Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved to paint. But dark forces twisted her up inside so that soon holding a paintbrush brought tidal waves of frustration and sorrow. After some years of trudging through the muck in search of a surfboard, she looked down and realized that the mud through which she was slogging had curative powers. She picked up a handful and fashioned the figure- a figurine- of a monster, and another, of a baby. She smashed the monster, as she cradled the baby. Out of the monster shards she formed a bowl. Into the bowl she poured a pitcher of her tears, and walked into the garden. The baby waddled away, giggling. She poured the bowl of tears into the flower bed. Turning, she saw a bird with iridescent wings fly overhead and land on a stone in front of her. There she built her studio.
And there she sits today, spinning fur into vessels of love.
Creating with clay is a spiritual journey- it shows me where I am with myself, because clay is a most responsive and reflective material. We living beings are made of clay, the stardust that used to be floating untethered in the universe. A pot is a type of person. Even the language- the names we give pot parts- speaks to this; the foot, the belly, the shoulder, the neck, the lip. Both persons and pots are vessels. Into the vessel that is me, I invite and welcome inspiration. Into the clay, I pour that inspiration, which comes from the spiritual vastness from which all creativity comes. The clay is invested with the electro-magnetic energy of my thoughts and emotions, as I will it to come to life, and invest it also with the hope that each piece bring others pleasure in perception of the loveliness of the act of creation, even in the smallest, even in the commonest, of things. Clay is metaphor. Clay connects me with everything.