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Other people's treasures
Dec. 9th, 2015 05:16 pmfrom offcenter.biz, April 20, 2012:
It's interesting, the assumptions people make. For example, they rarely ask me if I have other people's pottery in the house. In fact, they usually phrase the question in the negative: "You don't buy other people's pottery, do you?" The assumption being, I suppose, that I can make whatever I need, so why should I spend money on it?
In fact, the reverse is true. My house is full of other people's pottery. Just look at the cup rack above, which hangs in my kitchen. Only two of the 22 cups on it are mine. (Can you guess which?)
A visit to my kitchen cupboard is like a catalog of people I've met, studied with, occasionally taught over the years. People I admire, work I covet, stuff that I never in a million years would try to make. Some pots are particularly treasured, because the maker isn't around any more. I'll never buy another Chris Gum bowl, or Tom Rohr wood-fire cup.
And that doesn't even go into the display case in the living room.
Sure, I can make a plate, a bowl, a cup, a pot... but not necessarily that pot. That seductive soft porcelain tea bowl I bought at a rare sale from Michiyo Goble, with a pale blue celadon and just a tiny splash of copper red where it indents to meet my thumb. I'd never be able to duplicate one of Kathy Lee's covered bird pots, plump and tactile with the orange peel texture of a salt glaze. And I wouldn't even think of tackling the layered complexity of one of Craig Martell's slip-trailed and spray-glazed tea bowls.
Don't get me wrong. I like my own pots. The forms are crisp and functional, and the paintings keep getting better. Rare is the firing that doesn't have something in it I can't part with. But I love other people's pots as well, for the form, for the glaze, for the notion that I might learn something about my art from how someone else approaches it.
That's one reason I love to go to shows like Ceramic Showcase, or Clay Fest, or Clayfolk. They're great places to sell pottery, of course, but also to network, catch up with potter friends from around Oregon and southwest Washington, pick up some tricks at the demonstration stage.
And to buy pots. I rarely come home without some new treasure for those very full cupboards.
It's interesting, the assumptions people make. For example, they rarely ask me if I have other people's pottery in the house. In fact, they usually phrase the question in the negative: "You don't buy other people's pottery, do you?" The assumption being, I suppose, that I can make whatever I need, so why should I spend money on it?
In fact, the reverse is true. My house is full of other people's pottery. Just look at the cup rack above, which hangs in my kitchen. Only two of the 22 cups on it are mine. (Can you guess which?)
A visit to my kitchen cupboard is like a catalog of people I've met, studied with, occasionally taught over the years. People I admire, work I covet, stuff that I never in a million years would try to make. Some pots are particularly treasured, because the maker isn't around any more. I'll never buy another Chris Gum bowl, or Tom Rohr wood-fire cup.
And that doesn't even go into the display case in the living room.
Sure, I can make a plate, a bowl, a cup, a pot... but not necessarily that pot. That seductive soft porcelain tea bowl I bought at a rare sale from Michiyo Goble, with a pale blue celadon and just a tiny splash of copper red where it indents to meet my thumb. I'd never be able to duplicate one of Kathy Lee's covered bird pots, plump and tactile with the orange peel texture of a salt glaze. And I wouldn't even think of tackling the layered complexity of one of Craig Martell's slip-trailed and spray-glazed tea bowls.
Don't get me wrong. I like my own pots. The forms are crisp and functional, and the paintings keep getting better. Rare is the firing that doesn't have something in it I can't part with. But I love other people's pots as well, for the form, for the glaze, for the notion that I might learn something about my art from how someone else approaches it.
That's one reason I love to go to shows like Ceramic Showcase, or Clay Fest, or Clayfolk. They're great places to sell pottery, of course, but also to network, catch up with potter friends from around Oregon and southwest Washington, pick up some tricks at the demonstration stage.
And to buy pots. I rarely come home without some new treasure for those very full cupboards.