Personal account, dedicated to my parents
Skip ahead to the kiln build
I know how my dad feels about pictures of himself “online”, but I’d never be able to publish the journey in making this kiln if I listened to any protest. Whether he likes it or not, he became a part of this long ago. I’ll either hope he never reads this or forgives me. I’ve been waiting for my pottery studio my entire life.
Kiln now nearly fully built, sans the lid installed which is sitting on the table post pour, I noticed two blocks of wood laying on the cement slab. I asked him what they were for. “It’s for the winch.” And then the self-satisfied, “I’m an engineer” look. They do love to play with their mechanisms. Not ironically at all, he was wearing his Enginerd shirt which likely was top of the drawer. That’s how he chooses outfits. It amazes me sometimes I came from him.
I’m going to go back in time as we’re nearing completion, to show the full journey, the motivation and plans for the future on this humble, beautiful memory. But it hasn’t all been sunshine and daisies. I am his assistant. I’ve have been barked at in the process when my brain or hands didn’t catch up to his. Or, in my penchant of snapping shots because it was slowing him down. But I am terrible at documenting so many things I make and I felt other people might like to make their own as well.
I’ve been used to not being able to catch up to him all my life. I vividly remember walks down to the hardware store downtown when I was little. In the same way Atticus Finch never spoke to his children like children, my Dad failed to realize, that I, 1/3 of his size might need him to walk slower. I was just expected to keep pace. I suppose it helped me in sports, and my friends, even strangers say, “You are the fastest walker I’ve ever met. Slow down!” Heels don’t even slow me down. But he raised no sissy girls though, that’s for sure and certain.
“
That first summer, my mom urged my dad to come in before my last session to look at the kickwheels. My mom never really asked, she just did which is how we had dogs growing up. She knew if he saw them, knowing full well he can make anything, that he’d come up with plans to make a wheel for me at home. And of course he did. Those are my parents.
My entire journey in ceramics started with both my parents. My mom, sitting in the warm summer car knitting away for hours while I took my first summer pottery workshop in middle school before track season. In high school between tennis and track, my friend Brighid and I discovered we went to the same studio. Her mom picked us up after school and my mom picked us up in the evening. I loved those days.
That first summer, my mom urged my dad to come in before my last session to look at the kickwheels. My mom never really asked, she just did which is how we had dogs growing up. She knew if he saw them, knowing full well he can make anything, that he’d come up with plans to make a wheel for me at home. And of course he did. Those are my parents. I will never be able to express what a good set of parents can do for the development in really everything, but especially art. A field which is tough enough and support is a huge key to my success, I know it. I met so many people in my life that were never encouraged, particularly in art and it always makes me pretty mad. I am living proof you can make a career in art. A plan was created and executed for my first kickwheel within a couple months time. My childhood dog, Lorenzo looked on through sawing wood and pouring of cement. Later he kept me company in the cool shop while I worked. I “practiced” until about November’s chilly New York weather made for cramped, cold fingers in wet buckets. When you’re young you feel nothing. I wore sandals in the snow because that’s what nutty, obstinate teenagers do. Ambition drives most everything. Not much has changed even now. But I stopped then only because they put the foot down. “That’s enough until next year.” Protests fell on deaf ears, especially when he heated the woodshop side of the garage (because I did ask). I anxiously waited for the spring like pulling out your bikes when the Robin’s started to arrive. Maybe kids don’t do that anymore.
Long before blogs I was a busy teenager that I didn’t write these things down. I’ve never been good at journaling. Like my parents I just do. Sketching yes, recounting, not so good at it. But I’m older now, trying to play a little catch up, and I’m sure some of these memories will pop up from time to time. These entries are for me; but if down the road it can be helpful for someone else, that’s really great. I’ll highlight important things, skim-worthy if the sentiments get in the way. But in the way they must stay. I’m looking back at 20+ years now in a career centered on this now, so you must allow me some sentimentality. Painting and ceramics have been the love of my life.
And this is my story, and I want to keep going to see if it’s any good.
Enjoy. XOXO,
–M
