A Wooden Box

Sculpture mix; glazed with nutmeg.

Solstice Medley

The Green Knight has haunted my imagination in the best ways.

Sculpture mix; green house paint, matte; rosemary bough; mulch.

Salvage work: sculpture mix, copper wire, twig, twine.

Daydreaming about the king's musketeers and the cardinal's guards, about Brian Duffy, Tim Powers, and a certain brewery in Vienna.

Strawberry Creek, UC Berkeley, on a rainy day.

The Drowned Man, Fallen Leaves.

Strawberry Creek, UC Berkeley, on a rainy day. A closer look leaving the art studio.

Talismans: mermaid, rosemary, epee.

The Green Knight: Reprise:

Gruntle: Or, The Watcher in Winter

Sculpture mix; glazed with nutmeg.

Earth Goddess

Sculpture mix; layered with transparent brown and celadon glazes.

Summer 2009.

The Bog Man

Bog Man: stoneware; clear glaze.

Just fooling in art class; found myself with this fellow in my hands. (Of course, after all those years in the peat bog, his nose would not be quite so strong.)

Postcard: Fishing with Clay

Stoneware; glazed with a thin coat of Celadon and a splash of Stormy Blue: Fall 2009.

A friend has said, ruefully, that what you love most, you do second. He was talking of teaching and making music. His comment has had me thinking, Can I even say what I love most? The water? the classroom? books? clay? And what about the fatalistic or even cynical logic in his saying? How do I feel about that? Do I recognize a truth there?

"What you love most, you do second." Really? Always? And, why? Or, why not?

I like to spin out questions in postcards, probably to the dismay of my correspondents, much like that old Romantic spider, Coleridge. But I'll pause from questioning, and attempt some assertions, using my friendly fish above as a guide.

He is friendly, isn't he? Despite the teeth, yes? Is he art? I haven't a clue. I enjoyed the making, and I enjoyed seeing him come out of the kiln, just as he is, even more. I love how the fire of the kiln has that last word beyond any of my expressing, my intending, my making, and yet what does that say about me, as a maker? Is he art? Is it art? Sure, why not?

I couldn't begin to say what I love most--teaching, reading, learning, making with clay, diving and swimming and kayaking--though I know I love all of those activities. (I don't spend enough time working with clay to say I love it most.) Still, that saying from my friend makes me wonder, and wonder may lead to knowledge and, better yet, to wisdom. I have a fondness for rephrasing questions and statements, not liking to be subject to much of anything, frankly, but I haven't yet decided on how to rephrase that saying to my liking. Yet. I'm letting everything stew in the cauldron of my mind for now.

I like this fish a lot. He's worth liking, don't you think?

Underwater Amazons: Stone, Shield, Net

I've been making mermaids for years: a personal fetish, in the best sense. I've given more than a few away to friends: the perils of having a clay-maker as a friend! Bowls are usually welcome gifts, but sculpture . . . . that's trickier, more demanding of the friendship.

My first efforts emphasized metamorphosis, emphasized strenuous, painful transformation. They all tend to be rather ugly, from a narrowly human point of view. I like them, warts and barnacles and all. (I made a dancing mermaid once, who wasn't ugly, though slightly flawed in the glazing. She has a good home.)

Here, I like best the Amazon with shield (redwood bark) and stone (beach pebble). Sculpture mix or stoneware; the basic glazes; copper wire. I make mermen too, just not as often.