Clay and Meaning
An excerpt from a manuscript I’ve been working on.
“It’s taken a minute, but you’re finally in my sanctuary,” she said. They were in a clay studio, the only couple currently throwing anything.
“I think I can get the hang of this,” he replied. He was working on what looked like a bowl. It was a bit crooked and every time he wet his hands to fix something it would veer off in another direction and he would start again. He laughed and was good-humored about it. She liked that about him.
“Watching you fail in art is actually quite liberating for me,” she said. “It makes you three-dimensional.”
He concentrated on his bowl as if he couldn’t hear her. “Were you mad at me?”
She’s making a vase. Then she realizes the imperfect bubbles that are forming on the lip of the vase and she doesn’t think she will remove them. “I think so.” She takes her vase off of the wheel and places it on the table. “Do you see that middle shelf there?”
She points at a shelf that has a handful of cups and bowls. “Those are my works in progress. I like coming here when I have free time on the weekends and working on them. You’ve seen a few of my finished pieces, but these ones on the shelf I don’t think will ever be complete. I think they’re more exercises than objects that will make it to the kiln.”
“I’m running to Republique and will be right back. Close the door shut if you leave before I get back,” the shop manager said as she ran out onto the busy street. They were the only ones in the studio now.
“I read your work,” he said. He was finishing up his lop-sided bowl and brought it over to the table to her vase. “I guess it was just that I don’t completely see myself the way that you do and it was a lot.”
She puts up the time-out sign. “You believe one of my pieces is about you?”
He shrugs and gives her a quizzical look. “They’re not?”
She stands tall and explains. “I draw from everyone in my life. Days that I’ve lived. People that I meet, and yes, some characters might be based solely on one individual, but there are shades of them woven in of who they are and what I make them within the story.”
“So, basically it was about me.”
She reached over and inched her vase away from his bowl on the table. “I think they’re both ready to go in the kiln.” He didn’t say anything, but he was smiling.
“You know, maybe a compromise would be for you to give me a tell in your stories.”
“You think there will be more?” she asked.
“I’m in your sanctuary now,” he said.
Touche, she thought. “What type of tell do you think would be meaningful?”
“I don’t know. It would probably be hard to make me an object of clothing - that would almost always predetermine the genre. That’s no fun.” He looked around the room. “How about clay?”
She laughed. “Clay? So if I’m ever inspired to write something with shades of you in my work it would need to involve clay?”
“Yeah.” He smiled.
“Let’s get these in the kiln before she gets back from lunch and thinks we’ve wasted the studio time.”
He helps her move the pieces from the table to the fire.
“If I wrote, what would you want me to name for you, that would belong to just you? Artistically speaking, of course.”
She placed the pieces in the oven and wiped her hands before continuing. “What part of you belongs to me? Your voice and your adductors. Hand me the bowl, please.”
He didn’t move at first. She’d made him shy. She ignored it and grabbed the remaining pieces.
“This is the good part, actually.” she said.
“What is?”
“This part - before you realize how psychotically possessive I am.” She closed the oven door and returned to the wheel for a new project.
“What I like about making these pieces is that I don’t have to worry how they’ll turn out. It’s not like a piece I’m writing or a project for work. It’s a bowl or cup that I had fun making that won’t be seen by anyone but me and my kitchen. They’re safe objects.
We can paint them when they come out, but we don’t have to. I’ve always been up in the air about coloring objects. When I see stoneware pieces, really well-made ones that don’t have any embellishments, but simply exist, sturdy, and solid, on their own I find them impressive. There’s strength and purpose to them. When earthenware pieces have color added to them, I gravitate toward patterns. I try to make sense of why it was added afterward and the story behind it. The structure is still the same, but the small splashes of an additional story can make it unique. Either way, I like it and it’s fun to make.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Like that.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Just like that. That’s how you can add me to your work. About clay. You know. If you wanted.”
I just did. I also wish you all the best with your future, cowboy. Take care of yourself.