Bulb Installation in YVC Faculty Office Area

my installation at YVC

Over spring break I installed some of my work at YVC. This work is in the hall of the faculty office area in the art building. I also have some sculptures in the front office area and plan to put up another wall installation elsewhere in the office area when I have the time.

Chris Otten's photography in the office area in our building

The Yakima art faculty requested this permission from YVC's new interim president earlier this year. The main halls in the building have built in display cabinets and temporary display walls for student work, as well as a large permanent mural painting and the etched glass and cement of the front entryway, but the halls of the faculty area have always been very plain. We wanted an opportunity to have the visual arts faculty have our work up (and somewhat protected) as both a pedagogical tool, and just to make the space more interesting. 

 Our office hallway waiting for more work from Kayo

Chris and I installed work over break and Kayo plans to install hers in the summer, which may be when I put up my other work.  It's nice to be able to show the students what we do in our own work, since during class that's not our focus, nor do we usually have the time or setup to do so. However, I already know that I can use some of my pieces as reference for students who are asking about more complicated or just less routine techniques or surfaces.

these paper templates help me "quickly" apply the grid to the wall

I've done this format of installation before: 10 rows and 10 columns of bulbs in a grid. I already had the grid planning paper ready to go, so I used that, but later learned that the lowest part of the installation might be in the way for the carpet cleaner, so I have an email in to facilities asking whether they'd like me to adjust the installation to be higher and shorter (but longer).

My bulbs and other stuff on the wall at home

When I went to install the work I was surprised to discover that I didn't really have a lot of extra pieces. I grabbed several boxes of bulbs from storage in my house, but when I got to school, I realized that some of my resist or politics bulbs were perhaps a little too political to install at work. I ended up pulling work from the wall install at home to use at school.

close up of the bulbs at YVC

The wall installation at school now has abstract bulbs, chemo port bulbs, and some of the bulbs from the resist series that consisted simply of the text of the first ammendment and the constitution. When I got back home, I put up the too-political bulbs, as well as some that I don't like as much, but the home installation has had to be filled out with other hanging work that wasn't originally conceived of as part of this install.

new bulbs in the kiln before firing

With a bunch of ideas bouncing around my head, not a ton of uninterrupted time to spend in the studio during the quarter, and with knowledge that 100 of my best bulbs are at school now, I've been spending the bulk of my home studio time making news.

new spiky bulb with sesame seed texture

I've entirely lost track of how many bulbs I've made this year. I have about 8 on the shelf in my studio and a handful more in progress, but I've been loading work into a bisqe kiln at home for at least a month. I was originally thinking I had enough to fire, but when I loaded, I realized I had more space and some work drying in the studio, so I decided to wait for that. Once those pieces were dry, I had a few more nearly ready, so I wanted for those. I repeated this cycle an least 5 times, until I'd used all my kiln shelves. 

new bulb waiting to be fired

I fired the work yesterday and I know from the view from the top that there are at least 15 pieces in the kiln (because I can see them), but it will be a big surprise this evening or tomorrow when I unload at discover how many pieces I need to glaze and finish. In fact, yesterday I boxed up a bunch of functional work to put in storage where the bulbs had been because I know I'm going to need more shelf space for storing these pieces while I glaze them.

new bulb made from extruded cylinders

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

Port-a-cath and Heart-a-cath Mugs

port-a-cath and heart-a-cath mugs

Studio Tour

The second annual Yakima Labor Day Artist's Studio Tour is coming up this weekend. This year I'll have new work, including dishes, mugs, bulbs, and sculpture. As I have been cleaning my studio and getting set up for the tour, I realize that a lot of the new work is explicity cancer-themed, including a small batch of mugs inspired by my horrified fascination with the port-a-cath that I had during chemo this year.

heart-a-cath mugs

Cancer Mugs

For those of you who haven't been obsessed with this item all year, or who haven't memorized everything from my many posts about my breast cancer experience over the past 10 months (I just looked it up, I've written 23 posts tagged "cancer"), a port-a-cath is a little device surgically implanted under the skin to deliver chemo. The Adriamycin ("Red Devil" or "Dreaded Red") in the A/C chemo, in particular, is hard on the veins if it is infused via an IV, so it is, instead, infused via a port in the chest. The port-a-cath makes it easier to access the vein for infusion (much more comfortable for me, the patient), and, as I understand it, having the chemo drugs enter nearer the heart means more turbulence in the vein so that the poison moves more quickly away from the infusion site.

port-a-cath mugs

In December, or maybe late November, I had surgery to get the port installed. In May, when I had my lumpectomy, the port was taken out and I asked to keep it because I had been making art based on it all year, but I didn't quite know what it looked like (disappointingly, my port-a-cath was a less interesting object than the ones I used for my clay molds--my friend Amy got one that looks like one I created).

port-a-cath mug

 

Starting in December, I spent 20 weeks hanging out with the folks in the Northstar infusion room for my chemotherapy treatments. The people working there were uniformly great, just wonderfully patient and kind and helpful. They made the experience just that much more tolerable with how they treated us patients. I went into the process scared and worried, and spent a chunk of that time feeling unwell, but they explained things and did their jobs in a way that reduced the stress and anxiety. For this reason, I started thinking about how I'd like to acknowledge their efforts, and the efforts of my surgeon and oncologist, with something I made after the experience.

port-a-cath bulbs

I had started making port-a-cath bulbs earlier in the year. They fit both my mood and anxiety, in incorporating the port-a-cath and the catheter line, as well as fitting the level of effort I felt I could sustain. I didn't want to make art that was all pink ribbons and needles, both because that seemed cliche, but also because that wasn't really my experience (the needle for the port is shaped differently than the kind for a vaccine). The physical object that seemed to capture some of the creepiness and anxiety and strangeness of cancer, and chemo especially, was this thing I could feel under my skin. So I recreated the port-a-cath and added the line of the catheter. As I worked more and more with this imagery, I started wrapping the lines around and through the bulbs themselves in a way meant to be suggestive of getting under the skin.

heart-a-cath mug before glazing

The bulbs were important to me in working through the ideas in winter, but I'm not sure how the nurses at Northstar or my doctors would react to this random art object. A mug seems more accessible, so I wanted to try it. When I was feeling up to throwing near the end of chemo, I threw some mugs with the idea of adding some ports as decoration. Quickly realizing that drinking coffee out of something that was implanted under the skin might be gross, I switched to heart shapes for most of the mugs.

heart-a-cath mugs with the new glaze inside

A long time passed between when I finished building these in May and when I got around to firing and glazing them in August. I'm feeling a bit ambivalent about some of them because I tried out some new glazes that didn't look exactly how I anticipated. Now I'm also feeling strange about whether any of this is something that would be appealing to people who aren't me.

the cat likes my mugs (during glazing)

This weekend's Artist Studio Tour should be a good time to show them and see what people think. Of course, the obvious catch is that if I show them for sale and people buy them, I won't have them to give as gifts to my medical teams, but if people don't like them, I won't want to give them as gifts.

The clay, in just this one mug dunted (bubbled) during glaze firing I don't know why because it should have been the same clay as the rest of these mugs and a whole bunch of other pieces I made with the same clay last year

I also only made eight mugs. It's not that mugs are that difficult to make, but all year I've had trouble with projects that require sustained energy levels within a short period of time. Press-molding bulbs can be done pretty quickly and with minimal effort, surface decoration can be suspended for a few days, and building small sculpture also can be done in fits and starts. But throwing requires a clean wheel, wedged clay, throwing, clean up, trimming at the right stage of drying, attaching handles and decoration at the right stage, and then more clean up. I've had relatively few pockets of time this year where I could rely on having a fully functioning body for long enough that I could commit to mugs.

heart-a-cath mug with new glaze inside, old glaze (that I've used before) outside

Radiation "Boost"

Of course I am hoping that the body problem will be over by the end of September. Today was my last whole breast and lymph node radiation treatment. Starting tomorrow I have a 5 day "boost" of radiation to the tumor bed or the hole where the tumor used to be. This smaller field of radiation should mean that my armpit, throat, and upper chest can start to heal (as long as I don't listen too closely to all the women who say that the two weeks after radiation are the worst). 

setting up port-a-cath bulbs in my studio for the Tour

My armpit is getting very red and irritated. I'd say it looks angry. The rest of my chest looks like a have a sunburn, as predicted, though it looks like I made very strange choices about what I would have been wearing to get this sunburn. Before radiation, a lot of people said "it's like a bad sunburn" and while this might be true, I have never before had a sunburn in this area. My back also has a bit of redness, though I wouldn't classify this as a "bad" sunburn (aside from the fact that all sunburns are bad).

postcard for the Labor Day weekend tour.

During the last radiation oncologist meeting, my doctor prescribed me some topical lidocaine to numb the most painful areas a bit. This helps me forget about the area until it starts to wear off. Unfortunately I am not allowed to put on lotion before radiation, so the morning is uncomfortable. With just 4 radiation days left before the Studio Tour, I'm starting to think that I should be feeling ok this weekend. 

brochure with locations for the 2022 Tour

I hope you consider coming to see me at my studio this weekend. Tickets are $10 and can be purchased at the door (of my house). Tickets get you into the whole tour, all 3 days and all 8 locations. The tour starts Saturday, September 3, from 10-4, continues Sunday 10-4, and again Monday, September 5, from 10-12. Chris Otten and Monika Lemmon will also be showing at my studio, 203 S. 8th Ave, in Yakima.