November 11, 2008
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Here is the text from my There’s always Something blog of today which may explain my choice of photos.
My Lost Love…
When we moved to smaller digs, we realized that some of our most treasured activities would have to be sacrificed – or drastically watered down. There is simply not enough room for passions that have large footprints.
For me it meant I had to give up potting in the sanctuary of my own home. No room for a wheel and a kiln. No way. And the delightful clay clubs that community resources for retired ceramic hobbyists simply flew in the face of one who treasures silence and creativity of a meditative sort.
So, I sensibly substituted photography, blogging and carving walking sticks – which offer highly satisfying outlets for creativity combined with very small footprints. It is a wonderful pilgrimage.
But I have a lost love. The love for clay. How I miss it.
Across the years we have accumulated many pots from great potters. We feast from mugs and plates thrown and glazed and fired by good friends and admired superstars of the international potting community. We cook with pots created by native American Pueblo potters. (We’ve met several of them.) We even use some of my stuff. Every day. We love them. Both of us.
Today I read a couple of blogs written by colleague Joe Bennion of Utah. They were so powerful and sweet that I would have to call them painful. See for yourself if the subject intrigues you. They certainly touched my memories and my soul.