Elizabeth Priddy on wed 24 may 06
For those who think all the seemingly fond reminiscing
about working in tobacco fields is strange...
hee's how it relates to clay:
Say you spent a few years on your knees getting paid
dirt cheap wages to crawl on your knees through 100
degree fields of sticky sandy leaves with the
occassional tobacco grub landing on your head with a
sickening plop...or same job except bent double
picking cukes which scratch through long sleeves if
you do it long enough....
And then you are offered a job where you go into a
pottery studio and do what you enjoy for 8-10 hours a
day and you get to stand or sit erect in (angels choir
begin now) a temperature controlled room and all you
have to do is throw the same pot all day while
listening to the radio.
It helps you get some perspective to work too hard for
too long for no money. And for all my brethren who
ever spent a long hour in a row, may the lord bless
you with good honest work and a decent wage, because
you may be the only folks left in america that
appreciate it.
Also, all that wood fired belching smoke and crud in
your lungs, on your clothes, and making you reek for
hours, and raku....less appeal for people who have
been really dirty and unable to stop and take a bath.
Just a view from the other side of academia. No
wonder I went to college...
E
Elizabeth Priddy
Beaufort, NC - USA
http://www.elizabethpriddy.com
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claybair on wed 24 may 06
When a young boy, my husband picked tomatoes in Lancaster PA.
He reminisces the hours in the sun and the burning, itching scratches
on his arms and legs. Antidote was rubbing them with a green tomato
to alleviate the discomfort.
At the farmers market last Saturday I found myself in the position
of explaining that what I do is work & a job. After telling 2 people that
I work in my studio 8 to 18 hours a day I made a point to differentiate
my concept from their concept of work. It was very simple....
I merely said, "The only difference is that I am very lucky in that
I love what I do!"
My dad used to leave for work 6am and return 6pm it was a job not a passion.
He would steal a few hours in the evening and had weekends to be in his
basement
"shop" working & tinkering on things from fixing items in the house to
resurrecting
battered old sewing machines to restoring antique clocks. I'd spend time
with him
down there. I didn't get much to do except hand him tools and watch what he
was doing BUT
I learned what was important which was work ethic, determination & a passion
for what one does.
My husband's powerful work ethic was one of the first things that drew me to
him.... it was so refreshing and unusual.
Gayle Bair - Though I detest the smell of cigarette smoke the fragrance of
tobacco drying in those Lancaster County barns has to be one of my favorite
scents.
Bainbridge Island, WA
Tucson, AZ
http://claybair.com
-----Original Message-----
From: Elizabeth
Priddy
For those who think all the seemingly fond reminiscing
about working in tobacco fields is strange...
hee's how it relates to clay:
Say you spent a few years on your knees getting paid
dirt cheap wages to crawl on your knees through 100
degree fields of sticky sandy leaves with the
occassional tobacco grub landing on your head with a
sickening plop...or same job except bent double
picking cukes which scratch through long sleeves if
you do it long enough....
And then you are offered a job where you go into a
pottery studio and do what you enjoy for 8-10 hours a
day and you get to stand or sit erect in (angels choir
begin now) a temperature controlled room and all you
have to do is throw the same pot all day while
listening to the radio.
It helps you get some perspective to work too hard for
too long for no money. And for all my brethren who
ever spent a long hour in a row, may the lord bless
you with good honest work and a decent wage, because
you may be the only folks left in america that
appreciate it.
Also, all that wood fired belching smoke and crud in
your lungs, on your clothes, and making you reek for
hours, and raku....less appeal for people who have
been really dirty and unable to stop and take a bath.
Just a view from the other side of academia. No
wonder I went to college...
E
--
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Warren Heintz on wed 24 may 06
Aw,man! You caused me to have flashbacks of picking okra,with it;s large sand paper leaves and the stickiness of it's sap,under towering plants that held the heat all round. But you're right,great inspiration to go and get a degree. W.
Elizabeth Priddy wrote: For those who think all the seemingly fond reminiscing
about working in tobacco fields is strange...
hee's how it relates to clay:
Say you spent a few years on your knees getting paid
dirt cheap wages to crawl on your knees through 100
degree fields of sticky sandy leaves with the
occassional tobacco grub landing on your head with a
sickening plop...or same job except bent double
picking cukes which scratch through long sleeves if
you do it long enough....
And then you are offered a job where you go into a
pottery studio and do what you enjoy for 8-10 hours a
day and you get to stand or sit erect in (angels choir
begin now) a temperature controlled room and all you
have to do is throw the same pot all day while
listening to the radio.
It helps you get some perspective to work too hard for
too long for no money. And for all my brethren who
ever spent a long hour in a row, may the lord bless
you with good honest work and a decent wage, because
you may be the only folks left in america that
appreciate it.
Also, all that wood fired belching smoke and crud in
your lungs, on your clothes, and making you reek for
hours, and raku....less appeal for people who have
been really dirty and unable to stop and take a bath.
Just a view from the other side of academia. No
wonder I went to college...
E
Elizabeth Priddy
Beaufort, NC - USA
http://www.elizabethpriddy.com
__________________________________________________
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Elizabeth Priddy on wed 24 may 06
A pot that I made a very long time ago won a prize at
he Tobacco Festival near where I lived growing up.
It was a 14 inch vase with a tobacco leaf pressed into
the side and folding around the pot to meet itself on
the other side. I glazed it the color of cured golden
leaf tobacco and rubbed iron oxides into the details
of the leaf. I also did Catawba leaves that summer in
a clear green celadon.
I would give quite a lot to get that pot back, but I
sold it and I am sure it is on some old tobacco
farmers back porch to this day. I still sell the
winners, but I keep pictures these days.
I would never have thought Masheiko to be willing to
use so much land as to raise tobacco. I thought land
was at a premium on population rich islands.
At least the kids are getting both sides of it.
I am always torn at the plight of tobacco farmers. It
is one of the last bastions of a dark side of southern
culture and I will not be unhappy to see it go.
Although when Phillip Morris donated 100,000 dollars
to build an art studio for NCSSM in Durham, NC, I
gladly did the plaque in clay that still hangs above
the door (at least last time I was there). So I guess
my relationship to tobacco and its lore is
complicated.
I used to love to play pool and chain smoke. I
stopped cold turkey the day I was diagnosed with
diabetes, but the smell of a tobacco shop still makes
me breathe deep.
Well, this has gone way off topic too, so I better
just hush for today.
E
Elizabeth Priddy
Beaufort, NC - USA
http://www.elizabethpriddy.com
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2ley on thu 25 may 06
From: "Elizabeth Priddy"
> I used to love to play pool and chain smoke. I
> stopped cold turkey the day I was diagnosed with
> diabetes, but the smell of a tobacco shop still makes
> me breathe deep.
At the end of the day I sit down and meditate on my successes and failures
while enjoying a pipe full of latakia or Virginian and Perique tobaccos,
while listening to Leonard Cohen, or Les Nubians, or just some old jazz and
chansons.
Perhaps I'll die younger than I should, at 49 I'm not even half as old as my
grandparents were at their passing, but then again, Grandpa smoked Bull
Durham, and Grandma chewed tobacco, since her boys said cigarettes weren't
ladylike.
For me, tobacco is a link to my family's past, and a friend at my desk as I
write. I've come up with some of my best clay designs while watching the
smoke curl from the bowl.
I too have gone way off topic here, so I'm off for some Nightcap and a bit
of thought.
Philip Tuley
Pam Cresswell on thu 25 may 06
Ah, kindred spirits.
When I was in college, getting that piece o paper that says BFA (never went
back for the MFA),
I would get calls from home "Pam, catch the Greyhound after classes Friday,
the women are tying tobacco" or my favorite, "The girls are making
cracklin's " and I was needed for the cutting. At the time, it seemed none
of my peers had the slightest idea about tobacco farming or hogs, but here
on this listserv, not only do we talk clay and art and fine craft, but love
for my homeland, Appalachia. Love it
Pam, now living in the Midwest, with no hogs or cows or bright leaf in my
yard, but clay under my nails
lee love on thu 25 may 06
They raise tobacco in Mashiko too. Yesterday, I saw a farmer
inspecting the plants. He had a small can and was spaying the plants
at the base. They grow out of rows that are covered with black plastic.
Our friend Darice told us a story about going to her son's
elementary school play about "Mashiko heritage", to see here son
wearing a "pack of cigarette cotsume." He danced and his lines were
something like, "I am cigarettes! When we smoke cigarettes, we feel
older!" She was shocked and talked to the teacher explaining that
she didn't think they should be encouraging school children to smoke.
The teacher understoood & explained that the student that followed
her son, was supposed to be "cancerous lungs" and her lines were,
"but smoking can give you cancer!" She was dressed up as diseased
lungs, but she would not go on stage because her costume was falling
apart She refused to go on stage, crying.
One of my childhood farm memories is weeding in the church's
enormous sugar beet feilds, in rural Michigan.
--
Lee In Mashiko, Japan
My google Notebooks: http://tinyurl.com/e5p3n
"Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire;
Bring me my Spear; O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire! "
--William Blake
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