Clay Pots
Topic: Art / Creativity
"Hey Tige," I said to Mr. Tiger, the crackpot within, "It's a little too warm to blog today. I've spent most of it cleaning my closet - got the summer stuff put away and the fall and winter clothes are finally out of the attic because, of course, I'll be needing them soon - days like today will be few and far between."

'Well, if you aren't going to blog - what are you doing here?' asked the pest in a voice that was colder than the day.

"I've plenty of posts from my first blog - the one I accidently deleted," I told him. "I'll just find one of those and make a fast entry before I spend some time in my yard."

'Suit yourself,' he said, which is exactly what I did.

This entry first appeared on Monday, April 10, 2006

Clay Pots - Take Two

"Perfection, I call any simple quality, if it is positive and absolute, such that, if it expresses something, it does so without limits." - Gottfried Leibniz

"Hey Tige," I said to Mr. Tiger, the egocentric pest who thinks he is perfect, "have you ever felt that our lives are guided by larger forces?"

'Not so fast,' said Mr. Tiger before a flatly stated, 'What?'

"I'm talking about my nephew Josh. You can read about how he has been recently honored with a research grant for his technical skill and artistic mastery, at my sister Colleen's Loose Leaf Notes," I told Tiger before saying, "Josh has been guided to follow this path, first by his mother's creative parenting, his studies, and no doubt by other very real energies."

'Anyone can be a potter,' cut in Mr. Tiger, 'Jeeze - little kids play with clay all the time.'

"Yes, Josh began working with clay as a kid," I replied quickly and added to that, "and yes, it's the clay indeed that offers the potential for meaningful expression, but clay is just a clump of earth, until an artists hands, mind and imagination molds it."

'It's all mass production today,' said Mr. Tiger, defending his point of view, 'all you need is a potter's wheel. Anyone can do it.'

"The potter's wheel revolutionized pottery production, Tige, that's true," and after a pause I added, "sometime between 6,000 and 2,400 BC."

Mr. Tiger ended with an shrug and I ended with a story about two clay pots.

A water bearer in China had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.

But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house.

Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.

Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Blackberry picking
Topic: Art / Creativity

"Manifesting that order of poetry where we can at last grow up to that which we stored up as we grew." - Seamus Heaney


"Hey Tige," I said to Mr. Tiger, the superficial pest from within, "today over at my sister's blog, Looseleaf Notes, she posted about a circle of writers and poets who gather monthly to share at Spoken Word Open Mic. As Colleen says, "The idea is to promote the spoken word and create a local forum for all voices."

'Blogs aren't enough?' asked the pest before he showed his surprise and exclaimed, 'for God's sake!'

I turned his comment around with my reply, "Yes Tiger - it is for God's sake!"

Colleen's post brought to mind thoughts of the Irish poet - Seamus Heaney. I posted one of his poems - one that fit perfectly on this Indian summer day. As I did, my thoughts drifted back to those warm August and September days of my past; when picking blackberries in the giant field alongside our home was as common as the rain.

Blackberry-picking

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
Seamus Heaney

Clay Pots Take Two
Topic: Art / Creativity

"Art-making has an alchemical effect on the imagination. It awakens the senses and sharpens insights, teaching us to think in symbols, metaphors, and to de-code complexity, so we can perceive the world in new ways." - Linda Naiman

"Hey Tige," I said to Mr. Tiger, the pest who works to shape my way of thinking, "Since I've been talking about artists, I've an older entry for today that'll fit right in."

'Why don't you just copy and paste all of the entries? Make it easy on yourself,' the pest bemoaned in feigned seriousness. 'That would really be a perfect take two,' he added referring to my new title.

"Well, I have retrieved a good amount of past entries," I agreed, "so I could do that, but I'm sure it would be a little too tedious and very repetitious. I'd rather pick and choose."

Changing his tune, Tiger said, 'Not a bad idea. That way you can fix all the mistakes on the older version. I've always said, 'If you're going to do something, you had better make it perfect.'

We could have proceeded with a long dialog. I would have given my views about perfection being God's territory, but I wasn't up for it. Instead I found my old entry from April 10, 2006 and reposted.

Take Two: Clay Pots

"Perfection, I call any simple quality, if it is positive and absolute, such that, if it expresses something, it does so without limits."- Gottfried Leibniz

"Hey Tige," I said to Mr. Tiger, the egocentric pest who thinks he is perfect, "have you ever felt that our lives are guided by larger forces?"

'Not so fast,' said Mr. Tiger before a flatly stated, 'What?'

"I'm talking about my nephew Josh. You can read about how he has been recently honored with a research grant for his technical skill and artistic mastery, at Colleen's Loose Leaf Notes," I told Tiger before saying, "Josh has been guided to follow this path, first by his mother's creative parenting, his studies, and no doubt by other very real energies."

'Anyone can be a potter,' cut in Mr. Tiger, 'Jeeze - little kids play with clay.'

"Yes, Josh began working with clay as a kid," I replied quickly and added to that, "and yes, it's the clay indeed that offers the potential for meaningful expression Tige, but clay is just a clump of earth, until an artists hands, mind and imagination molds it."

'It's mass production today,' said Mr. Tiger, defending his point of view, 'all you need is a potter's wheel. Anyone can do it.'

"I'm sure the potter's wheel revolutionized pottery production, Tige," and after a pause I emphasized, "sometime between 6,000 and 2,400 BC."

Mr. Tiger ended with an shrug and I ended with a story about two clay pots.

A water bearer in China had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck.

One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.

But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."
Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house.

Because of my flaw's, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.

Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Note: Above picture is part of Josh Copus' pottery collection

Featuring Two Artists
Topic: Art / Creativity



"Hey Tige," I said to Mr. Tiger, "I'm almost ready to start putting links along the side bar."

'Well bully bully for you,' said Mr. Tiger adding in an exaggerated tone, 'It's about time. A new blog and you've already missed a day.'

I talked right over him to say I'd be adding a new category of links, "When I get home from work tonight I'm going to be working on my links along the side bar. They'll be one link for those with exceptional skills -artists. Meanwhile," I continued, "since it's Friday, a day I never have time to do much on my blog on Fridays, you can keep yourself busy by looking at two of the artist links I'll be adding."

I went directly to two of the three links I'd be adding for this category, saying as I did, "My niece Danielle has just created a website. Have a look at her amazing artwork."

'I'll do no such thing,' said the obstinate pest. 'I've better things to do.'

"Then maybe this will entice you," I said as I thought of the blog by my new friend Catinka - one of the people I referenced yesterday when I spoke of those who helped me to retrieve my lost blog entries. "Catinka's blog is called C Knotes," I told him, "and her website is entitled, Catinka Knoth - Maine Watercolors."

'I said,' repeated Tiger, 'I wouldn't be visiting any websites today. I've better things to do then to look at someone's doodling.'

"There's even coloring pages of pretty kitties," I said as I ended my quick post.

'Kitties?' he inquired, his ears standing straight up. 'Any like me?'

"Not exactly," I laughed, "But you can see for yourself," I said as I added the link before getting ready for work.

post note: tomorrow an artist of another kind. My nephew Josh - the potter.