There’s a huge conspiracy going on in my closet.
Whenever I want an old t-shirt to wear in the studio, I can only find good t-shirts, and whenever I need a good t-shirt for my rare ventures out of the house into the real world, I can only find old holey, messed up with paint, ones.
It doesn’t matter how I organize them in the drawers they move themselves around when I’m not looking.
I’m getting a bit tired of it now. I might have to change to two colours of shirt for easy picking.
That’ll teach them!
Sooooo, yeah. What’s new.
I actually have a pottery plan which could work if it wasn’t for the fact that tomorrow I’ll have gone right off it.
The problem I have with pottery making is almost as complicated as my life.
I love making the pots. Touching the clay and designing forms. When I first started I thought I would never want to leave the wheel. It’s so exciting, and clever.
I mean look at it.
I will now, before your very eyes, transform this small lump of dirt into a vessel of beauty.
It’s like magic.
Except, of course, not everything comes out beautiful.
A lot of my first attempts at making a bowl, or vase, turned out to be ashtrays. Never one to give up, I refused to let the wheel defeat me. The fact that even though the wall of the bowl kept collapsing as I threw it and needed to be continually cut down, it just wasn’t going to stop me from making something useful from it.
I would make a functional pot, dammit, no matter that I, nor anyone I knew, smoked.
You always need to have somewhere to place your keys.
But, as curveballs would have it, I discovered that really I’m a hand builder at heart.
It was one of those, Noooooo, I don’t want to be a pie. I want to be a lumberjack, moments.
(O.K. sorry, I just went with my thoughts then. Really you just have pretend to keep up or you’ll never survive the ride. I have one of those right sided, can’t keep on track because I’m all over the place, brains. Can’t help it.)
So now I’m a hand builder, who sometimes uses the wheel, but not much.
I think it’s my sculpture background.
The making of the pots is fine.
I can do that.
Well, somewhat to my satisfaction.
It’s glazing the darn things that’s the problem.
Which is why these sad little pots are still unglazed.
So, to get back to my original thought. (You thought I’d forgotten didn’t you?)
The pottery plan.
I decided the day before yesterday to make a hundred drinking vessels to use purely for glazing and surface design until I master my fear.
These will be thrown, because it will take me five hundred years to hand build each of them, which is a bit longer than the week it will take to throw them, and also, it’s a good opportunity to hone my throwing skills.
One can always hope.
Here are the beginnings.
It’s a good plan, don’t you think? I did cut it down to fifty cylinders in my telling of it to P, just in case he thought I’d gone a little excessive about it all, but a hundred won’t be bad. I’ve already made ten or so. Then, once they’re all done, and if they make the cut, I’ll sell them for twenty five dollars a piece, or something, and send it off to charity.
Not a bad plan.
But, to cut a long story short (as if that will ever happen) …
… now, I want to paint
My life, I’m telling you, nuttin’ but worry, and all over the placeness.
Is there any hope.