Classroom Clay in the Wild

Three pieces from an experiment in last term's English 1A.

Shark Dream

A couple nights ago I had one of those dreams . . . . Keith was still alive, and we were free diving somewhere down south, for we had thin wetsuits and no hoods nor gloves. We were swimming about a quarter mile off-shore near a rocky reef that reached up to the surface in places, but not enough to count as an island. At some point, I realize a great white shark is swimming beside me, just appearing, as it were, not bent on attacking or feeding . . . yet. The shark swam beside me, or rather I swam beside the shark, kicking hard yet smoothly to maintain equal speed, not wanting to draw attention to myself by jerking or halting or anything, really. I wanted to warn Keith, to tell him to climb up onto the reef or something, to take care, but I was busy swimming and breathing, for I was using a snorkel, not a tank, and I was trying to keep my eye on the shark the whole time.

The shark leaned closer, swam closer, so I put my left hand out and touched the shark, holding it off, or attempting to, by pressing firmly and smoothly against the creature's side, though I ended up with my hand firmly against the creature's jaw just behind the teeth, the mouth. We swam like that, the shark effortlessly, me straining to maintain smoothness and speed, afraid to pull away, to make any sudden movements. This swimming, my hand against the shark, went on for what seemed like forever, but was probably only a minute or two. I wanted to warn Keith; I wanted to break away and climb up onto any protection I could; I wanted to kick and swim forever, for this shark was the most powerful creature I'd ever been so close to. Kicking and breathing, now holding my breath as the shark leaned in even further, pushing against my hand, bending my arm, and then my hand slid into the mouth of the shark, and I could feel the teeth tearing into my skin, the shark not yet even biting . . . .

And I woke up, lurching upright, dragging in that lungful of air as if I'd been holding my breath for too long, fully alert, fully freaked, happy to be alive, and unhappy in that dream-way that the long moment with that shark was over already.

A dream, as I said. Anxiety-expression? Longing? Power -- in part?

Identity Issues

That sharp sweeping black
fin and that shiny solid black
back moving through the water:
porpoise sighting from kayak-
back a mile-and-a-half-and-change
out in Half Moon Bay.

The porpoise wasn't surging
with that sinuous
up-and-down
mojo that I'm used
to viewing -- to feeling --
so I wondered if
I'd observed a faulty
identification.

Motions and emotions,
shall we say, mixed.

I'm a diver, you know,
neoprene-blubbered,
rubber-finned and masked,
and -- yet -- I didn't bother
to dip in, didn't slip free,
but kept to the yellow
deck of my kayak,
tasking myself with ill humor.
Swimming with any marine
mammal is awfully
awesome, but a shiny
black back cutting
through the salt
could be a great
white joke.

--MD




P.S.  My kayak-partner JP reports that there'd been a caution posted for kayakers (that we missed before heading out) that a 12-foot GWS had been sighted the last few days roaming the area just off Pillar Point Harbor, so that may not have been a porpoise, actually, after all.

Land-Shark, Creekside

I'm happy with this piece.

Land-Shark: Two Views

Shark: sculpture mix; floating blue and transparent brown glazing, layered.

Fox and Shark: In Progress

Ego and Alter Egos

Self-Portrait at the Studio: October 21st, 2012.

Friend:  You always look so at peace with yourself.

Myself:  I delete those other shots.

Fox and Shark (Both Goofy): Being Glazed / Kiln-Bound

I've heard it said that every piece one makes is a self-portrait, but that doesn't mean that the similitude hits the mark or strikes the proper chord, to mix some metaphors.

Wet Clay: Shark, Fox, And So Forth

The Man In The Clay Suit

Wet clay, which should be gray for the idiom.