Thursday, August 8, 2013
I have lost what little pottery mojo I once had.
This six-week session was focused on raku. Work pulled me away for three of those six sessions, leaving me time handicapped. The others in the class weren't just far more focused; they were all pros—teachers, long-time artists, thoughtful souls with 3D skills, women (and one man) who are not afraid of fires.
Then there was me: Nobody. Nameless. (This happens when I'm with my husband, whether we are dancing or potterying, I am a shadow.)
Today the work of the class was kilned for the first time. I couldn't stay for the duration, for I had a talk to give—hair that could not be filled with bacon-smelling smoke (thank you, Karen, for the detail), fingers that could not be burned, a psyche that could not (again) be damaged. I stayed just long enough to see the pieces go in to the heat of the kiln, and then be pulled back out to the reduction buckets.
Some views above. My two pieces, here. "Truth," the one says. I'm telling you.
Pottery Ladies and Honorary Pottery Lady: I remain in your debt. And someday I want to raku like you.