perfection rebellion tested
A mug broke in my studio yesterday.
One that I had made. On Monday. Wirecut a hunk of brown speckled clay. Rolled out the slab. Carefully imprinted a plant that I had found this past weekend on the side of a mountain. Made a handle. Attached it. Set it on the shelf to dry.
Yesterday: standing in front of my drying shelves, surveying my present work, deciding whether to bisque fire or glaze fire. I picked up this mug to feel if it was cool to the touch (still incubating - not ready to fire) or leather hard and warm (ready to cook - it was not). I noticed a slight crack down the side. I pushed gently on it and the wall caved in.
My first feeling likened to an anvil falling on my head - (all that work, I whimpered silently). But it stopped before I watched myself tumble down the hill. I grumbled a hrmph. Added a shrug for effect. Set down the broken pieces. Went back to the shelves.
This is pottery.
That is growth.
Absolutely. Clay is one of the most humbling mediums I’ve worked with so far. It reminds us that we are drops in an ocean and that trying to control it, and our lives, makes no sense whatsoever.