"Your Messes Always Turn Out Nice"

I heard this compliment (?) from a potting friend. Moi? Do I make messes?

Yes, actually. I rarely finish a throwing session (the wet part of making pots) without being covered in muddy clay.

 And are the pots messes? Well, yes. There are standard steps in making pots, and I have to add two: sanding sloppy bits of dried clay off my dry pots before firing them, and then washing off the sanding dust before glazing. That's because I forget to wash my hands clean as I trim my pottery.

Why do I make messes? Is it necessary to make messes in the process of making pottery? It is not a neat process. We start with wet clay, wet it more and shape an amorphous material into a chosen form. As the clay spins on the wheel, it must slide freely between the potter's hands, so it has to be wet. Potting is playing in the mud, no doubt. Still, there are potters much neater than I am.

Some of it is simply a fit for personality. I like the material, in its malleability, its openness to become anything, to express the movement of hands. I rarely appreciate precision. Once I laughed when an interior design teacher complimented a student by saying she is detail-oriented. It hadn't occurred to me that might be a good thing.

Precisely shaped and finished pots can be wonderful, like Ellen Fager's

or Merle Lambeth's.

I do like neatly finished pots, but would rather make loose forms that look grown, like this,

rather than constructed. I keep making leaf plates and want them to seem as though they just fell from the tree.

Messes with good outcomes sound just right.

May I Introduce You to Roberta Klein's Wonderful Pottery?

Roberta Klein just might be my favorite local potter. Beautiful graceful forms, stunning cone 11 reduction glazes. She doesn't advertise herself, so I want to.

Look.

Wow. I love it.

More on sandiegopotterytour.com 
              sandiegopottersguild.org
 

Artisans Alley next week

On Saturday December 8 I'll be at he Artisans Alley Craft Fair, Village Elementary School, 600 6th Ave in Coronado. I can't tell you what it is like, never been there before. It's a fixture in Coronado, its 46th year as a fundraiser for music in the schools, so a good event. 9-3, costs you $2 to get in.

Christmas shopping? Can I tempt you with new pots?

The Beautiful Line

Hearing the slow movement of the Dvorak Cello Concerto, I realized how important is the line, to what I find beautiful. It's a lovely melody, not much adorned by the orchestra. I listen, following the line (the melodic line, technically).

youtu.be/0aWmkcG9Sao

I love Picasso drawings, especially the simple ones, for the drawn line.

 

What about pots? Yes, it's the line that attracts me.  We all trim pots looking at the profile as a line, and trim until it looks right.

This marvel is by Jennifer Lee. Check out jenniferlee.co.uk


This is a painting, The Winter Road, by Georgia O'Keeffe.

What if it were the profile of a pot? Wouldn't it be marvelous?

 

The top edge of a pot can also be a wonderful line. I carve them sometimes and like the flowing line. In a master's hands, that can be gorgeous.

That's Ashraf Hanna's.


 How about the bottom? There was a period when people often made pots with an irregular, pushed up bottom.

From 500 Cups.


Yes, more interesting than a basic, standard, flat foot. Part of the beauty of Martha Grover's pots comes from the surprising line of her pot feet. See marthagrover.com

Are these line qualities the same thing? Drawn line is 2 dimensional. Pot profile is 3 dimensional: a line swung around the center on a wheel. Melodic line is drawn through time. You listen, following. But you look all at once. But you shape or pet a pot, following in time.

I am confused here. Don't understand, but I do see and hear. Perhaps that will do.

Tis the Season

for craft fairs. Not quite Christmas, but part of the run-up to it.

I'll be at the Lindbergh-Schweitzer Elementary School Craft Fair, on November 17, Saturday, 9-3.

It's a low-key, homey fair, not  too expensive, friendly. Come by if you like. Address: 4133 Albertine Av in San Diego, just off the 805 and Balboa Ave.

Carmel Valley Artists and neighbors

Hello. I'm at the Carmel Valley Artists show on Sunday. They've joined the Talmadge Art Show, so the geography spreads.

If you are interested:

And new pots of course. Some so new I'll be opening the kiln on Saturday.

Humility and Letting Go and Pottery

What heavy duty issues to associate with making pottery! In the February 2018 issue of Ceramics Monthly, Roelof Uys wrote an article about exactly this. He works at the Leach Pottery in St. Ives, UK. Yes, the pottery factory/studio founded by Bernard Leach and Shoji Hamada, the fathers of us all studio potters.

"Humility is the one thing we can teach to all about the art of making objects from earth and fire." Other than the example of better work, I have never thought to learn humility in learning to make pottery. But  I believe him.

In the "factory" part of the Leach Pottery, the making is really shared: "We maintain our standard by working as a team, relying on each other to do assigned tasks with care and consideration. One person will throw the pot, another will trim or handle that same piece, and someone else will glaze it and load it in the kiln." Imagine! Yes, they make standardized pieces for sale from the pottery, and do not so share their individual art pieces. But still, I've never met a potter, that I know of, who would let someone else choose a handle for their pots, or glaze them with a different eye.

In the shared studio where I work, we donate pots for fundraising sales, and sometimes leave these unsigned for anyone to glaze. We have already let them go after the making stage. I never do that, I sign mine to indicate that I want to glaze them, carry them all the way through the process before letting go. And there are people there so attached to their work that they find it difficult to donate their pots. That's extreme attachment.

Once I saw a pot I made in someone else's house, and said, without thinking, "oh, that's mine." No, it's not, it belongs to the people who own it and use it. I still felt it continues to be mine. Ongoing attachment.

They must get over the attachment and holding on, at the Leach Pottery. "One of the greatest revelations in working as part of a team in this extraordinary place is the way it has affected my personal practice. Preconceived ideas are constantly challenged and the immediacy of feedback from peers encourages quick development and forces you to experiment. " Before he worked there, Uys thought "The beautiful simplicity of their forms and the lack of ego with which they approached their work allowed the materials and processes to speak for themselves, producing pots with a sort of carefree swagger but with a mindfulness that always respected the user."

That's worth learning.

Playing in the Mud

If you are not a potter, do you know how messy it is to make pottery?

For the past two weeks I've been reclaiming used clay, and I'm not done yet. This is the messiest possible part of the craft, definitely playing in the mud.

When you handbuild,with slabs or coils of clay, it never gets very wet, very muddy. This is the cleanest version of potting.

Throwing clay on a wheel requires the clay be slippery and slide between your hands, so it is always wet at this step. We do call it mud. And throwing is very much my favorite part of the making, other than developing ideas. I like playing in mud.

There is always leftover and reusable clay, pieces cut off a slab as you make the right shapes, throwing mistakes to toss in a bag and reuse later, dry chips from trimming pots to refine their shapes. To reuse it, the leftovers all have to have the same malleable wetness, and be blended into one mass. This is reclaiming. And yes, I've been sloppy and let it wait, and accumulate.

I also have new or reclaimed clay I haven't used in too long, which has just gradually dried in the bag until it is too hard to work well and with pleasure. Reclaiming involves wetting it all, waiting til it is malleable, mixing, drying until it can be wedged and bagged again. So satisfying when done, like a fine collection of nuts squirreled away for winter.  Such a wet mess in process.

I've got 9 types of clay to reclaim. Oof.

It seems necessary to me. If I threw away used clay, I'd never dare make a mistake. In a shared studio, used clay can be reclaimed collectively, with a pugmill to do the heavy work. At home, I do it myself, with hands and water.

Hard work, sore hands when the clay is heavy or hard.

And it messes up your nails.

 But I love the mud --  it's protean, changeable, elemental, responsive and all about hands. I love throwing, and I'm not at all interested in 3-D printing with clay.

I love getting something out of nothing  -- including pots as good as I can make them, made out of scraps and mess.

The Deep Lessons of Street Sales

I spent Sunday at Art in the Village, in Carlsbad, offering my pottery to people walking by. It is an art sale on the street, a pleasant Sunday outing. Some passersby were shopping, some were walking their dogs, and everything in between. It did not feel like a situation for deep learning. Of course in some way, every situation can lead to depth and understanding and development. I wasn't expecting it here.

It is a pleasure to offer my pottery to people who like it, even get enthusiastic about it. I knew that, and that pottery is so tactile that I am suspicious of online sales for it. I like craft sale events.

At a sale like this one, I set up tables and shelves and pots, and wait. I am in a very passive stance, as I am not going to hustle you. The whole day is a practice in accepting what comes. Easier of course when you come, and want a pot, than when you walk by chatting and looking elsewhere.  I watch though, notice where people look and what attracts them away from their conversations and dogs. And I hope, so a lack of interest makes for much stronger practice in acceptance.

Some makers are so attached to their work that they do not want to let them go. Pots as children. I love handing mine on, seeing buyers consider and choose and enjoy.

So I had a fine time. Even so, and with lots of happy buyers, I found myself encouraged by frequent sales and discouraged by long times between them. That's another part of the practce: patience,  and not feeling needy for appreciation.

As always, it's easier to enjoy the event when I get what I want, and much more of a lesson when I do not.

Art in the Village

Beat the heat and pay me a visit at Art in the Village in Carlsbad, August 12, on Grand Ave and cross streets. Lots of good stuff to check out, cute downtown Carlsbad and, aah, the beach. And, for me, new pots, of course.

What's the Attraction of Miniatures?

Several years ago, I made some salt bowls, an inch or two across, with tiny spoons. People bought them, more because they were cute, than because they wanted to offer salt or other spices that way.

Cuteness is an attraction in itself. These little things refer to toys, I think, and so to childhood. They fit in a palm, they invite imagination in some way that larger things do not.

Now I've been making tiny vases, two or three inches high, for just a few flowers. No doubt they are cute.

 And something more. I have one on my desk now. It's very engaging, welcoming, friendly. Fits in any small space. Each flower matters. Nothing about it is grand or formal. I notice it.

I found something off putting about people cooing over those salt bowls. But I'm liking the vases very much. We'll see how other people react, the next time I am at a show in August.

 

Do You Want a Story with your Pot?

I'm struck by all the interest in sharing the story of a pot with the selling of the pot. Etsy suggests to its vendors that we add stories to our shop listings of what we make and offer there for sale. A story about the making, the inspiration, ourselves. They say buyers want to know the maker somewhat. I get it; when you buy a pot, or anything else online, what contact do you have with the maker? And if you like the personal aspects of handmade things, maybe you want touch with the person who made what you choose.

 I visit potters as I travel, and usually buy something as part of a visit. Several years ago, I followed the picture of a wonderful pitcher to the maker, Fran Tristram, in Nottingham, UK. One of those pitchers sat on her crowded kitchen windowsill, a familiar piece of useful equipment. (Can't show you a picture; I bought something smaller to carry home, and she has moved onto other forms.) But the pitcher on the windowsill is a treasured memory, and the pot I bought from her makes the same kind of connection, as a souvenir for me of our meeting. So, yes, the experience adds a layer of knowing and I enjoyed the contact with the potter, but I focus mostly on the pot.

In the October 2016 issue of Ceramics Monthly, there are a couple of articles about potters who collect pottery. Matt Scheimann collects cups, and wants to know his guests' stories: what attracts them to the cups they choose to use from his collection: "the interaction between the user and the pot".

Brian Harper and Tiffany Charbonneau began collecting by trading, and so start with a connection to the other potters from whom they collect." To us, that makes the collection personal and meaningful and acts as a record of our life experience."

The story of the maker or the making is one context which the object carries. It's the usual context for art: what was the artist doing? Art objects are presented as things valued and experienced in themselves, and their scholarly context is mostly about the artist. In contrast, anthropology museums exhibit things from other cultures in their context of use, where they came from. Not so much objects on pedestals, as dioramas of life. More like Schiemann's guests' stories, where choice and use by the owner/user is the relevant context.

Here's the "art object" picture, an object alone, with minimal context (my pot).

There's a move now to display objects for sale with a decorative or imagined background, as if they are in someone's life.

Yes, I have a background in anthropology. Yes, I taught interior design students and pushed them to accept that the owners and users of the places they design want to claim those spaces, put their marks on them, own them. The design eventually belongs to the user, not the designer.

A store or fair booth is a transition between these "ownerships", where I offer my pots to become yours.

Maybe that's my unease with the story being the maker's story.  I call my Etsy shop "Pots to Live With". I want my pottery to end in someone's life, being used, being comfortable. Yes,

the context that matters to me is not the artists', nor the museum visitors', but the users'. Take them home.

The Great Pottery Throwdown Rides Again !

What fun. It's a BBC program from 2015 and 2017, available now in bits and pieces as people put it up in various places on the web. Just Google The Great Pottery Throwdown. I've recently discovered several more episodes listed as series three, which they are not.

It's a competition, exactly on the model of The Great British Baking Show, for making pots. They find competent amateur potters who are also expressive and articulate, fun to follow. They require an astonishing variety of products and techniques, far wider than I've ever considered making (a handbuilt toilet?). The video is well done, so I/you can learn from watching the work. The judges are serious and demanding.

I do object to the constant time limits. Necessary for a TV show, perhaps, and part of making pottery. But almost all the pots would be better with more time for work. There's no attention to production skills (speed for a purpose, efficiency, saving materials), so why the scramble, the panic, the unfinished work? It does make the whole thing seem very artificial.

Also I find I am constantly resisting the whole idea of competition in making what might be art. Each assignment is not only judged for quality, but also rated, so someone wins. And in each episode, one potter is eliminated, as worst in the week's assignments.

But fun. And broadening, and sometimes inspiring. I've loved trying the assignment to make a cylinder and a bowl blindfolded. I find I do work on the wheel largely by feel.

Have a look.

"You're Creative. Figure it Out."

"Reach inside of yourself for guidance. Don't ask the larger culture if it's okay. They can't answer that question. Only you can. "

That's Lisa Naples, in a short interview in the May Ceramics Monthly. I love her attitude. Here's some more, from that interview, from her website, lisanaples.com , and from an interview with her in the podcast, The Potters Cast. thepotterscast.com.

"If you need a part-time job to makes the ends meet, brilliant. If you don't, brilliant. Neither is better. Just deal with reality. Believing that things are "supposed to be" a certain way is an argument with reality." "I worked in a closet in an apartment for one year."

Absolutely. How we tie ourselves up in unnecessary knots.

She says "figure it out", but I think her working process is much more open, less figuring than attending.

"There has always been a persistent honoring of the flow of creativity; a deep knowing within that I'm facilitating that flow, that I'm in service to it. "

Yeah. People who play music know we play in service to the music. If I play Beethoven's music, I'm in service to him; how marvelous. In creative arts, we don't have a personal name for the source we follow, but it's there.

""I don't make art by entering my studio "knowing", rather with a disciplined commitment to "not knowing." "And creativity, in my experience is as tangible as gravity: always there, present, available for engagement. The gatekeeper for communion with it is stillness and then a willingness to play, process, and practice. Invite yourself to stillness as part of your studio life and wait for what arises. " And then do: "show up...a daily practice".

She says the newest pieces of a 3-month making cycle tend to sell first. She thinks they are the most live. They are made when there is enough to sell, so no pressure, when she is well warmed up in the making, and they come as something that's been incubating for awhile.

Here is a potter who has been working for 40 years, so aware of her process of work, and so articulate about it. Inspiring.

And I find what she says here articulates my next challenge. Over the past several years I have been trying to live more intuitively, following the example of several friends with powerful intuition and amazing experiences. I think I am doing so generally. But am I attending to what arises in making pots? Back to the wheel to try.

There are Still People with Empty Bowls..

And so the lovely Empty Bowls project continues. Potters make bowls, restaurants make soup, bakeries make bread, sometimes a musician  makes song, everybody donates their art. People come for lunch or dinner, donate I think $20, choose a bowl  to keep, wash it, fill it several times with soup, take some bread, enjoy themselves, and support organizations that assist homeless people.

Next time in San Diego:  lunch on May 13 at 11-1, at the La Jolla Methodist Church, 6063 La Jolla Blvd. All donations support TACO.

Here are some of my bowls for this year.

Wondering About the Weight of Tradition

Relatively few potters these days work in a tradition. There are ongoing traditions, where industrialization has not yet overcome all hand production for daily use (India). There are traditions consciously revived or continued, or even reinvented, for contemporary artistic work (North Carolina, Mata Ortiz). There are grand ancient traditions, which people might refer to in their creative work (Greece, China). But most of us make our own pots, or our own art.

I've just been in Greece. It was a tourist trip, under some time constraints, and I have not had a chance to talk with potters. But their ancient pottery tradition is one of the world's great art forms, in all museums. I started looking for Greek potters and found a strong connection to the ancient tradition. There is, of course, a good market in reproductions for tourists, of ancient and ancient-inspired pots. I was wondering if the weight of that grand tradition almost forces contemporary Greek potters to work with reference to it. So grand, so known, so beautiful, so Greek.

For example, Aristotelis Zizimos, in Delphi, has made pottery in various designs, his own art. However "over the last fifteen years, the charm of ancient ceramics and the magical world created by the depictions of mythical and historical subjects...has led him to focus almost exclusively on  the recreation of ancient Greek ceramics."polytroponart.gr

Maybe there is no way to be a potter in Greece without feeling the ancient art leaning on your shoulder.

Thetis Authentics extends their reason for reproductions beyond charm. They make exact copies to undermine the market in stolen antiquities, as well as making pottery referencing the ancient work for anyone who likes it. Thetis.gr, AtticBlack.com

It does seems possible to resist that pull or pressure. Hector Mavridis, who advertises his workshops in Ceramics Monthly, makes wild, contemporary sculpture. He is, though, an Australian, with US education.  hectormavridis.com

And I saw just a little of another potter's work at the Handmade Festival in a subway station in Athens. Pictures of her work, though not her name, on the announcement of the show. Google Handmade Festival, Athens

The tradition clearly need not dominate. I wonder if it is always present to potters there.

Come to the Talmadge Art Sale!

There's a lot of very classy handmade stuff. I feel in very good company there.

The next one is April 15, 10-4, at the Liberty Station Conference Center. Google knows.

I'm coming with  brand new pots, out of the glaze firing yesterday and some still there.

New Pots -- Such a Pleasure

Why? What makes this step in a long process so very much pleasure?

It's the last step, mostly, receiving finished pots from the glaze firing. A culmination of the process maybe, and a productive success, or failure. But very definitely, my favorite step in the process is the beginning. Shaping pots on the wheel is the point where clay becomes pot, form rises from potential, "nothing" becomes something. It's a thrill, and a pleasure in the hands.So why is the end of this process so much pleasure too?

And I am very pleased, even though all the pots from a firing load don't come out well. It helps if they do, if I can feel some pride and success. This leaf is 12 inches across and all the texture came out clear in the glaze!

Wow, those colors! It's my favorite rutile blue glaze, applied thin and in a lucky spot in the kiln.   Breakfast tea today in this cup, and I kept turning it and looking at it.
 

Even if a pot is trash, or a "second" for sale cheaply, or just OK, I am pleased to get it; there's something new in it, and perhaps a good idea to follow in another pot.

Boring, but the shape has possibility.


Opening a shared kiln is a community enterprise, interesting to everybody. We care about each others' pots. We admire, encourage, steal ideas. It's good to look at pots, to handle them, discuss them. A shelf of new pots in a classroom or community studio is a happy traffic jam.

And it's not really an end to any process. Some pots need further work.

The text was illegible on these cups; something ran. So I rewrote the text with underglaze (in a squeeze bottle) and refired with a bisque load. OK now.

Ouch, the big leaf has a crack. Can I salvage it? A further challenge.

 Almost all pots have some further life in keeping, gift, sale and use. And each one contains ideas, to try again and differently. There's never an end.