My name is Kristine…I am the craftsperson behind Beanpole Pottery. Why Beanpole you might ask? That was my nickname growing up. 6’ tall in the seventh grade and all of 105 lbs. I was the brunt of every tall joke for years and years.
When I started throwing clay in my 60’s, and understood I had to have a name attached to my work, Beanpole felt like something familiar. It felt like a part of myself I had finally learned to honor and even love. “Unique, one of a kind, special,” is how my mother referred to me. I’m sure in the hopes of balancing out the comments that had me constantly wishing I was 5’2”.
My work is synonymous with my mothers words. It is unique…each piece created by my own hands. Their imperfections contributing to the beauty, versatility and functionality that as an artist I strive to achieve.
I want the users of my pieces to feel that care and consideration through human touch is what each piece possesses. I feel like hand made work represents an investment in community, sustainability, beauty.
I have always made art. But it was after my mother passed away in 2015, that I started messing about with clay. It was an honor to spend her last days together. Each day she was a little less present, a little more connected to the divine. In her last days, she didn’t speak much, but the words she did utter were breathtakingly sacred. It didn’t matter who walked through her door…the cleaning woman, surgeon, various nurses, grand children, her own children…she would look into their faces and find words of love and affirmation…”your eyes sparkle…you’re so kind…you make me happy…you are a star.”
Knowing that with each day there would be less communication from her, I started to write down the words and phrases she said. After she passed away, I wanted to find a way to save those words and share them with those she loved most.
I bought a block of clay, rolling pin and rubber stamps. Sitting at my kitchen table, weeping and stamping her last words, soon had me enrolled in a Community College ceramics class. There I learned a bit more…and then a bit more. Pieces were fired and glazed and given away to anyone who wanted them. Before long I started receiving requests to make custom pieces, capturing precious words or phrases for strangers to remember their loved ones.
One thing led to another and slowly I converted the garage into a clay studio. A potter’s wheel and kiln arrived and from then on, not a day went by that I didn’t wander the 20 ft. out the back door to “my studio” and find complete joy in the prospect of creating art.
There have been many changes in the last 4 years. I sold my house and sadly left my amazing studio behind. I rented a small cottage in Lake Oswego, with an even smaller garage that I painstakingly converted to a clay studio. It was tiny, often flooded, cold and smelled of mold. But it served me well and provided a shelter from one of life’s storms. . .Each day I lived there, I’d wander the 20 ft. from house to “studio”, hot coffee in hand, and give thanks for a place that welcomed me in to create and embrace “unique, one-of-a-kind, special.”
Last year I moved to White Salmon WA. My small home, with a spectacular view of Mt. Hood has been an unexpected gift. Complete with a lovely studio (that doesn’t flood or smell of mold)., just 20 steps from my back door. Sacred space inviting me to bring IT All, and be at peace.
”Your heart knows the way, run in that direction.” Rumi
Press
Made On 23rd: Featured Artist
Vestige Story: Introducing Kristine
Hélène Stelian: Becoming a Potter at 61
Website photo credits:
Connected Goods
Mayne Marketing