Day Twelve


I started the morning well and went to the studio by 7am. I wedged the clay I left on the plaster board to dry last night. I am working on tall vessels that are made out of two parts since they are too narrow and tall to make in one piece. I did the usual prep work - weighing, wedging, taking out tools, the stool, the bats, a bucket of water, and of course mopping according to my new ritual. I made a tea in the mug I have not yet tried and put the music on. The mug feels nice in my hand. All is ready for me to throw.

My wheel sits in the middle of the floor.  I"m at the wheel and all these to-do stuff run through my head. I need to respond to that emails. I need to buy a bigger scale for shipping, I need to come up with the loft space planning, I need to finish writing the artist statement... I will take care of them later and I just have to focus on throwing. While speaking to those who I used to work with over emails and texts I noticed whenever I see their name I am hearing their voice in my head. Their face comes after which I thought was strange. With what then, do I connect the people I only know from Instagram and only emails on the screen? It was used to be handwriting - I used to be able to recognized my friend's hand writing which seems to say a lot about the writer. I had a period when I tried different writing to play different personalities.  My thought shifted to how such simple material like clay can become totally different stuff after being touch by a maker. I can, for some artists, even like a simple bowl see the person behind it just like handwriting.