Cup of the day-3...

Lori Phillips

Cup of the day-2...

Gwendolyn Yappolo

Cup of the day...

...Well, I'm going to do it!  I'm planning to post a cup a day, for how long?, we'll see.  I just want to share the cups I see, and often use each day. But I plan to not limit it to those in my own collection, and will look for interesting cups along the way, whether eating out, visiting galleries, traveling, or maybe cup images people send me that they like a lot. Either way, the goal is to showcase clay cups, good cups, interesting cups, both functional and sculptural cups.  So here is entry number one (I do like Jennifer's work!), and the challenge will be to to post one every day for as long as possible (let's see if I can make it a week, a month, a year...?).  I love the idea of using my blog to share images, which is why all of my non-'cup of the day' posts will continue to have at least one image. And future cup posts will only be images (unless there's something relevant to say), with the names of the artists when I know them...Enjoy!

Jennifer Allen

Sacred vessels...

...what are they really?  And does this apply to only those with a religious reference?  I doubt it.

I have been thinking about this lately and can't really say why, other than my studio work is influencing these thoughts that seem to be with me often, both in and outside the studio.  And I doubt I am alone as I look around and see the work by so many other potters who are obviously influenced and inspired by vessel making, and how these forms might serve us well beyond the physical.

For me, and thinking of how they are connected to things religious, goes way back.  I remember as a young boy, being raised catholic, looking wide-eyed at the large chalice's (called a monstrance) being carried through the church during procession, with golden rays radiating from the core, holding something sacred encased in glass.  Or more common, the chalice used during mass and holding the wine.  But then again, on a more intimate, family level, remembering dinners at home with my family where large pasta bowls (functional vessels) were passed around the table for the sharing of food.  While not the same as the chalice at church, these bowls still contained our nourishment, and while maybe not the nourishment of our souls, nourishment of our bodies nonetheless.  Sacred bowls?  Not sure, but as I recall the warmth of the meal with family I can certainly claim it was a type of 'sacred' event.  

And then, of course, the vessels used in ritual and everyday living in cultures outside of our own, and as examples I am thinking of the pre-Columbian pots in all their glory, or the pottery of the Amazon that holds chicha (the masticated beverage common to the rainforest), each of which helps us better understand the values and norms of people from another time and another land.  Forms that radiate energy from within, and help us appreciate a cultural ethos of a people, even when these are the most utilitarian of forms.  Powerful work, and for me, sacred vessels as they transcend the physicality of form and suggest something much greater beyond the serving of food.

So, where am I going with all of this?  Not sure exactly, except to say that the very idea of a sacred vessel takes on many meanings, at least for me, and is grist for the mill when contemplating the many vessels I see or make. As a potter, and one who makes both functional and sculptural vessels, it is no surprise that the very idea of a sacred vessel and its various meanings might resonate for me on so many levels, and extend far beyond the religious, and moreso into our everyday lives.  I only hope the forms I make provide the respect I feel for the vessel form and how they touch our lives and serve as personal reference and metaphor for all we believe.  If these forms are made with honesty and vision, whether utilitarian or not, they indeed become a type of sacred vessel on a most intimate and personal level.

sculptural vessel form in-process

Amazonian mucawa used for the drinking of chicha

footed pre-Columbian vessel

Taking risks...

...always sounds good in theory, but in reality, well that's another thing altogether.

I recently heard someone say that the person who risks nothing...does nothing...and has nothing.  Seems true enough to me.  But what are the risks we are taking, and for what purpose?  I mean really, doesn't it mean something different for the artist within the context of their artwork, versus, say someone climbing Mt. Everest, where the consequences of that risk could mean your life? Isn't there a difference here, and if so, what are the consequences for an artist when taking risks?  We sure talk a lot about risk taking in art, but maybe it is more 'chance' taking, since the outcome is not life threatening, only changing the direction of one's work.  Just a thought.  So maybe 'taking a chance' fits better?  Don't know for sure, but something I have wondered about lately as I work in the studio and contemplate new ideas and new directions with my work in clay.

Courage...I return to that word as it seems to be the fuel for any risk taking, or chance taking, in anything we do.  It takes courage to climb Mt, Everest (even though I've heard some call it foolishness?), and in art, courage to step outside of your comfort zone to try something new in order to discover another dimension to your work.  I'm not sure if there are different types of courage, but maybe so since there are different types of risks, aren't there?  The courage one needs for their art making seems different than the courage one might need to rise in the morning knowing they have something serious to deal with, be it personal, mental, health, job, or whatever.  We've all been there, and it can be daunting, scary, emotional...yet I am rarely scared to make 'courageous' decisions within the context of my creative work. The only fear there comes more from not creating a successful piece, either technically or aesthetically, or one that does not fully articulate my thoughts of what I hope to say. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that taking risks within the creative process and finding the courage to do so is easy, just different.  And when weighed against the backdrop of other types of risk taking in our lives, it seems artists should be able to muster up the 'courage' easier than we think in order to find the unknown within ourselves waiting to be discovered.  After all, if we really want our work to serve as a visual language to communicate things we feel that are difficult to find in words, it seems natural that finding the courage to take a risk, or chance, is a small price to pay.  It is not the type of failure that is life threatening, just maybe a little thump to the ego when it becomes an unsuccessful piece?

So back to the person who risks nothing...does nothing...and has nothing.  Seems risk taking, or even chance taking, are vital components to both art and life.  Without them, we remain stagnant, only secure in knowing the results of our inaction.  So maybe indeed it is action, courage, risk taking, or whatever we assign to our motives and subsequent results of feeling alive that makes our art vibrant, meaningful, and in the end worth making, or in the larger picture of our lives, worth living. Not easy, for sure, but maybe worth the risk?

My cup runneth over...

...well actually, I am at least trying to keep it partially filled.  But in thinking about cups, I find myself preoccupied with some thoughts about them that have been on my mind lately.

You see, for me making cups has always been part of what I do and make.  Sometimes it is like doing ceramic aerobics...using cups to help jump start the making process both physically and creatively.  I do love functional cups though, which I often make and are surrounded by and use daily in the home.  But honestly, I often get sidetracked making cups that soon become more visual explorations into form, surface and idea (dare I call them 'sculpture'?).  What a great way to wonder within ones work, without straying too far from the ideal cup.  It seems many artists do it, I think, both in clay and other mediums.  There is something about the cup form that draws us in, or maybe it is because we all understand it, and since it is part of most everyone's day, it is a safe form to explore both within the range of function all the way to any sculptural idea that may present itself.  From the wonderful functional cups made by so many potters today (too many to list here), to ones like the sculptural cup of Brancusi, made of solid wood and extremely large, the cup form resonates so well for us all.

I recall years ago drinking water from a stream with my hands cupped to contain the liquid, thinking how natural it is for us to physically identify with a drinking vessel knowing it started from the simple act of holding our own hands together.  And, sharing beverage with one another using the same cup, as one does in the tea ceremony, or around the kitchen table, allowing the cup form to become an intimate object used to foster a type of communication with one another.  So what better object than the cup to use as a 'connector' for humans, both through its ability to function to its power as a visual metaphor, therefore serving as both utility and art.

But let's look at another aspect of this, and that is to have the cup become a type of legacy from one person, or one family, to another.  I am speaking here of the cups we use daily, perhaps a favorite cup that is special to us for a variety of reasons.  It could have been received as a gift, or something we obtained through an event, experience, or whatever.  Regardless, a cup, any cup or cups we own, have the potential to carry with them a myriad of feelings, experiences, memories, uses, etc., and can each begin to define moments and individuals in our lives.  And let's be honest here, it is not inconceivable that those same cups we use from day to day (if they do not get broken along the way), may outlive their owners, and as a result get passed down from one person, or one generation to another.  I'll bet most of us have pots that were once owned and used by our ancestors, and as a result we hold them dear and are reminded of these people each and every day we see, hold, and use them in our own lives.

So, I do believe that the cups we make that are passed along to others as gifts, through sales, or whatever, hold the potential to become part of a family history, and therefore serve as legacies of who we were in a particular place and time.  While I am not suggesting we think too hard on it all, I am suggesting that we think some, and care enough to put ourselves into any cup we make, for any reason we make it, knowing it may one day become part of a person, or family legacy, far from the maker itself.  

One last thought, and I admit a crazy one, is that I am contemplating posting a cup a day to my blog (no commitment yet, only a thought I am considering!). I would love to see what might come from it, and allow me to share the cups, or ideas of cups, I see as part of my own life.  Might prove interesting to observe how my own thoughts about cups might evolve.  Not necessarily limiting them to clay either?  Hmm, a thought.  But one a day, for how long...a year maybe...am I nuts? Sure, so we'll see if I can talk myself into taking the plunge!

For now though, here are some cups being made in my own studio, along with the Brancusi wooden cup I love so much!

functional cups

sculptural cup and saucer

Brancusi's wooden cup

I wish I knew...

...what to think or say after hearing about the tragedy in Boston.  But let me try to wrap a few words around some feelings...

You know, I had been mulling over a new blog post about pots, again, when news of the Boston Marathon tragedy hit the airwaves.  At first I thought here we go again, another senseless tragedy, and for what?  And now, a day later, sitting down to think about a new post on pots, I read yet another story about tragedy, heroism, and the glue that makes people stick together in the most difficult of times.  Stories of how people helped one another, and stories of how lives are indelibly changed forever.  Senseless, for sure, and still heartwarming to hear and see the good emanate from strangers, family members, and so many others, in Boston and beyond, who will also find that day has changed them as well.  

You see, it seems that while the person responsible has done something unimaginable to most, what we are now left with is the truth of humanity and real examples of what it means to be alive and to care for one another.  Sure, it is indeed senseless, and the first reaction is to find the person responsible and make them pay the highest price for what they have done.  But through it all I cannot let go of the feeling of warmth and caring I see on the streets of Boston.  How people share the pain and care for strangers, doing all they can to help one another.  I see more stories of caring and love than I do of revenge.  The most recent story I saw in the NY Times (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/17/us/in-grisly-image-a-father-sees-his-son.html?smid=fb-share) made me want to weep, both out of the sorrow I felt for the victim as well as offerings of help from strangers who stepped up in such a dire circumstance.

So, today I initially want to say my thoughts are about neither pots nor art, but in some weird way, I think they still are.  You see, for those of us making art every day, we only hope to connect to others and share parts of our lives that we hold dear.  Lives that we know are fragile, and temporal.  Sharing who we are through art, becoming vulnerable to our own human existence, and allowing it all to connect us to one another on the most human level is indeed a noble act.  I want to say that nothing I have ever done compares to the noble acts of kindness and generosity I have seen on the streets of Boston, but if, in some small way, we can each share a moment of kindness and generosity to one another through what we do and say through our art work, it mutes the acts of a few determined to speak loudly through their negative actions toward others.

It is all so confusing to me, and I only wish I knew better what to say or think, but my most primal thoughts on yesterday's events are sure to remain with me as I go to the studio again to touch clay.