Arms Akimbo
A quick assessment of the body indicates that it has been a fine summer: I am tan, scratched from gardening and blackberry hunting, and bruised from tending a campfire that lasted till 4 due to marvelous storytelling. Only minor construction work has been completed but my fermenting crocks are selling as fast as I can make them and a commission from a chef has led to some important R&D. I had a major kiln malfunction, weathered it, and am now looking at buying a bigger one. Here is a link to a kickstarter campaign that I threw together timed for the XOXO fest in Portland and a friend’s reply, the OROR fest. He organized a promotional event at the Holocene on Sept 9...promises to be hot! do drop in for a visit... Me, I am ready for a bigger kiln with a computer in which I can load a more sensible quantity of crocks and fire them with greater energy efficiency. If the kickstarter doesn’t pick up the tab, I’ll apply for a grant. This is the first year in which there is a very real possibility of paying my studio and basic living expenses based on the labor of my love for porcelain and healthy communities, and I am deeply excited to be finally achieving a life goal. Whatever support you can offer would be fabulous. Thanks in advance!
Meanwhile, swirling around me are the happy children (aka pterodactyls) of my tribe-by-default. Here is a typical summer scene: I hear the cries of a mock evil tyrant punishing some prisoner as I find bush beans among the flowers. That was preceded by the sound of hammering and the occasional reconnaissance shout (ostensibly to the plebeians) by one eight-year-old boy or another. I look up to see a regal young ruler issuing decrees from the top floor of a tiny two-story play house/ tool shed with a 75 square footprint- he is to scale. Nearby, Greta yodels out “goaty-oaty-oaty goats!!” And they issue only mild complaint at being summoned for the next round of freshly plucked maple leaves delivered by the hands of giggling bipeds. Who are summarily plunked into a hammock and sent into dizzying squealing arcs... summer camp for five year-old’s! Various tiny humans, lead by the graceful teenage daughters of this family I live with/near. Boys flying down hills and into the sun, arms akimbo, superhero costumes a hindrance: what fool would put a zipper in the back of a onesie? Even if it is yellow? Dying of curiosity (and needing to retrieve some applewood prunings for a summer camp craft project of making bows and arrows), I venture into the tool shed, so newly appropriated as royal residence/ dungeon (the aforementioned upstairs). I got past this frightening sign:
I found and retrieved what I needed, strategically decorated their dungeon with some other snarled branches I had there (helping them with the ambiance, you know), took note of the monster drawn on a box, the plastic handcuffs and broken garden tools, and crept out. (Miraculously unscathed!)
Meanwhile also, such a dear friend of mine is visiting for a whole month and I find myself in turn giggling childlike as she puts a spinney maple seed wing on her nose and teases me. So many forms of love…
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