air gives pottery form, water is the tool used to work it, earth is it's material, and fire it's magic.
I’ve taken in a lot of words these last few weeks, lots of fantasy reading. I feel very saturated with that world and a bit over saturated with words. So I’m leaving very few and seeing what settles with the return.
A return journey is still a journey. Retracing steps is not the same as going back in time. It is going back over ground already walked on, seeing the traces that one has left on the landscape.
I’m on the lookout for marks relating to the shape of mugs, particularly tall, skinny mugs with two distinct sections. I’m also on the lookout for marks relating to a basement or underground parking deck filled with water and swimming pool inflatable couches. The forward march of the seasons is in full, visible swing. Things are smelling different, blooming, waking up. All that change is part of a longer journey, a circle subdivided by the lunar rhythm roughly twelve times (thirteen this year). It is in contrast with the extroverted drama of the solar cycle that the moon feels so internal, psychological. The pottery is run during the day, but I am ordering it by the rhythms of the night.
Practically speaking, this cycle is when things get moving on selling the pots. Tomorrow I talk to the first shopkeeper who might stock my work. Later in the month (though, in the next lunar cycle) I’ll hopefully present work at my first market with another one already scheduled for April. Along with the plants, I’m waking up from winter.