Proud Nana!!!!

Got a call this morning from my just recently turned two year old Sophia. I, of course was sleeping, but when I returned the call, I learned that she had slept through the night in her big girl bed, without rails, and without her father sleeping on the floor next to the bed. While one night does not a habit make, Nana is, nonetheless, very proud of Sophie and her new achievement.

Clay Club

I had the best time at Clay Club last night. It was at Odyssey this month and Marian Parkes and Jill Wolf made a great party. It was a nice pick-me-up, as I was feeling a little Spring Blues-y and about to write a very uninteresting song, which would have been a mistake...so thanks to all the Clay Clubbers from the Northern Territories for coming down south. And thanks to all of the South WNC Clay folk who came and showed the north that we are mighty, too. John Britt, Mike Kline and Marian Parkes have photos that will be post on various blogs, etc. See you next month for an Empty Bowl Extravaganza at John Hartom's (whom we missed very much last night).

Blogging Blues

I haven't blogged for a while because I get the feeling no one is listening, with 3 followers for whom I am very grateful. Perhaps it's because the posts seems to show up on Facebook, so people don't follow the blog. I hope that's true and so I will continue.

My camera is broken. This too is a dilemma when it comes to blogging, which, more and more, seems to be the display of photographs...even more so than words. We have become a drive-through, drive-by, nation. We have no patience for the art of, well, anything. The art of language, painting, pottery or photography (the kind with film and black rooms, where the emergence of an image was part of the art). I am sad about it, and yet, the digital age is exciting, or is it just addicting? Does the solitude it requires make us more, or less, interconnected? Why do I feel this melancholy?

500 Judaica - Lark Books

For my friends who are not craftspersons, Lark Books publishes books about crafts, home decorating, cooking, and outdoor living. They publish a series called the "500 Series", which are books that have a theme and present 500 examples of that theme. 500, Bowls, 500 Mugs, 500 Wooden Boxes, etc. Among potters and other clay artists, having a piece or pieces represented in one of these books, is an accomplishment.

Last year Lark call for entries for a 500 Judaica Book, to be published this Fall. I submitted 7 pieces for consideration, and I was notified today that 5 of them will appear in the publication.

Thanks to Marian Parkes and Joy Tanner for the fabulous photographs, the quality of which, I am sure, had more than a little to do with the entries being chosen.

This is a good day!!!

Sweet Home, Chicago!!

On my way to Chicago for a week. An all Judaica Show there over the weekend. I hope there is no more snow. Catch you on the flipside, unless you find me on Twitter @oyclaypotter.

Where have you been?

Bought clay. Measured, wedged, rolled and balled clay. Threw and built clay. Dried clay (but not too dry). Carved, stamped, and marked clay. Dried clay (very dry). Loaded clay into kiln, fired clay, cooled clay, unloaded bisque. Repeated.

Waxed bisque. Dry wax. Brushed bisque. Applied oxides to bisque. Glazed Bisque. Dried. Packed bisque (very gently) Schlepped to kiln. With the help of friends: Unpacked bisque (very gently). Loaded bisque.

Now: Firing bisque.

Next: Cool. Unload pottery. Pack pottery (very carefully) . Schlep pottery home. Unload pottery. Photograph pottery. Inventory pottery. Price pottery. Repack pottery (very carefully). Load pottery into car. Drive pottery 675 miles to Deerfield, Illinois. Unload car. Set up display. Unpack pottery and place on display. Sell, sell, sell. Sleep. Sell, sell sell. Sleep. Sell, sell, sleep.

Either 1) load empty crates in to car and drive home. OR 2) pack remaining pots. Load car and drive home.

Remembering

Today, at 10:45 a.m. I finished 59 years of living. As I head into my 60th year, I remember a conversation I had with my dad as he approached his 60th birthday. I was 27, it was the late 70's and I was still in the "don't trust anyone over 30" frame of mind, and was quickly becoming irrelevant, by that standard.

"Dad, what's it feel like, being sixty?, I asked. "I mean, are you scared?" He thought a moment and smiled, "Not when I consider the alternative."

While I've heard similar sentiments since then, I thought, at the time, that my father was so pragmatic and so profound at the same time. Still do.