Second Love

12″ x 4″ x 4″
(Bronze)

Most of us remember our first love. For some, there has been only one love, no second or third. Others have awakened to the gift of another love. This bronzed couple is a reminder of and the goodness of a second love, however and whenever it has come. As the Andrew Lloyd Webber’s popular song has it, “love changes everything.”

Love, love changes everything: how you live and how you die.
Love can make the summer fly, or a night seem like a lifetime.
Yes, love, love changes everything, now I tremble at your name.
Nothing in the world will ever be the same.

The President

18” x 10” x 9”

The day was December 10, 2009 the date on which Barack Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize. His body rests on two rocks. The fingers of his left hand are crossed. His right holds a dove. The mood is somber; the hope is genuine.

Homo Viator

26”x 19” x 6”
(ceramic, steel slab base)
(robe highlights painted)

A Place to Rest

21” high, 17” diameter

My wife’s good friend is a birder. Months ago she sent a carton of bird feed as a gift. It arrived by UPS Ground. There was enough seed to last a year, and then some. Though a gift to my wife, it became my job to keep the feeder filled. Ever since–even though we live in the high desert of the Southwest–our home has become a haven for birds. I do not know if the birds need the feed and water we provide. What I do know is that an artfully made bath is an object that helps both me and the birds to tarry. The images on side of this bath are of two birds held dear by many Native Americans in the Southwest..

Aging

12” x 8” x 3”

This reflective man rests on a chair, his cane in hand. His suit and tie suggest formality. The contrast between the fading green of his tie and tree–and the rich brown of the clay–create a feeling of both hope and of passing. The image is one of dignity.

Hands “A Catalogue of Life”

7” x 4” x 2”

Who has not be shocked by their aging hands? We can hide arms and legs with clothing. We can even do something about sagging chins and bulging waistlines. Hands cannot be hidden. During a recent show a little girl walked up to my table, stopped, and then whispered to her mother, “Did you see those ugly hands? Gross.” They left. Her mother glanced toward me and then came back toward the table. “I think you overheard my girl. Remember, she’s young. I actually like them. Even thought of buying them. They remind me of my father’s. They even make me think of the moments my little girl first wrapped her little hands around mine..” Hands remind us of many experiences. They catalogue life.

Green Celadon Pot

10” x 10” x 14”

I do not try to create perfect pots. My effort is to express a feeling or a thought and to leave perfection to others. However, I did try to make this coil-constructed pot carefully.  I wanted it to reflect simplicity and harmony of line.  A celadon glaze was chosen to link it with the traditions of the past. When the piece was fired it came from the kiln so perfect that I thought others might think of it as machine made.  A short time afterward a civic group requested objects to raffle during their silent auction. The event was to raise money for its Children’s Foundation. I donated the piece. Bids were capped at a cost determined by the fundraisers. A person who attended the event complained that there was no opportunity to bid for the pot. Evidently someone early in the evening had offered the highest suggested bid. That closed the bidding process. I thought to myself that he or she must have really wanted it to have bid the highest price right off the bat.  Why did they do that? Was it the color of the pot? Its size? The fact that it was made well? Or did they simply have disposable income and considered it a buy? What do you think? How do you value a ceramic piece?

Origins

14” x 14” x 14”

Micaceous Pitcher

10” x 10” x 12”

When working within a large healthcare organization, I had the opportunity to travel to Tanzania on several occasions. While I felt at home in cities, I felt terribly unsettled when I was on the plains and in the spartan villages of the Tanzanian people. I knew how to live with the hubbub of our cities, but not the earthiness of their country. Said another way, the Tanzanian people were at home with the earth in a way that I was not. Today I live in Santa Fe, an area of the country in which its peoples have long been at home with earthiness. Here, pots have been fashioned from the soil for centuries. I have often wondered if fashioning pots from clay would yield some of the secrets known to Native Americans as well as the Tanzanian people. The answer is yes. In Africa, I learned about how I had grown apart from the earth. In the Southwest I learned about having grown apart from the spirit. Making pots slows you down. You cannot easily run from thinking about yourself, your ways, others, their ways. and ultimately the Other.

Micaeous Clay Pot

10” x 10” x 9”

When working within a large healthcare organization, I had the opportunity to travel to Tanzania on several occasions. While I felt at home in cities, I felt terribly unsettled when I was on the plains and in the spartan villages of the Tanzanian people. I knew how to live with the hubbub of our cities, but not the earthiness of their country. Said another way, the Tanzanian people were at home with the earth in a way that I was not. Today I live in Santa Fe, an area of the country in which its peoples have long been at home with earthiness. Here, pots have been fashioned from the soil for centuries. I have often wondered if fashioning pots from clay would yield some of the secrets known to Native Americans as well as the Tanzanian people. The answer is yes. In Africa, I learned about how I had grown apart from the earth. In the Southwest I learned about having grown apart from the spirit. Making pots slows you down. You cannot easily run from thinking about yourself, your ways, others, their ways. and ultimately the Other.