I’m thinking about tea pots all the time. Why? No doubt, my recent visit to “Perspectives: Georgia Pottery Invitational,” has a lot to do with it. There I had the opportunity to attend Akira Satake’s amazing two day workshop on the beauty of imperfection. I watched him make tea cups, tea pots and Chawans with the skill of the master that he is. I listened to his philosophy, which is so very akin to to the heart of what and why I have my hands in clay every day. Couple that with the one piece in the Perspectives Gallery that really spoke to me, a diminuitive and primitive ancient chinese tea pot, and I can begin to see how I came to be steeped in ideas that are now manifesting as these pots. My challenge? As ever, to stay true to how the clay speaks to me in my hands. This means balancing as much tactile-spiritual clay work as I feel is imperitive to my soul with as much technique as I feel gives me paths to form.
Let me explore this a bit more. There are plenty of classes, lessons and utubes to show me point by point how to construct a ceramic tea pot. There are numerous variations of handbuilt tea pots, from which I could choose ( or adapt) a pattern to make my vessel. But my goal has never been to follow a pattern and achieve precise results. My goal, really, is to find how the clay and my soul best spend time together, and, at the same time, to learn as many techniques with clay as I can, to throw both of these eneavors into, say, a tea pot, to simer and steep, and then to see what happens. It is a mysterious process. To some degree, it reminds me of how yoga poses can elicit emotional and spiritual growth. Yet, you do the work of learning and practicing the poses without really knowing exactly how your soul work will be accomplished. You practice without aim. You practice because it feel right to you to do so. It calls to you.
Clay has become my yoga. My meditation. My spiritual practice. My connection to the earth.
There is also the ongoing, primary thread of deeply honoring the beauty inherent in how imperfectly we live as incarnated beings. I don’t try to make my tea pots as perfectly tea pot-like as I can. That’s not me. Those of you who know me know my simultaneously deep, painful and ultimately joyful experience of imperfection and my commitment to self expression. So these tea pots i make are one of a kind, a bit odd, unusual, and (at least this is my intent and my experience of them), sweet.
I call these pots: sweet tea