Remembered

It's hard to feel abandonned by life when you have rose bushes....

When Worlds Collide.



Mexican Pottery Sink at The Refuge at Wit's End

 One of the interesting things about eBay is that it makes you remember things you had forgotten.  After looking at handbags, pizza ovens, buffalo turquoise rings and Russian paintings, I thought of the beautiful hand-painted Mexican pottery sink in the kitchen of The Refuge at Wit's End in Abilene, Texas. I continue to lust after that sink and repeatedly kick myself for not buying one similar to it when we were at Market Square in San Antonio shortly before moving to Florida. At the time it seemed foolish to spend money on a sink when I didn't have a place that needed one but to be honest, that was just lack of vision and Yankee frugality.

Talavera Mexican Pottery

Deruta Pottery

The search for hand-painted sinks led me to looking at Mexican and then Italian pottery.  We have two dishes from Dertua that came from my cleaning days for West Lake Beach Dave back in Austin.  They are lovely and look even better with cake on them.  Deruta made me think of Vietri.  Both towns are centers for painted pottery in Italy, and I visited Vietri with my friends the Wilsons when they were living outside of Naples. Vietri produces pottery for companies all over the world-Williams Sonoma for example-but they also have created a great marketing tool for restaurants in their country.  In many establishments you can order the house specialty and it will either be served on a commemorative plate/bowl or you can purchase the dish separately. What a clever souvenir and indeed the plates are quite collectible.

Damariscotta Pottery

Seeing all this hand-painted pottery then made me think of my life in Maine when I worked at Praxis, a fine craft cooperative, and sought out pieces here and there from many of the state's talented potters.  Remembering of Praxis reminded me of my year working in Damariscotta at Two Fish and being introduced to Rhonda at Damariscotta Pottery.

Vietri Pottery

Thinking it would be fun to have some pieces of Vietri and Damariscotta pottery in our cupboards, I made a practice of checking eBay weekly for pieces to come up for auction. It turns out that people are buying and selling both brands at hefty prices far beyond my budget.  Frankly, I was surprised to see Damariscotta pottery even listed, for despite its being known nationwide, in part because Barbara Bush ordered a set of dinnerware when her husband was president, it's still pretty much a tiny potter's studio with no mail-order or website. As with the Vietri commemorative plates, you have to visit the place to leave with those special items which is what makes what happened next so odd.

I had been on my eBay pottery patrol for several weeks when I stopped at the Goodwill store on Cortez. It's a great thrift store in a neighborhood that is a little bit ghetto, a little bit barrio, a little bit assisted living.  I had dropped off a donation of clothes and was doing a quick scan of the shelves when a little hand-painted pitcher caught my eye. The pink, blue and white floral design seemed very familiar. 







  It couldn't be, I thought to myself, but picking up the creamer and turning it over, there on the bottom stamped into the clay was Damariscotta Pottery.  Well blow me down.  It looked to be piece probably from the late 80s early 90s when the glazes were light and the flowers very abstract.  The price tag was 99 cents. Too right I was having it.   On the off chance that there were more Dam Pots nearby, I moved carefully down the aisle.  That's when another familiar decoration on a plate caught my eye.  Picking it up, I giggled almost hysterically to myself.  It wasn't Damariscotta Pottery but it was a commemorative plate made by Vietri.  The restaurant is The 12 Apostles in Verona, Italy, and the chef's specialty was a veal creation.  It was $1.99.  After carefully checking to see if the shelves would give up any more treasures, I marched my treasures up to the cash register giddy as a school girl.  Who would believe it!  Each time I open the cupboard door now I have to smile.I don't know why it tastes better to have my milk poured from a Dam Pots creamer, but it does.  I don't know why I reach for the 12 Apostoli to put my toast on, but I do.  And I don't know why a little thrift shop in a small city in Florida has pottery from across the country and across the globe, but I'm certainly glad it does.

If you have the time, have a look at these links, especially the video for the 12 Apostoli restaurant which is quite beautiful.  If you find yourself in Damariscotta, Maine, take a walk up the little side street past Reny's andThe King Eider Pub.  Cross the parking lot and go down behind the big gray building that is home to Weatherbird and some art studios.  Tucked underneath you will find Damariscotta Pottery.

Ristorante 12 Apostoli
Commemorative Italian Cuisine Plates
Hand Painted Mexican Ceramic Sinks
Damariscotta Pottery
                                                                           Talavera Mexican Pottery
                                                                           Deruta Pottery
                                                                           Vietri Pottery



 



 

English Lessons for Non-British English Speaking People: Volume I

Lesson 1: A gaff is your home, be it an apartment, a house or a broken down Volvo Estate Wagon. (Note: a Volvo Estate Wagon is a Volvo Station Wagon.)

Lesson 2: 'Pudding' is a meal course, known in France as 'dessert'. You may indeed have pudding for pudding. You may also have cakes, ice cream or jelly.

Lesson 3: 'Jelly' is what is known in Italy as 'Jell-O'. Jam is what is known as American 'jelly' and Preserves is what is known as what you find at your nana's house or what is referred to as 'jam' on Air Force One.

Lesson 4: Breakfast is what is known as 'brekkies' unless you are in Portugal where it is 'pequeno almoço'. Lunch is 'dinner'. Dinner is 'supper'. Supper is a 'little something something just before bed'.

Lesson 5: If a person is said to be 'rude' then they are a bit of a slapper. If a person is said to be a 'slapper' then they are the sort of people you don't bring home to meet the family but rather enjoy in the privacy of your own gaff after supper and hope they are gone before breakfast, which after a night of debauchery will most likely be pudding.

I hope that clears a few things up.

On Deciding to Become an Artist

Some days the path is very clear but recently I’ve been struggling with how to proceed in my life.  I think a recent trip to Office Depot, however, has helped me to clarify a few things.

I had arrived at the store in need of an ink cartridge for the printer as the old one had stopped working, as they always do, right in the middle of an important print job.  Entering the vestibule from the sidewalk, I could see two men monitoring my arrival.  One was tall, probably in his early fifties with styled graying hair, and his starched collar and clipboard quickly said ‘manager’ or ‘regional supervisor.’ The other man was young, average height, in short sleeves with various Office Depot badges and ribbons adorning his shirt. The men stopped talking as I walked through the sliding door and as if let off his line by the supervisor, the young man came bounding up to me like a dog set free in the park.

“What’s brought YOU to Office Depot?” he asked with fervor in his big eyes. His name tag said ALAN.  My first reaction was to take a step back so I didn’t get muddy paw prints on my pants.

When I said I was there for ink he asked in rapid succession,

“What kind? What color? Do you know where it is? I can help you.”

As I was all ready moving towards the ink cartridge aisle, he leapt in front of me and led the way the remaining few steps. Now faced with thousands of choices, his eyes glazed over and he looked at me expectantly.

“It’s HP 74 I’m looking for,” I said, zeroing in on the area I needed.

He stepped in front of me, scanning the shelves and began to babble.

“Let’s seeeeeee…….HP 74…….Do…dododododo….HP 74…….dododododo…” 

I leaned forward to select the voucher needed to take to the register but his hand shot out and grabbed one ahead of me.

“Here you go,” he said triumphantly with a nod of his head. “Just take that up front and someone will get that for you and you can be on your way unless there’s anything else I can help you find.  Paper?  Envelopes?  Stamps?”

I said no, thanks for the help, and started towards the empty cash registers.  Alan had a slightly panicked expression on his face.  The tall man was looking around with a grim expression on his face. As a cashier appeared from behind them, both men intercepted her so that by the time she got to the cash register she all ready knew what I wanted, though she congenially double-checked as she pulled the cartridge off the shelf and rang me up. The two men walked past me out the doors. Finishing the transaction, I popped the cartridge box in my purse and left the store.

Outside, the two men were leaning on the brick wall in the shade.  The tall man, who was staring out across the lot, seemed to not hear Alan who was waffling on about sales figures and computer programs. Once safely in the car, I started laughing.  What had just happened in there? It was like something out of a sitcom. What was worse, it was like something out of a human resources role playing exercise on customer service. What was designed to make me feel attended to and valued left me feeling that I, too, was being watched by a man with clipboard and that my free will within the confines of the store was something to be challenged and subjugated.

(Take a minute to watch this clip from the very funny British series, Black Books.  It started running through my head as soon as Alan descended on me!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fyowdq4bVxQ  )

The more I thought about Alan, I came to realize I stopped being him when I decided to pick up a paint brush and create.  Once you consciously separate yourself from procedures and trends that regard you as a cog in the machine rather than as an ambassador of the message, then it becomes increasingly difficult to spin the spiel and dance the dance.  The need to create something of your own and add your voice to the universal good becomes your trend, your procedure, your message.  The desire grows to connect with yourself and others through colors, sounds, words and works, not because a man with a clipboard full of statistics says so but because it feels intuitively the right way to move forward.  Despite the natural way of it, it’s not easy to be in today’s world as an artist and yet here I am, sensing that it might just be more beneficial to create something beautiful than to sell the most boxes of ink cartridges.