Bedlam Farm Blog Journal by Jon Katz

Ten years ago, Maria made this one  potholder, she called it the Show Your Art Guru. She never made another or put this one up for sale. It was for me, for us, and it hands in our kitchen just by the toaster, where it has served us every day since before we were married.

It was made to mark one of the most singular moments in our early life together, the day I danced naked in the snow for her, and for her art.

As the person who shops and cooks I use potholders almost every day, and while it has held up well, it is fading a bit, and the sad truth is that I forgot about it. It hangs on the wall, I hardly look at it,  it doesn’t register with me any longer.

It  became just another humble potholder hanging somewhere in our busy and distracted lives. Since it was made, Maria has made thousands more potholders and sold them all over the world. At the time, she doubted she could sell a single one.

Many are a lot fancier and more complex now. Maria has – to her amazement – turned the potholder into an art form, from her goddesses to trees to ancient symbols and vintage fabrics.

This morning, the Show Your Art Guru potholder came out of hiding.

Maria asked me to help her do a special video for her blog about our kitchen potholders – her readers were curious about the ones we use – the Show Your Art Guru brought back some powerful memories for me.

As Maria’s straight man during videos, I pointed the camera as she went through the kitchen video, and I was startled when she held this very important potholder up for me to focus on.

It was a kind of shock to me, it threw me off balance.

I asked her to remind me about the potholder even though I knew quite well what it was, I was just at a loss for words and buying time.  My heart started racing. That can be a good thing or a bad thing, this was a good thing.

The memory of that very memorable morning came flooding back, and into my heart. I am ashamed to have forgotten it.

It is, after all, a love potholder, a love story. How could I ever forget that night, even for a day? We were both recently divorced at the time he was made, broke, depressed and crippled by ugly panic attacks. I had cracked up and she was close. We were two birds in a big storm looking for someplace to hide, but we both live in the now, we spend little time rehashing the past.

it was about ten years ago. Maria had not yet moved into the first Bedlam Farm to live with me, but I wanted her to. On cold or stormy nights, she sometimes stayed over.  I kept a lot of wine and good food on hand just in case. I didn’t push her, it would have been a mistake.

She was different then, we were both battered and desperate, living in fear and panic and confusion.

Maria was almost mute, she lived in great fear. She desperately wanted to be an artist but was literally terrified at the idea of showing her art to anyone. She doubted anyone would ever like it or buy it.

Being an artist was a life-long dream for her but she doubted it could ever come true. She had permitted other people in her world to keep her from it. That is an old story with creatives, especially women.

She had nearly given up on it.

No matter what anyone told her, she just didn’t believe anyone would like or want her art. She was discouraged and pushed into other kinds of work. She seemed to have no faith in herself, no ego. That, as many of you know, has changed.

I took it on myself to encourage her in this idea of being an artist, of going for it.

Get rid of the day job, I said, make a run for it. I tried to encourage her just as she encouraged me. At times this encouragement was all that either of us had to cling to. I know it saved my life. But it wasn’t enough, of course. I couldn’t do that for her.

She had to come to it herself. (She has).

Maria had a challenging job then at a home for the emotionally disabled, she left for work in the dark in her toilet bowl of a car in the middle of a very harsh winter. She kept saying she needed the money, she should just go full-time. She would never sell enough art to pay her bills.

I know from my own life that getting a day job (“don’t give your day job up, is what they always say”) can be fatal advice to give young creatives.  Why should they plunge into the uncertainties of the creative life if they can pay their bills every week on time?

People who take day jobs rarely give them up. The creative life is a hard life and an insecure one, nobody ever says “quit the day job.” I say it all the time. And I did it.

The choice is always stark – security verses the soul.

Maria had agreed to work part-time in order to give her time to be an artist and make her art.  But she agonized over the decision every day, she had all those voices in her head telling her to go for the money and security, encouraging her to doubt herself.

She had started making and selling potholders because she loved the idea of potholders as art and because she was desperate to make money. Potholders were inexpensive art on the kitchen wall.

It was the onset of the Great Recession, and nobody was buying quilts. It would take a lot of courage to pursue a creative life. Maria has a lot of courage.

I’ve lived around women who claim to be feminists, but until I met Maria, I don’t think I had encountered a real one close-up.

Maria was penniless when we met, she refused alimony from her husband or any help from me. She took this job, and she rented an apartment in seedy Granville, N.Y.,  which cost $600 a month, she moved in after the landlord agreed to let her bring Frieda, her wolf/dog man- hating companion.

Maria was not too crazy about men either, the two were a perfect pair, a rural Thelma and Louise.

At this point, I knew we belonged together, I began scheming for ways to get her to come and live with me, but I also knew if I pushed too hard she would bolt. She needed time and space. I asked her to marry me every day for about two years, (we aren’t divorced, she would say) I was stunned when she finally mumbled, “well, okay,” one day.

She wanted – needed – to know she could take care of herself.

Late at night,  she would go into her studio, a barn across the road from my farmhouse that I had given her to work in. It was a small barn, with a wood stove and a beautiful view of the valley.

She loved her potholders from the first, she sensed they were something people could afford and they were also in their own right,  genuine works of art. People started buying them after awhile, but not right away.

I think she charged $10 then for each one.

Some days she was so discouraged I feared for her, and I hated seeing her drive off in storm after storm in the dark on those cold and stormy nights in deep snow and ice. She was my life and my light. I wanted to help her and encourage her without spooking her or taking over her life. I knew she wanted to figure this out on her own, and I knew I had to respect that.

I did and do.

One morning, after Maria suffered a series of debilitating panic attacks  and seemed in despair – she was talking of giving up her art and working full-time –  I woke up with a plan, perhaps more accurately described as an impulse.

As she showered and took the sandwich I prepared for her (I loved to feed her and still do, otherwise she would exist on cheese and bread), my idea took focus. I had to make sure the timing was right.

On an earlier trip, I think it was for a speech to a veterinary conference, I’d gone to Disney World and bought a Wizard’s hat from the movie Fantasia. I brought it home as a gift for her, she kept it in her studio. I thought it might inspire her work.

How could I forget how frightened she was, how helpless I felt? Perhaps because she is so competent and sure of herself now.

When she came downstairs  that bitter cold morning – it was pitch black, sub-zero and blowing snow – I had a surprise for her. I handed her lunch bag.

When she went out to scrape her car off and head out to work, I took off my bathrobe and put the Wizard hat on.

Maria was very sad then, but she never lost her sense of humor, which a huge part of her. That’s what I was banking on. I remembered Joseph Campbell writing about the creative women that he taught, so many undermined by dubious husbands, fathers or brothers. He urged them to follow their bliss, otherwise, he cautioned, they might live substitute lives.

If Maria failed to show her art, I felt that would be her fate.

She was and is easily distractable and it occurred to me she might just run me over out there in the morning. She always has a dozen things on her mind. Still, a really stirring sight might get her attention.

I knew she warmed up the car for a few minutes before she drove the little thing – it was like a lawn mower with slightly bigger wheels – and I  rushed out into the night, right into the headlights of her car.

Yes, naked.

I can only imagine what she was thinking, but the sensor lights came on outside when I went out and I could see her face. I know what I was thinking. Lord, this is cold!

But I pulled the wizard cap down on my head and started dancing, in all my naked splendor.  I yelled that I was the Show Your Art Guru and that I wanted her to show her art.

I saw her eyes widen in disbelief, and then she cracked up, laughing and clapping and shouting “ya, bravo.” I hadn’t ever seen her laugh that hard.

She got out of the car and asked me what I thought I was doing.

“I am the Show Your Art Guru,” I shouted, dancing some more, and turning blue in the cold. I had a stick I used as a wand and cast a spell on her. “You must not give up your art,” I shouted through the wind, the Show Your Art Guru commands  you to show our art!”

Well, I can hardly believe the impact this had on her. She was laughing all day, and when she came home from work just after lunch, she was transformed, anxious to get to the studio, anxious to put her potholders and quilts up for sale.

Watching her laugh, I felt vindicated. You can’t laugh that hard and be too sad.

The Show  Your Art Guru was not the only reason she stuck with her art, I’m not sure she could have given it up once she had her studio to work in. But it sure helped that day, the ludicrous sight of me dancing in the snow, and her own laughter seemed to break the spell.

Since that morning (the guru appeared a few more times) she has never doubted her life as an artist, or said that nobody would ever buy her art. She cranked out classy potholders with a passion, and sold a ton over Christmas.

So maybe the Show Your Art Guru had some mojo after all.

I am abashed to have forgotten this potholder, and I vow to do him justice. He is retired from the kitchen, and going where he belongs.

That would be on my studio wall, where he can be honored and have a peaceful retirement. Someplace where I can look at him every day and thank him for the very great service he did for Maria, for me, and for the rest of the world.

Love may not conquer all, but it conquers a lot.

Maria vacuumed, scoured, brushed and wiped her unusual heavy metal white desk we bought for $65 at a local re-purposing and re-imaging antique and restoration store called Shiny Sisters in our town of Cambridge.

We always seem to find what we want there, it is somewhat mystical. Leslie is a lot of run to work with. I think we love Leslie and her shop because its a place of re-imagination.

It seems we are re-imagining our home and our lives all the time, I think that is what creativity is about. It’s good we are together, we would drive anyone else crazy. There is no stasis in our work or lives.

All we know about this heavy and dirty old desk was that Leslie got it off of a farm. The minute I saw it, I thought it was Maria’s desk. It looks like it grew in that corner. It’s hard to believe how hard and quickly Maria works when she sets her mind on something.

Leslie is honest and helpful. She said that once she restored it the price would shoot up. Several people offered to buy it while it was out on the back porch warming up. I think its right where it belongs. It belongs in an old farmhouse, the desk of an artist.

Spring is my season of color and light, the sun is clear but not oppressive, the light indirect, the grass turning green, the trees coming to life. Inside, my Windowsill Gallery comes to life too. I am the observer, not the curator. I gave her these flowers yesterday, the re-arranged the gallery in the living room. Art is where you make it. I’m thinking of putting this photo up for sale, it is graceful and bright.

Almost every day, someone asks me where the Border Collie comes from, and I thought I should explain that for  people who are curious.

For nearly two decades, border collies have been a central part of my life, my writing about dogs, my evolution as a human being, my work with sheep, my life on a farm, my  books, my photography.

I’ve had six of them: Orson, (Homer, briefly) Rose, Izzy, Red, Fate. Each one was completely different than the other. Each was devoted to me, loved to work with me, shaped my view of dogs, of training, of my own humanity.

Orson led me to my farm, he was the reason I first worked with sheep, I chose to euthanize him after he bit three people, one,  a child, seriously. This earned the enduring outrage and hatred of some people who say they are animal rights activists.

The Border Collie establishment disliked me just as much, I had no idea what I was doing when I got one, and said so in book after book. But in a sense, I was their worst nightmare. An urban author with no sheep or farms or fields to work or run in. I didn’t like them either, they seemed humorless and self-righteous to me.

I called them the Border Collie snobs, which didn’t help matters. I have never cared for snobs.

After Orson, I have always had sheep for my Border Collies to work with. I have no apologies to make for my care for them and love for them. Everyone of them has has the best like a Border Collie can have – Love and Work, just as Freud said. And sheep too.

I re-homed Homer, I could not connect with him, and found myself yelling at him the way my father yelled at me. He deserved better. I gave him to a young boy down the street who loved him and who he loved. He lived a long and happy life, he died a little over a year ago.

Rose was one of the most remarkable animals I have ever known, she came with me to the farm and saved my life more than once, and lived alone with me for nearly six years as my ties to the other world frayed, along with my long marriage.

Rose was always there, watching me, guiding me, helping me. If I was lost, she was grounded and clear.

Rose was a hero dog to me, right out of Call Of The Wild. I wrote an e-book about her, my favorite book – The Story Or Rose: A Man And His Dog –  which my publisher refused to publish in paperback.

They would not tell me why. I would not have survived on that farm without Rose.

Izzy was rescued from a farm once owned by the author Maurice Sendak, he was nearly feral after living mostly alone on farm behind a big fence. He ran and ran all day, he had claws like a hawk.

Izzy was a dear soul, he led me into hospice work and was the subject of a book called  Izzy And Lenore:  Two Dogs, An Unexpected Journey, and Me.

It turns out that Border Collies, known for their restlessness, can make great therapy dogs. They are agile, sensitive, trainable and can deeply attach to human beings.

Izzy died of cancer. I think Red and Fate are known, they are two border collies who live with me now.  Red is an amazing herding dog, he was trained and bred in Northern Ireland.

Fate is an exuberant and loving border collie from  Wales, she loves to be with sheep, but seems too nice to herd them. She is a wild thing, the only one of my dogs who could live easily and happily in the wild, she would love it. But she won’t herd sheep. She is the Ferdinand of Border Collies.

Every one of these dogs has been or is bright, and faithful and loving. No Border Collie of mine has ever run off, gotten into a dog fight, destroyed my property, taken more than a few hours to housebreak.

The Border Collie is widely regarded – hands down, in my mind – as the best herding dog breed. They are extremely intelligent, athletic and full of energy and enthusiasm. No other dog comes close to the border when it comes to obedience, or obedience or agility trials.

They have great speed and stamina, they never quit a job, snow or heat.

Border collies are widely considered to be the most intelligent of all dog breeds. In my experience, this is so, although any border collie owner will tell you that they can do the stupidest things – like try to herd snow plows and trucks with diesel engines.

I love Bud, but Border Collies will always be my cherished breed, they just are.

The Border Collie was first bred in Northumberland, England, on the border of England and Scotland.

The breed was developed by a herder named Adam Telfer, the farmers and herders in the British Isles were desperate a dog with great stamina, intelligence, a love of working with people, and gentleness when it came to livestock.

In America, we have plenty of land, the dogs work the sheep in open fields and pastures. In England and Ireland and Scotland, there is little land, the dogs take the sheep out off of the farm to graze, stay with them, and bring them home. In Ireland, where Red was born and bred, dogs are not pets, they are farm implements, like tractors.

They don’t sleep on beds inside, they stay out with the sheep. Like Red, they sometimes are treated roughly, the Irish trainers consider Americans to be soft and crazy and overindulgent.

Border collies are the perfect herding dogs. They do not have sharp and tearing teeth or large jaws, they nip when they have to, but if trained, will rarely harm a sheep.  They can outrun them and keep pace for hours, react to sudden moves and panic, wait hours to drink water or sleep.

The first dog bred by Telfer was called Old Hemp, a smart and legendary, and very quiet dog used by many shepherds and famous as the best herding dog who ever lived.

Every Border Collie, including Fate and Red, has Old Hemp’s blood running in them. The first time the term “Border Collie” was used was in 1915, when the Secretary of the International Sheep Dog Society named the breed in order to register them as a separate breed.

Some form of collies had worked with and helped shepherds for hundreds of years, but Old Hemp marked a turning point for the breed. Finally, herders and farmers had a dog smart enough and fit enough to take sheep out to pasture, stay with them in all kinds of weather, and bring them safely back to their farms without harming them.

The breed became popular at the end of the 19th century, when they were presented to compete in the first official sheep dog trial in Bala, Wales, England. Old Hemp won the trial and continued winning competition after competition.

Border collies became popular among people looking for dogs with a keen intelligence and a strong desire to work with people. They are increasingly popular as house pets, but they make very demanding pets, they need plenty of exercise, activity and work, not just once a day but for much of the day.

I have seen a lot of unhappy and neurotic border collies – many purchased after the movie Babe came out –  who have little or nothing to do, and live with people who don’t understand how much they need to work. This is one reason I have had sheep ever since I decided to live with border collies. It is hard for me to imagine life with border collies and no sheep.

But there are all kinds of work for dogs, sheep isn’t the only work for border collies. There are lots of ways for them to obsess and work. But people shouldn’t be fooled: it is certainly true that if they don’t have lots of work they will find work, and their owners will usually not like it.

I am blessed to have been living with these dogs. I love their enthusiasm, loyalty and trainability. I love their energy and enthusiasm for love. I love that a dog like Red is versatile enough to herd sheep and also do the most sensitive kind of therapy work – hospice work – sometimes all in the same day.

Something in my consciousness connects with something in theirs, we both love to work and respect work and look for the joy in life, not just the sorrow.

What a gift to have  dogs like that. They changed my life.

I hope this helps for people who want to know more about this dogs. And yes, it is true, please believe me. They are not for everybody. They are intense and restless creatures, they can literally go mad with nothing to do.

With the right people, in the right place, they can be the most wonderful pets and companions in the animal world.

They are the right place for me, I hope I am the right place for them.