primalmommy on mon 20 mar 06
I am drinking my late night decaf out of a Jack Troy cup.
I bought it, lucky me, at a very reasonable price, without shipping,
without a cut to the gallery, after a lovely workshop he presented at
ACERS. I listened to him, saw slides of teabowls and was enlightened,
learned from him, had lunch with him and the other workshoppers at a
picnic table.
So this cup has a story; it's linked to the postcard tacked over my
clay-spattered studio light switch of Jack's hands in B&W holding a pot.
A generic mug from Pier 1 would hold coffee: this one holds Jack.
I chose it from a shelf that holds other pots sold by workshoppers I
loved -- Mel jacobsen was one, back in the day, who sold me pot pot at
his ACC workshop, thank goodness. David Hendley and Mark Issenberg mugs
sit with the one I bought that same workshop week from Tony (whose pots
made it to Tennessee by mail, though his body was refused permission to
cross the border.)
These pots don't have EP's tag on the side, but she's right -- the
information, the significance, the human being who inhabits them give
them their value for me. Kevin Crowe's honey pot looks like the soft
spoken homeschooler who named his son after his river -- (or was it the
other way around?)
I have my faves, but am not so much the hero-worshipper or big dog
follower as I may appear. There are famous pots and potters I've
encountered that just leave me cold, and stories I want no part of. I
tend to sing the praises of the folks who rock my world, and just keep
quiet about the others, on the advice of Thumper Rabbit. (Though I do
have my catty moments, and sometimes prefer Eleanor Roosevelt's version:
("If you can't say something nice... come and sit by me.")
I'm not sure in the grand scale that there even IS such a thing as a big
dog. It's all relative. Just like I disagree with Gail Dapogny that
there's such thing as an "in crowd" in the clayart world. There are
show-offs and extroverts, and there are quieter friends, and serious,
focused professionals, and long time veterans. You can't look at the
surface and judge anything by who wears a lampshade on his head, hollers
out to her buddies on clayart, or posts long sentimental gratitudes
after NCECA as if we were signing high school yearbooks.
Funny thing about the "in crowd" at my high school... everybody thought
it consisted of everybody else.
And Tony, Polly DID ask me for a shot of my work, so neener neener. It's
apparently one of the things they want to use with the columns now. I
came home from NCECA as usual swinging a hammer, thinking nothing I had
made in the past year was any good, but found a few recent things I
liked OK. Now I have to send a byline. I'm tripping over my email
address -- "primalmommy" ... sounds so... I dunno... dorky. It's an
artifact from when I spent all my blathering time on parenting boards
(NAK). Maybe time to go with my primalpotter email instead.
Yours
Kelly in Ohio.. hoping workshoppers will continue to offer small goodies
when they come to town. I fail to see what's awkward about selling pots
to people who are excited about you and your work and want a piece of
your story...how else would a little Lana Wilson piece find its way to
my kitchen wall, or Jack's cup into my hand?
Did I mention I own a Nils Lou teabowl?
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Steve Slatin on tue 21 mar 06
Dear Primal One --
Wonderful post & I agree with the thoughts on the
use of a pot acquired with context.
But I must point out that the "come sit by me"
quotation is by Alice Roosevelt Longworth --
fameous beauty, society snob, daughter of Teddy,
wife of Nicholas Longworth (former Speaker of the
House, after whom the Longworth House Office
Building is named), and well-known hostess.
She is also known for having buried a voodoo doll
of Mrs. Taft in the White House lawn before
departing at the end of her father's presidency.
She was 'banned' from the Taft, Wilson, and FDR
White Houses for various offenses, including a
fameously vulgar joke about Wilson. (I have
tried for years to identify the joke itself,
without success. If any of you can help ...)
(Anna) Eleanor Roosevelt, daughter of Elliot
Roosevelt and Anna Eleanor Hall, niece of Teddy
R., wife of FDR seems never to have had the cruel
wit of her distant cousin, or her good looks.
(She became known as Eleanor to avoid confusion
with her mother.) An orphan from age 10, she was
fameously plain, passionate about equality,
social justice, and access to democratic
institutions, and something of a social isolate.
Eleanor and FDR were also distant cousins; the
two branches of the family crossed and recrossed
repeatedly -- European royalty, American royalty,
trailer trash ... all so much alike.
-- Steve Slatin
--- primalmommy
wrote:
> I am drinking my late night decaf out of a Jack
> Troy cup.
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