Classroom Clay in the Wild

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

Red Line

Red Duck at Sunset

Crab: Expressive

A Family Outing

Flying the Flag

I don't worry too much about fitting in, but a sense of community still feels good. Among the communities that have made me feel good, I have to rank the beachside parking lot full of divers fairly highly. I recall how my buddy Keith and I did our (old-school) diver training back in the late 70s and we went diving up and down Northern California, but we wouldn't put stickers on our cars or wear dive t-shirts until we felt we earned the right after a year or so. Then, we each put a modest diver-flag on our bumpers. (I think my dad gave me one that read "Think Deep.") And, we kept diving fairly frequently, at least for a few years before English grad school and law school distracted us. Nowadays, I like walking up the beach, in a soaking wetsuit, pulling that kayak with the rocket fins and weightbelt and other gear secured properly, getting and sharing the nods and smiles of like-minded souls in pursuit of salty experiences. I shoot my fish and creatures with a camera, but I still can talk abalone and spearfishing, and I like hearing those stories.

It's A Devil-Duck World . . . .

(Sand and pebbles from Monastery Beach.)

Autumnal: Mask

The Sleeper:
sculpture mix; nutmeg and shino glazing, layered; leather cord.
Mask, 2005; photograph, 2012.

Thunder, Free, Curse: Three Poems from Brendan Kennelly

SPECIAL THUNDER

He had to reach the island in the winter gale.
From Saleen Quay he pushed the little boat
Over the rough stones till she came afloat;
You'd swear he could see nothing when he hoisted sail
And cut the dark.  Once a grey shape blurred
Above his head while pitchblack water slapped
And tried to climb over the side but dropped
Into the sea, thwarted.  In time, he heard

The special thunder of the island shore,
He hauled the boat in, sheltered near a rock
And smiled to hear the sea's defeated roar;
Breathing as though the air were infinitely sweet,
He watched the mainland where the hard wind struck.
The island clay felt good beneath his feet.


FREE

Once ever a boat capsized on Red
So simply he couldn't tell why.
One moment the sun caressed his head,
The next, his world was water.  His eyes
Opened, closed, hurt by the urgent green
That pressed him down, down into the mud
Until his face touched the obscene
Slime.  Strange, though, how foul touch calmed his blood.

His grey head about to split in pieces,
He kicked free, free till he broke into the air.
Breathing hugely, he righted his craft in time,
Clambered aboard.  Ghoulish faces
Of water haunted him, seemed to stare
At his repose.  The sun tasted of green slime.


CURSE

They said a curse was on the boat.
It would never put to sea again
Because two men were lost from it.
Red bought it from a fisherman
For thirty pounds and four tides later
Headed it out into the Shannon.
'There's no such thing as luck,' we heard him mutter
'There's but the skill and strength of a man

With sure hands and sense in his head.
And one thing more.  Luck was never known
To drown the living or raise the dead
But many a cocksure man went down
Because his trust was not where it should be.
Out there, forget your brothers.  Trust the sea.'


--BRENDAN KENNELLY,
from his Love Cry sequence,
collected in Breathing Spaces: Early Poems,
Bloodaxe Books, 1992.

Horse Sense

Painted Pony: 
sculpture mix;
transparent brown and Robby's Red glazing.

Mask: Red Menace

Red Hawk: sculpture mix, pit-fired; red paint; copper wire.