Putting by. . .

 

I have often thought that I must have starved in a previous life, because not only am I focused on saving our garden food for later, but I also go to almost ridiculous lengths to not waste anything. Anything.

However, if we really did have previous lives, then there's a good chance that most of us starved at one time or another, so I'm hardly unique if that's the case. It is a marvel of our time. . .our civilization. . .that so many of us don't have to spend every waking hour either getting food, or figuring out how to feed ourselves through the winter. 

When I was writing grant proposals for our sustainable agriculture work, I opened with a sentence something like "Civilization is only possible once a sustainable food source is secured." [Actually, I think I was more articulate than that back then, but you get the idea. . . ]

So. The harvest goes on. Tomorrow, more peaches, tomatoes (which are looking very ragged indeed), raspberries, green beans, zucchini, eggplant, and a dribbling of blueberries. Since everything takes me longer, I'm a little anxious about getting all of this food in shape to can, freeze, dry or. . .yes. . . EAT. We're a little overwhelmed on that last one right now. Two old codgers can only eat so much, even when it's this good. . .

On other fronts, I saw this mushroom while Jasper was exercising me the other day, and it struck me that I think I subconsciously copied it in a couple of new porcelain pieces I'm working on.

It's funny how these images go into your head, and come out altered, but still recognizable. I think that's why artists often feel they're being copied. Images go in, and come out slightly (or very) differently than the original, but they are still recognizable.

This mug is still in the greenware stage, so it will have to survive 2 firings and me glazing it before it will be a useful object. The porcelain is first thrown, handle made and attached, and then a technique called slip-trailing applied, using a steady hand, piece held tentatively on a piece of foam, dots of thinned down clay applied through a squeeze bottle. And all the while hoping not to break the tender thing.

Below is a case in point. I threw this lovely little bowl, embellished it with the applique leaves, and then lifted it to set it aside in a safe place, putting my thumb through the dried clay. I have done this particular stupid thing before, so you'd think I would learn. But in my absent minded get-it-to-a-safer-place state, I applied a little too much pressure to the rim. 

 

This fragility at the greenware stage is so different from my more extensive experience in working with metals and vitreous enamel. I need to constantly remind myself that anything I make can be broken at any stage (though this earliest stage is the most vulnerable). 

But clay things break when dropped. A mug lip that has been knocked against the faucet may crack at that point sometime later. Clay only allows for so much "preciousness". It is a utilitarian medium that demands a little respect. Even the well-named stoneware is breakable, though not so easily as porcelain. Drop a stoneware bowl on a tile floor, though, and it's history.