The Chinese Year of the Snake is about to start at the beginning of February. So, I went and had a little look at the Chinese horoscopes and found to my amusement that people born in the year of the snake are excellent potters...as well as scientists, investigators, painters, spiritual leaders and dieticians. So, I thought, what year was I for into? What sort of creature am I? I had a little peek and see that I was born in the year of the Rooster. Now Roosters, it is said, are protagonistic sort of people. But those born in my decade (not giving anything away here) are not, because they are a sort called 'the wood rooster'. Sad face! Sounds bad and doesn't get any better either: listen to this. "This Rooster is different in that he enjoys being a part of the team rather than in the spotlight like other Roosters. He likes the company of others and is a genuine friend. These Roosters work for the betterment of society, working diligently to change the evils of it. They expect quality attempts from others involved with the causes and sometimes expect too much of their co-volunteers, as they do of themselves. Often, because of this desire to help society, these Roosters overcommitt themselves, unable to finish what they’ve started". Huh! So that's what is going on?! Do I sound amused and rather tickled? No, I don't. I thought I could be like the Portuguese rooster from Barcelos (see below) or like the Kellogg's wake me up in the morning bright and breezy variety. I thought some of my friends might recognise in me the cuddliness and falling-over-ness of the cuddly toy. Some may even agree that I can have THAT look (above) - but 'desire to help' ? 'betterment of society' ? 'unable to finish'? That stings, as does the list of stuff we are supposed to be good for: Certified Public Accountants, bookkeepers, insurance agents, secretaries, dentists... phew! But hang on a minute, what is going on here? Roosters are supposed to be neat and clean and take great care of their closets and drawers. Hmmm... Anyway, I am a Rooster, a Wooden Rooster to boot, and as such I am supposed to be... Brave, Romantic, Motivated, Proud, Blunt, Resentful, Boastful! By the way, you may all be dying to know this: my husband is a Sheep! He loves being at home, spends his time doing arts and crafts, cooking and knitting and would make a lovely hairdresser, Yes, I am confused, but pleased to have figured out so much I did not know before!
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When I was a very small child I was on the beach one day with my parents. As usual, the men had stolen my ball and I was instead skippeting over the wavelets securely held by the hand by my mother. The Caparica was in those days a perfect beach: only a handful of locals used it; it has enormous surf but is safe and has a deep apron of golden sand. So there I was, very excited and secure when an unexpectedly strong wave came over and overwhelmed me completely. It swept me off my feet, turned me upside down and sideways and I twisted around my mother's firm grip like a rag doll. The bubbly surf surged in my ears and the prickly sand scrubbed my face and shoulders as I rasped along the bottom at the retreat. I swallowed a great gulp of salt water.
All over in a blink, but the fright left me feeling sick and miserably disappointed: the beautiful sea had shown its treacherous hand. The feeling of being overwhelmed by that wave revisits me now and again: it is the sensation I conjure up when I fear losing control; so often I can hear those bubbles, I can see that pale watery blue buffeting my head and feel the rag doll gyration. Thats what feeling out of control is for me. I won't say that my survival depends on making those textured slabs work, but at the deep end of fearing that the texture has gone too deep, or the slabs are too dry to hold the seams together, or the cutting too tight and having a frayed edge... at those times I do get a bit of surf in my ears and a bit of grit in my teeth! There are two coffers in the kiln for bisquing right now and an open square container, all done in those slammed, textured, wobbly slabs. And a small crippled mug with a rolled handle. And a couple of wall plaques. Out there the frost is severe and I hope it doesn't damage the structure and integrity of the clay pieces. Definitely a small wave is overwhelming the calm sunny enjoyment of the beach moment! Photos will be posted! What is on my mind right now and what this pot puts me in mind of, is the war in Afghanistan. The landscape of desolation and destruction, the half broken lives that seemingly have become the norm. Young people coming home broken and disappointed themselves; the feeling of something that cannot be fixed. This container lives in my kitchen and is a daily reminder of suffering and hopelessness. I stick herbs and keys and pens into it and sometimes I arrange flowers, profusions of colour and form and sensation. This is an old work. These days I work to a lighter mood but somehow I did not want to put this side of work behind me without a reference. It seems I will return to these dark thoughts in the future and want to have a point of re-ignition for that endeavour. The legacy of that young man who left me all those materials is bearing fruit. I have been excited to find that I can work with them and put colour and jollity into my surfaces. I have been working mostly on textured surfaces with soft slabs and that is an endless quest in itself, just trying to master the technique and develop the precise feel for levels of pressure and humidity. Agonies over glazing remain. How thin is too thin? Does this help in any way? |
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