Whoever brought me here will have to take me home
In the tavern are many wines- the wine of delight in colour and form and taste, the wine of the intellect, the fine port of stories and the cabarnet of soul singing. Translation of the 13th Century Persion poet whom I take much wisdom from. I'm preparing for the Maker's Meet Virtual Workshop on Sunday http://www.clayandglass.on.ca/page-1864022. I'm a potter that thinks, probably too much about what and why I make what I do. It is a jug workshop and I said it could easily apply to vases. I don't seem to be able to make a vase. I always turn it into a jug unless I make it look like a bottle. Today I visited a couple of old friends. Friends that I love and have never sold. Not because I didn't want to but nobody but me seemed to love them. Mr. K has dibs on one. A man of fine judgement in clay, character and fine whiskey. So I had John Hiatt Essentials blaring in the studio today while I found my groove. I was singing and dancing. It felt good to be alive and preparing for the workshop. These pots are 8 years old. I made them when I was Acting Head of Ceramics at Sheridan. I remember that as I had my buddy Robn "Grass" Hopper come and do a workshop for the Clay Club. Nobody could pack a room like Grass. At that time he passed me his quiver of brushes used for workshops. I didn't know it at the time but he did that was his last workshop. I told Grass if I picked up a brush I would kill a pot. He answered "Bullshit". I addressed my fear and took to drawing and decorating like I knew what I was doing. Decorating with a brush became a delicous wine. Today, I addressed the inner and the outer me and let go of what I am not. I'm not a vase maker!
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