Hanging your life on clay.

This post is inspired by a wee diddy my friend"M" Smith wrote on Instagram yesterday. That lady says and thinks things way older than her years. Good stuff, thoughtful stuff! The more pots you make the better they can get, the more you write the better you can write. Of course some have made the same old, same old and have thoughts as tired as their pots.
But to travel along M's thought process I am thankful for my kids and my grand kids ( the loves of my life). Thanks for my friends. Thanks for the stars, the moon and the sun. Thanks for the suffering. Thanks for the hard times and heart breaks. Thanks for the love. Thanks for the pots. Thanks for the whiskey and bacon.  Thanks for the courage to hang my life on clay.
Here is a view into a couple of hours throwing. My hand that is bent outta shape from Dupuytren's Contracture is sore from this weekends splitting wood. I am 30 years older than Mr. K but I couldn't stand to see him strut around like a peacock.  I held my own.
I get my hand attended to in October and I hope it regains it's strength. I've been favouring it and even shampoo my hair with one hand. I know with that little hair why would you need two hands.
Repetition throwing is good for making "one off" pots. It gives you more to work with. I see them as canvases waiting for me create art- clay art.
The secret to all this is to love your life the way it is, not to wish for it to be something else.

In the back ground some 16 lb platters. 

Hummus bowls.