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!
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