A: When my younger brother was in his early teens, I helped him make an award-winning clay-animated short film about a little country inhabited by costumed frogs. I decided to use frogs for Lily Pond as well, partly because I already knew how to sculpt them and partly because I knew they could look pretty silly in clothes.
A: Modeling clay doesn’t harden so the sculpts couldn’t be made permanent. To protect them, the disassembled sculpts were stored in clear plastic boxes. They met their fate in the detached garage of a house we’d rented in the Bay Area. After a year, when I went to pack them for another move, I found the boxes along with most of the sculpts covered in large fluffy patches of rainbow-colored mold – like specimens in some horrible giant petri dish. Only five boxes were salvageable.
A: I started working on the illustrations when I was twenty-two and, with no husband, no children, no boss, and no deadline, felt like I had all the time in the world. I passed many happy hours sculpting things over and over and over again until they looked right. Work on the illustrations had to be squeezed in as jobs and life allowed, so fifteen years passed before all the scenes were completed. Several more years were spent raising my kids before I could focus on fixing errors, adjusting colors and adding skies to the illustrations by computer. From start to finish, Lily Pond took thirty-eight years to complete.
A: My mother was a schoolteacher who wasn’t too finicky in the housekeeping department. She kept us in art supplies, would let unfinished projects sit around until they were done, and wasn’t fazed by some clay in the carpet. My father was a professor of sociology who found our interactions in Claytown professionally interesting. He even applied for and received a grant to study our play and kept a tape recorder by Claytown for awhile with instructions to turn it on when we were there. Family meals were eaten in the kitchen, but nobody complained.
A: We owe my father’s asthma a debt of gratitude in that regard. If he hadn’t installed a state-of-the-art air filtration system in our house to improve his health, Claytown would have deadened and died early under the dust.
A: My parents weren’t perfect, but they did a number of things right. They never interfered with Claytown or career choices. I knew they trusted me and that there was a net to catch me if I fell.
A: I loved working on the book and never once considered abandoning it. Sculpting takes me to a lovely peaceful place and I really enjoyed creating a little world that was all my own. It made me feel different, in a good way.
A: I have a special wooden tool I call my “eleventh finger” that’s great for smoothing. Genetics also played a part; my fingerprints are so shallow another sculptor once jokingly accused me of sanding them off.
A: I was reading a book one afternoon, shortly before graduating from UCLA with a psychology degree, when I began to wonder what lay ahead for me in life. Setting the book aside, I wrote a poem about a little girl with the same thoughts. That poem became the text for Lily Pond.
A: An idea’s been bouncing around in my head for years, but I don’t know that anything will come of it. Spending time with my family is more important to me than sculpting these days. Maybe once the kids move away I’ll feel that old familiar pull. Who knows?