Jump Your Tracks

It happened back in the good old days of homesteading Quietude Pottery in Alaska that I dealt with the fixed rails of bureaucracy. After cutting the lines, building the cabin and living on the land for three years, a surveyor was called. He measured, calculated and documented the reality I called home. When at last his work was done and the map arrived, I noticed that his plotting was flawed. He had oriented the rectangular, 17.5 acres of my homestead east to west, not north to south. I realized that at some point down the line this would become a problem. So, I went into the land office to explain the situation. I was assured numerous times that the surveyors map was not and could not possibly be wrong. This paper was, for them, reality. There for, in their minds, I must be wrong. Over and over I explained the situation: the reality of the land and my intimate relationship with it. Over and over she insisted that the reality of the paper overrode my unfounded belief in my own personal experience on the land. At some point she must have jumped her tracks: because the surveyor would indeed be called back. As for his findings, suffice it to say, that the reality of the land surely does trump the so-called reality of their paper world.

This week I have been accused of using a term that does not exist. The term “pit finished ceramics”, I am told, does not exist because it has no “scholarly credibility”. It has never once been published, anywhere, therefore, from an academic point of view it does not exist. I have never once been accused of being an academic, ever, therefor I am not. I am a dyslexic poet. The term “pit finished ceramics” I assure you exists, because I myself coined and published it on my humble little blog, just last week!

The river does not follow,
the train upon its tracks.
It is the tracks,
that follow the stream.
Only the river is free,
to change it’s course.

Last week in the infinite wisdom of the dream time, I grabbed hold of the mane of an unbridled horse, flung myself upon his wild, naked back and rode. I could see the river flowing free and the tracks of the train beside it heading south. I ride upon the back of an unbridled horse: not even the banks of the river shall contain me, for I am free!

Elohim, Ants and Arugula

I just must take a moment here to give thanks for the simple and lovely fact that the greenhouse ants do not seem to care for spinach. These are the regular type of large red ants. They are not the really huge headed reds that Moon and I see out walking in the desert. I love them all. But it is a special pleasure to watch the greenhouse ants harvest the kale and carry it home. These days, now that we are hitting the low 90’s, it is dry by the time they get it home. Super organic homegrown kale makes for healthy happy ants. But I must admit that I was a little miffed at how hard they hit the arugula seed pods! Perhaps they have plans to do a little farming of their own! I am every bit as fond of the incredible intelligence of the arugula seed as I am my precious friends the ants. The arugula seed knows how to wait. They will sit all summer out, right there on the scorching earth, rain or no and wait. Perhaps a really late summer /fall or very early winter rain will come! And then there will be an arugula wide burst of creative energy. We can learn a lot from the patience and utter brilliance of the ant and the arugula seed.

In love, under the full Moon.

Borrowed Plumes: “Pit Fired Pottery” Verses “Pit Finished Ceramics”

There is a very clear and fundamental distinction between “pit fired pottery” and “pit finished Ceramics”. This distinction has not been clearly made by Dawn Whitehand in her new book Pit Firing Ceramics: Modern Methods, Ancient Traditions. (Schiffer Publishing, 2013) Once a piece of raw clay has been bisque fired, in the controlled environment of a modern kiln, it can no longer be considered pit fired. It is no longer clay; it already is pottery and is now, by definition, being “pit finished”. This so called “pit firing” process has been reduced to a decorative surface technique. Americanized raku, saggar fired and pit finished ceramics all have this bisque fired element in common. Certainly, it is just as legitimate a firing technique as Americanized raku or saggar firing but it is not pit firing. The willingness to surrender to and participate fully with the transformative power of the savage element of fire is basic to the pit firing process.
Case in point: we refer to many forms of pottery as being hand made, but we make clear distinctions between; hand built, wheel thrown, thrown and altered, slab constructed, coil built and the pinch pot. This clarity is informative and educational and serves potters, buyers and the uninformed public alike. To claim that pottery that has been fired in the controlled environment of a modern kiln is pit fired is misleading (and a disservice to everyone involved.) There is an inherent disregard in this type of nonspacific misuse of terms for traditional pit firing potters, past and present, who fire without the insurance policy of a modern kiln. This willingness to risk weeks or months of work for the integrity of the process must be honored. As potters we need to be honest and clear about what we are doing and participate in this educational process. When we see pottery being described as “pit fired” we need to ask the potter, “Was this pottery pit fired or pit finished?” If the answer seems unclear or lacking in transparency, we need to ask again, “Was this pottery bisque fired in a kiln before being refired in a pit?” There is no shame in pit finished ceramics unless its flight is dependent upon the borrowed plumes of truly pit fired pottery.

Savage: having a wild untamed nature, not domesticated, ferocious, fierce.

This Noble Thing

We run the risk of losing something here.
Something Noble.
Something Powerful.
A human being behaving like a god.
Interacting intimately with the Fire.
And the Earth.
Without the safety net of technology to break their fall.
The humblest lowliest kind of god.
One that bows down to the Earth and asks permission.
And weeps and wails.
At the horrible possibility of being denied.
That approaches the fire in humility.
Willing to be burnt for Beauty and Truth.

God help us.
If in our haste.
We lose.
This.
Noble.
Thing.

Winds of Change

Is it really worth the risk?
To sacrifice, yet another slice of our humanities?
To betray,
the original indigenous spirit that dwells within us all?
But we really admire the ones, who live upon this earth,
listening,
and conversating with the spirit of the Land…
But cannot be bothered with the actual details of that conversation.
“But if the wind blows, the pots will break.”
Stop. And listen to that wind.
“But if the pots break, the students will cry.”
Stop. And listen to that wind.
Once,
along time ago,
I watched a hawk soaring far above my head.
And listened.
And He spoke, to me!
I was seen, by Him, as a relative.
And so He spoke.
“You have to really love the wind, if you want to learn to fly!”

The Hungry Wind

So you say the Wind might blow?
Perhaps, the hungry Wind is starving.
Starving to be fed,
fed, on our beauty.
And we refuse.
And the belly of the Wind is gnawing at itself.
And still we refuse.
To feed the spirit of the Wind, the Land, and the Sea.
And we ourselves are starving
and clawing for beauty
and meaning in our lives.
And still,
we send all our beauty to the bank.
And the spirit of the Wind, and the spirit of the Land, and the spirit of the Sea,
are starving.
We ourselves are well fed.
And yet we starve.
Because the spirit of the Wind, and Land, and Sea
cry out for our beauty.
And we send it
All
to the bank.

Sunday morning while cleaning and reorganizing the studio I picked up a small whistle I had made during my first season at Quietude Pottery in Alaska. It was a small Beaver and the tail fell off in my hand. I knew at once that the Beaver spirit wanted it as an offering. In the next breath I knew the Beaver spirit wanted me to take it down the wash to a fork where the forces of nature are in the process of creating a damn. It was also very clear that I was to leave Moon home and take the camera. Oh boy! Oh boy! About two thirds of the way there I came upon a small gang of Javalin snoozing away under a low lying mesquite. Before I could silence my feet and walking stick they were on to me. The most vulnerable headed out. Just the rear guard hung back. Of course that would be the largest male and his less imposing side kick.
Xavier advanced. I held my ground. He held the high ground. I had the middle of the wash. I decided the photos were worth the risk. He wasn’t overly aggressive, but moved closer, close enough for me to get some sweet photos.
I knew as soon as I saw them under the tree that beaver spirit wanted to remind me that the community I seek, as always, will continue to include the spirit animals I work with and their physical body counter parts in nature. It was a sweet reminder. They are such precious animals. Precious Peccary!