel, painting with abandon. I recall the moment in which I became aware that I was feeling for the first time, profound joy and freedom, and finding a home within myself. My mother noticed and nurtured this side of me, giving me large watercolor sets and sketch pads, and enrolling me in pottery classes at the age of 7. When I was 5 or 6, my family attended a concert by the great flamenco guitarist, Carlos Montoya, at the State Capitol in Madison, Wisconsin. Pushing my way through the crowd, I peered down to the circular space below me, to behold the artist. As he leaned into his instrument, his delicate, fiery, and thunderous strumming penetrated the enormous expanse. Awestruck, I was transported to a place vast, dramatic, and soulful. I have struggled to comprehend this experience throughout my life, and I believe it underpins my life work as an artist.
I had many other confounding experiences as a little girl. In the most absurd situations, I would end up asking myself the questions, why am I here and what is the meaning of this life? I was enrolled in a dance school that regularly took their students out into the community to perform our little numbers. One of my more tame stories places me in a smoke filled bar of a VFW hall, old men bent over their beers and cigars in the middle of the day, their backs turned to us, as we tap danced to the record “Everything’s coming up Roses!” belted out by the incomparable Ethel Merman. The absurdity of tap dancing there in costume with the old men facing away into their own dark worlds, led me to my usual interior questions. When I committed to art as my career and vocation in undergraduate school, I found a place to wrestle with all my confounding questions. For decades, as I work the clay in my studio, I open the door psychologically and spiritually to all my memories, observations and struggles, allowing it all free reign.
When I am doing my most personal and freely intuitive work, I am looking to be surprised and deeply moved. I build up and tear down repeatedly and work the clay with my bare hands, until I am transfixed by the presence before me. My personal works tend to be confrontational and challenging, generally a weaving of dark and light aspects of life. I am most fascinated by masculine figures and psyche, with a focus on power, aggression, and its aftermath. As a little girl, I used to watch political conventions into the middle of the night, was fascinated by the power struggles and back slapping, deal making, cigar smoking men, back when political conventions were unscripted and quite revealing.
I love to have conversations with potential collectors, who generally gravitate to my most challenging works. I love to connect with people on a very deep level. I’ve had people share incredibly personal aspects of their lives, while viewing my works. It is a profound honor to have people entrust me with their stories.
Do you think there is something that non-creatives might struggle to understand about your journey as a creative? Maybe you can shed some light?
When I was in undergraduate art school, I studied art history, along with studio courses. I discovered that the most powerful and affecting works of art seemed to emanate from the most private and personal domain of human life. I realized too, that when an artist created from that deep well of private experience, the artwork held powerful universal appeal. I decided early in my formation as an artist that I would always aim at this potent combination. I understood as a young person that I would need to go within and learn to know myself deeply. This has been a hallmark of what I have aimed to do with my artwork for many decades; create works that are deeply personal and private, while also expressing struggles and interior states that are universal.
I also hold specific standards for myself, of never repeating, and never allowing a work to become too easy, too predictable, or facile. I work in a fairly aggressive mode, using a 2 x 4 to strike and compress the clay initially. I back away and look for an eye or a mouth, something that invites entry. I charge into the face initially, with my hands and with metal tools. I frequently build up and tear down, at times cutting the heads off and throwing them across the room, if they become too perfect. Generally the cast offs become distorted, and sometimes I reattach them, with strange and shocking results. My process is one of discovery and challenge. I do not lead by way of logic toward a destination; rather I take off without a roadmap. When I was growing up, youngest of 7 children, we would all pile into a sedan, going on vacation. We had no destination planned. My father would ask, which direction do you want to go in? Then we would head out. We never had hotel reservations, winging it the entire way, open to whatever experiences lay ahead. This is very much the way I work in my studio, with my most personal of works.
I also do commission works. These include portrait busts and relief sculpture, which require me to use a different set of skills. In portraiture, I rely more heavily on logic and analysis, to attain the likeness I am seeking, while still retaining an openness and searching quality as I work, to achieve a depth of feeling and interior life. In either case, it is necessary to use a logical roadmap in advance of starting. Commissioned works often represent a melding of the ideas of both client and artist. They see something in my work that resonates with them, while also having strong personal aspirations for the finished work. I enjoy the challenge of working collaboratively with clients, to bring to them what is meaningful, while retaining my own personal stylistic stamp.
Can you tell us about a time you’ve had to pivot?
In 2000, I left the security of my teaching position to focus exclusively on my sculpture and to further explore the rich terrain of the unconscious, a move both terrifying and liberating. Then came the devastating blow of 9/11/2001, awakening within me an urgency to make sense of what seemed now, an unfathomably complex world. From 1998 to 2002, I also experienced the sudden loss of several of my closest friends. Signifying the end of one phase of my life and work, and signaling a new chapter, I dreamed one night of old man in flowing white hair, beard and gown, my childhood image of God. Standing atop a frozen icy dome in the sky, he suddenly slides off into the dark unknown as his perch melts away. Running to my studio in the dream, I discover that my gas kiln has self-ignited, exploded, and the door has burst open wide.
The solid ground beneath me, and the control I thought I had once possessed, were gone. An emotional nakedness emerged, along with a more profound sense of freedom, deeply impacting my work. My aim shifted to more fully embrace the unknown, opening the way for instinct and improvisation to reign. From 2002 onward, my work became increasingly more visceral and raw, even savage at times, in subject matter and handling of the clay.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.millerclay.com
- Instagram: millerclaystudio