“What we feel most has/ no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.” — Jack Gilbert, from “The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart”
How much of making a thing comes out of an impulse to speak in a way that circumvents the limits of, well, speech and conscious thought (inasmuch as that’s governed by words)? I sometimes feel like my subconscious uses the opportunity of getting around speech to say things that don’t need to be understood (even by me) so much as just said, in their way.
That can also mean, though, that when I think I’ve come upon some great revelation, I have the sneaking sensation that my subconscious looks at my smug, newly enlightened self with incredulity, like I already said that ages ago, you idiot — weren’t you listening?
The beta version of the “How Far” pinch pots — stitchwork is crisper and tighter (owing to more carefully spaced perforations & to omitting glaze, which had been sealing up some of the holes during the high fire).
The smoked inside and outside creates much less contrast than in the first series, but I think that draws more attention to the thread.
I have been thinking about coating the inside with a layer of terra sigillata tinted with mason stains, but it adheres best to bone dry greenware, and I have to add the perforations well before that. Yep, I sure could re-punch the holes after applying the terra sig, but that’s what I’m trying to avoid. That whole not letting the process get too baroque.
I’ve started a series of segmented towers that will be a better vehicle for slip, anyhow. And you know what that might mean?