I love pottery. It tells me a story uniquely attached to someone and some time in history. It's accessible, colorful, masterful, graceful, beautiful , abandoned, functional, angry, conformed and free. It conveys raw emotion and cultural contrast. It's contradicts itself time and time again while leaving no room for error. A piece is directly formed by the hands of an artist. Can you feel the shape of their fingers and subtleties in their movements? A piece cannot be re-worked or painted over. When fired it is burned upon history forever. Studying each unique piece reveals a place in our past. The social climate and style, the mind of a master of form, the soil content and whimsies of a people. Anthropology through art. Art is vital and necessary and none as important as pottery and the people that make it. From the form and function of the ancient Jomon and Egyptians to the modern American and European risk takers. To the Native American story tellers and the time consuming intricacies and attention to detail of Asian glaze and brushwork. All of this, but mostly I love discovering a piece of lost history that no one can see. By way of knowledge, it reveals itself to me and the world. I am saving it from obscurity and it returns the favor.
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