Friday, September 2, 2022

Studio Tour Preview

 

new abstract bulbs

This weekend, September 3-5 is the Second Annual Yakima Artist's Studio Tour!  Stop by my home studio, 203 S. 8th Ave, in Yakima from 10-4 tomorrow or Saturday.

Monika Lemmon's painting and my tiny vases

See paintings and prints by Monika Lemmon and Photos by Chris Otten, as well as my ceramic sculpture and functional pottery.

Photos by Chris Otten

Alison, Mili and Nancy's Dezignosaur jewelry will be back again this year. They've spent a lot more time with school and sports this past year than in 2020-21, but they still have new polymer clay jewelry and maybe a few felted and wire wrapped items for the show.

Alison and Mili getting ready before cross country

I've blogged plenty about my new work from this past year. You can see and read about my bulbs here, my mugs here, and my new sculpture here.

my port bulbs

You can read more about the tour here. 

balloons to highlight the path to the studio







Thursday, September 1, 2022

Port-a-Cath Bulbs, Finished

spiky port-a-cath bulb

This year a lot of my studio time has been spent on these port-a-cath bulbs. I've gotten about 33 bulbs glazed, fired, hung, and ready to show this weekend at the Yakima Artist's Studio Tour.

my studio, this afternoon, nearly ready for the weekend show

The Tour includes 8 locations in Yakima and over 30 exhibiting artists. Artworks in a variety of media are for sale. Tickets are $10 each and get you into all 8 locations on any or all of the 3 days of the Tour. Saturday and Sunday, September 3 and 4, studios will be open 10-4. Monday, Labor Day, September 5, the studios will be open 10-12.

crackle texture port-a-cath bulb

The port-a-cath bulbs have been a good fit for my year, both the imagery and the forms. The imagery of the port-a-cath device and the catheter line has been the thing that feels like it best represents the strange experience of chemo and of cancer treatment. 

detail of 9 port-a-cath bulbs on the temporary hanging wall in my studio

A port-a-cath is the little device that was implanted in my chest for delivery of chemotherapy drugs. Instead of starting an IV each time I had an infusion, the nurses at Northstar were able to use the three little bumps on top of the port to quickly insert a special needle into the port and thus start my infusion.

port-a-cath bulbs before the hanging wall was up

The port is a good thing. I hate IVs and I get queasy and faint around needles and the IV always feels uncomfortable and pulls more of my attention than I'd like. I like that, after the very first time, the port access was always easier on me than an IV. 

port-a-cath bulb with multiple base layers

But on the other hand, the port is icky and creepy. I felt like a cyborg, in that I had this inorganic device inside me. The ick factor is raised by the fact that this device is there for the "safe" delivery of poison, so that's a strange thing to contemplate. Throughout this whole cancer experience, it seems so strange that they hurt the patient to help them.

double port-a-cath bulb

To be clear, I'm not objecting to treatment. I feel very lucky to have cancer in 2021 and 2022, in a city with a quality cancer treatment center and expert doctors and within an easy drive to Seattle Cancer Care Alliance. The treatment I've received is so much less unpleasant than it would have been even 10 or 20 years ago. I had high quality targeted treatments that will leave me with fairly minor short and long term side effects. 

carved background port-a-cath bulbs

But. Chemo and radiation are still treatments that kill the good with the bad and I find that to be just a wild idea. I'm grateful for the treatment and the innovations, but I'd still rather not do this. Just like I'm grateful for the port, but I also found it icky and was also happy to have it removed.

port-a-cath bulbs on the temporary hanging wall in my studio

The port was uncomfortable for the first week or two, but then I got used to it. Before it was implanted, I thought it was going to be sticking partly out of my skin, like some kind of easy access charging port with a flip-top lid.  Instead, the whole thing was under the skin and just left a raised area on my chest, as well as a scar where I was cut when it was put in.

port-a-cath bulb with calligraphic catheter lines

I found it particularly creepy that I could feel not only the lump of the port itself and the three locator bumps on top, but also the catheter as it snaked up and then down into my body. The catheter wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it felt strange and, like a missing tooth, I couldn't resist touching that area and feeling that strangeness.

double port-a-cath bulb with the catheter winding inside 

The first time I had the port accessed, it didn't work quite right, so the nurse had me lay back and move my arms around a variety of poses to get the blood flowing through. The idea was to kind of unkink the catheter so it would work right. 

port-a-cath bulb where the catheter line is tangled (this is what I was thinking of when the nurse was having me move my arms)

The contortions worked to make the port move, but thinking about what was wrong and what I was doing to fix it made me faint again. For weeks I worried that doing jumping jacks or stretching might re-kink the catheter, but I never had trouble with it again after that first day.

port-a-cath bulbs where the catheter lines become the bulb itself

Once chemo was finished, the port was taken out, at the same time as my tumor and sentinel lymph nodes were removed. Now I am hyperaware of the scar, which is more uncomfortable than the lumpectomy or the lymph node scar for some reason. The removal scar was done over or into the original scar, so I just have the four scars from this experience (counting the drain scar from the second lymph node surgery).

port-a-cath bulb with a different style of port (I didn't like this one as much)

Because I found the creepiness factor of the port so fascinating and off-putting, it naturally became a subject of the objects I was able to make during and after chemo. The more I played with the position and arrangement of the catheters, the more I felt like this was an interesting idea to explore.

port-a-cath bulb with textured background

I didn't know what my port looked like, exactly, before it was removed, so I worked from a brochure about port-a-caths that they gave me after mine was put in. In May, when I had it out, I asked for the port to take home, but was a little bit disappointed that mine was a more boring design than the ones I had based my bulbs on.

temporary wall of bulbs in the studio

Making these bulbs also fit into my sometimes interrupted work time, both during chemo when I was sometimes feeling nausea or fatigue and in the recovery time after surgery when I found it difficult to work for a long time in the studio. I can easily work on just a bulb or two at a time. 

plain yellow base port-a-cath bulb 

Unlike when I am throwing on the pottery wheel, I can stop and start the work with more flexibility. I can keep the bulbs wrapped better in between work sessions and there isn't much set up or clean up for working on one of these press-molded forms.

squared off port-a-cath bulb 

In fact, as I was winding down my sculpting work so that I could get these fired and glazed before the upcoming Studio Tour, I kept making new bulbs, which are now in the kiln. It became a bit of a compulsion to keep making. I also made a sprig mold with my real port and wanted to use that on some new bulbs (ones that won't be ready for the Tour).

lots of port-a-caths layered

I colored and glazed these cancer bulbs with the same kinds of bright contrasting and layered colors I used for my abstract bulbs. I feel like the playful and bright color is both joyful (for me) and a bit surprising when paired with cancer imagery. 

detail of hanging port-a-cath bulbs

I didn't want these to be dark, depressing, or sad. I admit that I kind of like the idea of them being creepy or gross, in some ways. I really made them for myself. I really didn't care, at the outset (and still don't I guess) if other people thought they were appealing.

heart-a-cath bulbs

What I think I've found, is that people who have experienced cancer themselves or in their family, especially people who had or have a port, find them interesting. I think they feel like a memento or maybe even an inside "joke" about this intense experience.

detail of installed bulbs

Ironically, though my nephew and I have both been dealing with cancer all year, he never had a port, so this imagery misses him entirely. I mean, he's 3, so presumably the bright colors and shiny texture is appealing, but the poor kid gets a new IV every time he has an infusion.

different type of port-a-caths

I did a couple of minor experiments with another physical object from the chemo process, one that my nephew might be familar with. Every time I had an infusion, they gave me an ID bracelet with my identifying information. Every time I came home, I cut it off, but instead of throwing it away, they started collecting on my desk. 

ID bracelet bulb


Pretty soon I had enough medical bracelets to fully cover a bulb if I wanted. The bracelets were plastic, so I tried pressing them into the clay. The result was just two bulbs with this texture. I think the color makes them work, to some extent, but I have no idea if the results "read" as anything recognizable.

port-a-cath vines

Once the Tour is over, I might have another think about the imagery that applies more broadly to the experience. I am also looking forward to talking with people this weekend when they see this work. I'm looking forward to hearing both from the folks who've had cancer and those who haven't.

heart-a-cath bulb with raised areas where the catheter seems to be below the surface

Months ago, I asked on Facebook or Instagram if people knew what the object was. Folks who'd had a port knew, but others guessed a spaceship or a sprinkler. I may have further obfuscated the form by adding plantlike growths out of the port, or by layering ports on top of one another.


plant-like catheter lines


As of this writing, I am nearly done getting my studio cleaned and getting these pieces out and on display for the show this weekend. Tomorrow night Monika and Chris will set up their work so we can be ready for Saturday.

port-a-cath bulb with raised area suggesting catheter is under the (yellow) skin

If you are in Yakima, join me at my house for the Second Annual Yakima Artist's Studio Tour this Labor Day weekend. My studio will be open 10-4 on Saturday and Sunday and 10-12 on Sunday. 


catheter lines that twist and come off the surface