“And I held my tongue. As she told me, “Son, fear is the heart of love.” So I never went back.” – Death Cab for Cutie

Oh… Oh! I forgot to mention: I also mopped. Guys: I mopped the floor. In my studio. For the hell of it. What can this possibly mean?

Since Witt left, now an alarmingly long time ago, I’ve mostly been in the studio in Just Passing Through mode. It’s where the tools are, for fixing shit around the house. It’s where I stash all my mowing gear, for the complex, often-more-than-weekly ritual of midwestern lawn maintenance. In other words, all the tasks that, pathetically, rank higher on my priority list than actually making pots.

The Admiral had a prof once, in the art dept at Iowa a million years ago, who said, “You don’t have to balance your checkbook before you make art.” Which, in that professorish way, is simulataneously useful, provocative, and complete horseshit. Like a riddle or one of those Zen things I know nothing about, the truth of it all depends on one’s context and how you define your terms. Does “balance the checkbook” = be able to pay your bills? Or does it = scrubbing the grout in the shower with a toothbrush for six hours while you procrastinate away another perfectly good studio day? See what I mean?

Anywhat, after a potting sabbatical week; then a fakation week out of town; then two weeks of a summer cold, which overlapped enjoyably with a week of covering bases at the office and some weird leak under the kitchen cabinets; and getting Pixel restarted rolling her rock up the hill to school; and; and; and;

I’m finally (I hope) getting caught up on all that slightly-more-urgent-than-’balancing the checkbook’ type crap, and rounding the corner to where it seems plausible that I could start some fresh pots, without collapsing in a heap or needing a therapy session afterwards, and even actually be around and available to finish them off the next day. It. Could. Happen.

Miracle of miracles.

In my Studio Notes book on Saturday, I wrote down:

1. Meerfeld Bowls, [because I was looking again at that bowl of his that I bought a zillion years ago, on the ped mall in Boulder, which still blows my mind all this time later and sadly had to go up on the Not Using shelf a year or two ago, when it’s hairline crack seemed to extend 90% of the way through and I decided it’d be better kept as a study pot intact that in two halves.]
2. Largest bowls possible, [because I have a request for a big one that I can’t really turn down, and if I’m going to keep slogging away in this little kiln I need to find the outside parameters of what will fit, and it’d be nice to make some big volume ones again.]
3. 2-piece vases, [because I need tall stuff; and I still suck at throwing cylinders; and I’ll need the warm up; and shorter vases just sit for ages; and because I think-hope-please-dear-Zeus that I’ve solved the cracking seams problem]
4. larger one piece vases, [because damn, wouldn’t that be nice?]
5. pitchers???, [because, untrimmed, they are still probably the hardest form for me to make well, and I dearly love a good one, but have likely made all of about a half dozen that were satisfactory in my 25 years of throwing; and because those Matt S ones are just frickin’ amazing and I want some of that magic if I can get it.]