In the wee small hours of Friday night/Saturday morning, I joined a few others in stoking the flames of the fire kiln at the studio where I took a class this winter. It was kind of wonderful to be out in the cold, stars fierce in their brightness, a brook bubbling just beyond where we worked. Wonderful in the truest meaning of the word: full of wonder. I learned quite a bit, but I also had a lot of quiet time as I fed the fire to think about the breadth of history of pottery. I have no illusions about the quality of my pots that made it to the wood kiln. They are the work of a beginner and will look like it. But just as I feel connected to a deep history when I knit and spin and when I write a story, throwing clay and then tending the fire that makes the clay functional gave me connection and helped to root me on this earth. Next Saturday the kiln will be opened, and I’ll have five vessels (if they survive the firing) to remind me of this experience.
Last night was kind of wonderful in a different way. Neal and I went to the Calvin Theater to see Lucinda Williams and her band. Her voice is rough and dreamy and rich, and her lyrics are the same.
In college some fellow anthropology geeks and I made Venus figurines from clay we got from a riverbank and fired them in an earth kiln that we dug. It IS wonderful!