The bowl shape was inspired by a neolithic bowl. I’m not sure where it was from, but I found it by doing a google search of “ancient Finnish pottery” or something like that. I hope it was from Finland, and I hope it was from near Lappi. In my mind, it was. The cup is a pretty basic cup form. I like seeing the throwing lines under the glaze. My friend Mike made this beautiful glaze, and he calls it Persimmon.
Indian Hills Elementary School, Romeo, Michigan. Grade 4.
Last summer, I made this little cup for my grandson. I decorated it by driving some of his toy trucks on the leather hard clay. After applying the glaze, I wiped much of it away, allowing it to catch in the impressions.
Looking at my ceramic pieces, you wouldn’t understand the relationship I have developed with them. For many years, I dreamed of trying this. My daughter has heard me talk about wanting to make pots her whole life.
I am a beginner. I understand this.
It took a week or more before I was able to make anything on the wheel that could stand on its own. I thought it was because I was using too much water. My hands had not become acquainted with clay. This is a slow process with many unsuccessful attempts.
So when I throw a piece, and put it on the shelf to dry, I find joy in it. I go back several times to look at it, and then one more time before I go to bed. I check on it first thing in the morning, and if it’s dry enough, I trim it before I go to work.
I visit them over and over before they go into the kiln for bisque firing. Sometimes they get broken because I handle them too much.
It’s a long process. I have to rely on the kindness of a friend for the use of his wheel and kiln. He supplies me with clay and glaze. I hope to become more self sufficient in time. So it takes weeks or months to complete a piece.
I love to have a drink out of a cup I have made myself. Better yet, to drink coffee brewed from beans that I roasted, from a cup I made. I think I enjoy the cup even more than the coffee.
Right from the start, people asked if they could purchase the pottery. I had so few pieces, and the process was so long that I just wasn’t ready. Now my cupboards are overrun, and I should think of sending some on their way.
Some are crude, but perfect for use around bonfires in my front yard. That was always my intended use for them. Others have flaws, and I would not think of selling them. Still others would be too difficult for me to let go of.
What I’m doing in clay is a continuation of what I’ve done in paint, but it doesn’t come so easily. It’s physically and mentally arduous. At the same time, it is centering, rewarding and fun.
Here’s another thing. I can paint over something on canvas. Once a pot goes into the kiln, I might as well relax and accept whatever comes out. It transforms. Clay turns into ceramic in that 1800° heat. It vitrifies. Human bodies are cremated at 1800°. They transform, too. They vaporize.
So the mediums are different, but the voice is the same. It’s like when my friend Cheralee put the guitar aside and started playing the piano. Except I’m still painting, too.
While I was glazing this bowl, it was late. My son had walked to the studio after basketball practice. I accidentally scratched the glaze inside with my fingernail. Raymond noticed it later and thought it was a crack. I said “I celebrate all the little imperfections.” Mike, who was loading the pots into the kiln as I glazed them, said, “That’s pretty much the definition of wabi-sabi.”
We don’t have to fix everything. Everything doesn’t have to be perfect. It won’t be perfect no matter how hard we try. If we can learn to celebrate the scratches and dings, the spills and the stains, we might be a little more relaxed, and have a few more reminders of life’s stories.
I was trying to make a larger pot. Meet my friend Bucket. Bucket was quite a bit bigger when I threw him, as pots are. He lost 12% by the time he was fired. So he’s still a little too big for drinking a latte out of. I could do it, but he’s a little heavy. I could see certain flower arrangements displayed in Bucket. Something substantial. Or Bucket could be a planter. Bucket could be used for beer, poured from a growler, by a bonfire. Bucket could hold candy, or certain other food items. Or paintbrushes. Or clay tools. Or bathroom items. Or kitchen utensils. Or remote controls. Bucket doesn’t mind. Cat toys. Keys. Glasses and phone. Pens. Anything I don’t want to lose. Bucket will hold on to it for me.
This afternoon, I made an almond milk latte in Bucket. He’s a little hard to lift with one hand, but still a good friend to share a drink with
Me and my friend Bucket.
