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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