Pottery

Today I am grateful for pottery.  I have yet to see a piece of pottery I don’t like, but the pieces I got in Bali, Indonesia are very special. 

I had the pleasure of watching the process and it was amazing.  Creative Indonesians, some men, some women, sat on the ground to mold and sculpt the rich clay into form.  After a certain amount of natural drying time pieces were then fired in a huge 8 foot tall pile out in the open, as tiny, half-dressed guys with melting flip-flops tossed more bamboo and palm fronds on the pyre in shifts.   They kept it burning for days. 

When we moved from our big house, to our townhouse I had an awful time figuring out where to put all of the pottery we had gotten when we lived in Indonesia.  The huge, 3 feet-tall-pot has a hand carved, tiger-wood table top on it and holds my Lady with the Braid sculpture.  Other pottery is scattered through the house, or rotated for short periods to the basement bullpen.

There was simply not room to have it all standing on the floor. . . so I went up with it.  The pottery in today’s picture is from the top of my entertainment unit.  It took me forever to get it placed so it would not only look good, but also partially hide the cold air return.  Every night when we turn the on the indirect lighting, I love it more.  I never get sick of looking at it.  It never bores me or irritates me.  On the contrary, I get a sense of peace when looking at the smooth, imperfect shapes.

I’m always looking for new shadows, different ways the light catches form. One day my sons pointed out that there was a boob shadow on my ceiling.  “What?”  I asked.  Men see boobs everywhere, trust me, this is a fact.  But this time they were right.  When the light shines up it catches a nub on the tallest pot.  Between the roundness of the pot and that nub. . .well you get the picture. . .and so did they.  “What old-woman-mom has a boob shadow on her ceiling?  You should move things around a little so it doesn’t happen.” They told me.  Hah.  Fat chance.  At Christmas, when I replace the up-lights with Christmas lights, the boob disappears.  Then they complain.  You just can’t please some kids.  Any kids.  Ever.  Especially where boobs are concerned.

Boob shadows or not, my pottery makes me feel good.  Every day, I’m transported to the blistering heat and humidity at the outside vendor where my pottery and I first met. . . and I fell in love.