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Letters from a Collector to a Studio Potter

Archive for December, 2010

The Pot and The Book: Just Habits or a Way of Life?

Thursday, December 16th, 2010

I have spent a lifetime as an avid reader.  Do young people still read?  Do they have time left to read when they are not playing electronic games on their cell phones or other electronic devices?  One of my daughters-in-law has a Kindle e-book, which she loves to use as her reading device.  I cannot make that leap in my own life.  I have a stack of books on the armrest on my big wooden chair in the living room where I do most of my reading.  I read about a dozen books at the same time, along with numerous periodicals and journals.  I read my journals on my exercise bike in the patio, where I spend a full hour every morning of the week.  I like the physical heft and look of a book.  I enjoy the physical behaviors required of the reader, holding the book in a comfortable position, sitting in my favorite chair, just turning the next page, or flipping back pages to an earlier chapter to remind me of some detail I had missed or forgotten, all the small maneuvers that holding a real book entails.  I value the appearance of a book, the design of the jacket, the style of the printed text, the visual attraction of illustrations and images, all the embellishments of books as revered objects. Is this because I am old and thus old- fashioned?  Is reading a real book just a habit soon obsolete?  Is the published book just another failed technology doomed to disappear?

I am a collector of objects.  Among the objects I collect are pottery and books.  I subscribe to many ceramic periodicals that have truly beautiful images of pottery but I know that there is nothing so satisfying as engaging a real three dimensional pot right in front of you.  It is just not the same experience.  I take the same attitude with books. I spend a lot of time at my computer writing blogs and books.  I also do a bit of reading at the computer, mainly received email messages or viewing websites of interest.  But I could never accept the computer as my chief reading instrument.  It is too big to hold.  I love books and one central way I can demonstrate my affection and fondness for what they contain and the pleasure they give me is by holding them.  When I visit potters in their studios or galleries, I can observe the same need on their part to take physical possession of the ceramic object, to hold it and feel its surface and to gauge with their hands the thinness of the walls and the thickness of the foot, to run their fingers over the glaze, to feel the smoothness or roughness of the surface.  People who love objects need to touch the objects of their devotion.  I need to hold and touch pots and books. One of the great compromises I have had to make in my own pottery gallery was the need to apply earthquake putty to the bottom of my pots.   Given the real dangers of California earthquakes, it is sadly necessary.  But sometimes I just can’t help it.  Occasionally I will walk over to a shelf, slowly twist the pot, lifting it carefully and taking full possession of this beloved object and cradle it in my hands.

Timeless Books

We know that the making of books is an ancient craft that is still flourishing.  There is a complex aesthetics involved in the choice of paper, type of binding, font, and many other elements of design, lay out, and the making of the book as a hand/ crafted object.  We also know that there are small, independent printers who seek to perpetuate the publication of these kinds of books.  They might be marginal compared to the big publishing companies that can run thousands of copies of best sellers but they seek quality and beauty in the finished product.  Many great artists have also illustrated such books.  I do not want to see this art and craft go the way of so many small, independent booksellers who could not compete with the franchise bookstores.  Is there still room in our globalized world for this kind of hand created quality?  When I go to the Huntington Library in nearby San Marino I see many famous original books, opened with often yellowed pages of great age, secured in glass cases, ranging from the beginning of printing press with the Gutenberg Bible to the modern books of California authors such as Jack London, as well as contemporary authors.  These books form the cultural icons of our rich legacy of the printed word.  I somehow cannot see some day in the future when I visit the Huntington Library and find in the same glass cases e-books displaying the same texts on small screens.   Surely you would agree it would not be the same kind of quality experience.

Aside from the book as an aesthetic artifact created by master craftspeople, we also need to discuss what we use them for.  Books have a vital function in human civilization.  People read them and obtain knowledge and wisdom that is not available anywhere else.  I want to talk about the act of reading.  This involves the behavior of the reader and the approach to the printed page that would extract the greatest value for those who devote countless hours of their lives to the company of books.  We will continue in this discussion to draw analogous examples with pottery.  How do you approach the engagement of a pot?  What is the nature of the active observer seeking to maximize pleasure and meaning when in the company of ceramic art?  We can ask the same questions about books.

Teaching Appreciation

Too often both ‘art appreciation’ and ‘reading instruction’ lessons in educational institutions render both kinds of engagements passive events for the observer and reader.  Youth are instructed to memorize information about the name of the artist, period, art style, technique, and other data of that nature.  Similarly, children taught to read go through the mechanical details of the grammar of language and the retention of the content obtained from the printed word as a duty of memorization, subject to testing.  Can you teach the joy and great pleasure of living with art and craft as icons of beauty and the noble offspring of human imagination and creativity?   Can you teach youth how to live with books as friends that open the windows of the world to you?  That seems all too rarely to come from a lesson in a classroom.  What can it come from and how do you help people develop that capacity?  The actual lived experience of engaging the pot or book is not the same thing as the information about the pot and the book.  Do you know what I am talking about?

I will offer you now a quote that I think will reinforce what I am talking about. It is a quote I employed in my book, “Searching for Beauty: Letters from a Collector to a Studio Potter”.  This excerpt in my book is from one of the finest books written about ceramics, in fact that is the title of the book, “Ceramics” by Philip Rawson.  In the Foreword to this book, Wayne Higby, an important American potter, speaks of Rawson’s ideas about how to experience pottery,

“He recommends looking at the forms of pottery not just to classify them, but to read them as symbols analogous to sense experience.  This recommendation has far-reaching implications since, in our society, critical awareness is primarily achieved by acquiring factual knowledge rather than by developing the resources of intuitive feeling.  The emphasis on factual knowledge has isolated art from the general flow of Western culture by reserving it for a relatively small group of ‘informed’ individuals.  The very fact that pottery is accessible to everyone by virtue of its immediate connection with human experience has disqualified it in the past as a major art form.  Rawson introduces this accessibility factor as an important aesthetic consideration and implies that the power of pottery as art lies in its ability to communicate to a wide audience by expressing human sensuous life.  He asks the reader to become more aware of emotional responses to pottery in order to give depth and clarity to learned perception.”

There is a lot to think about in this quote.  How do we learn to experience ‘human sensuous life’ with pots and books without getting caught in the all too familiar trap first learned in school, when we were taught to reduce everything to ‘factual knowledge’ rather than the encouragement of the development of ‘intuitive feeling’?    Here the tail wags the dog.  If you can’t test intuitive feeling on a standardized exam, and the easy lure of testing factual information is all too available, than the emotional and intuitive dimensions of human feelings and experiences are simply ignored.  Even more than that, the implication of this abandonment is that human feelings (the very core of a complex aesthetic) are really a trivial and superficial realm of human experience. I would add another critical wrinkle to this conversation, since I am a man commenting on the thoughts of two other men, Rawson and Higby. Traditionally in Western society it was believed that women, given their highly emotional and fragile state, existed as emotional creatures but us men were capable of transforming the world into tough, durable facts.  So I am rather proud as a man to be in the company of these two other modern men in conceding that the richness and complexity of the subjective emotions are as important as the objective world of factual knowledge.  The aesthetic significance of human culture is dependent on this awareness. I am going to continue this discussion in future blogs.  I do wish to conclude this blog wishing all of you the very best of the holiday season and a happy New Year.

The Future of Trees and Pots: Endangered Species or Hope for The Future? – Part 2

Monday, December 6th, 2010

I have just celebrated in the previous blog the great importance of the garden in terms of the meaning and quality of my life.  I am sure that there are people who might read this blog that could provide their own testimony of great affection for their gardens.  One vital component of any garden is its trees.  I cannot imagine a garden without trees.  One advantage of having a long residence at one particular home and garden is that you can spend decades watching young trees mature as they gain in both stature and size. Now there are many trees that tower over my home, still growing in slow, incremental steps that are not discernible or evident to the naked eye on any given day.   A tree is an investment in the future, requiring patience when the young sapling is planted in the garden, knowing the extended time required to reach their full promise.  Trees have been the sentinels of my lifetime, standing guard in my garden, spreading their branches out and over me and allowing me the gift of their shade.  They will endure long after I am gone.

Trees form the rooted foundation of many memories of my childhood and youth. Here in Southern California, trees can inform us of much of the history of this area as that history has seen the successive replacement of one kind of tree by another.   These changes have nothing to do with nature but everything to do with the increased waves of incoming human habitation and the impact of these rapidly growing communities on the natural environment.  Like all other types of what has been called human progress, trees have often not been treated gently, often eradicated in clear-cut brutality or replaced by a more domestic variety as a profitable enterprise. The trees of my childhood have largely been replaced, or in too many cases, not replaced at all.   I feel the cutting down of a grown tree should require a most serious evaluation and never become a casual decision.  To remove a grove of trees or an entire forest must surely be a crime or require a very good excuse.  In my book,  “Searching for Beauty: Letters from a Collector to a Studio Potter”, I describe the history of my region and my personal biography in relationship to the changing fate of those trees that are the milestones of so many of my memories,

“In California, trees document the successive waves of historical change.  Trees here have not fared better than the indigenous people.  Their eradication was the indicator of progress or disaster, depending on your point of view.  First the vast groves of oak trees, natural to Southern California, present here when the Europeans arrived.  I remember my parents had a very old and huge oak tree in their back garden when they lived in the foothills.  It provided a great swath of shade for us in the hot summer weather.  It was an important and prestigious tree in that community, pride of my father.  Thousands of oak trees are still being cut down in Northern and Central California to plant grape vines.  Some counties and cities are trying to initiate laws to protect and regulate them but much damage has already been done.  In Southern California the oaks were cut down for citrus groves in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  Some oak groves still exist, mostly in parks.  Later, after World War II, the next generation of trees, the citrus groves, once the very symbol of this part of the state were largely cut down for the suburban tract homes that filled the land.  In my community, when the last orange grove in town was being leveled, after civic protest, city officials agreed to plant a few orange trees in a small heritage park in the southern end of town, next to an old house they moved there.  They are both museum pieces, representatives of history, not the present.  Even the tall spindly palm trees, planted along the parkways between sidewalk and street in Los Angeles during the first three decades of the 20th century are dying off, not being replaced.  Their vigorous swaying on a windy day, fading memories of my childhood, made them look most unstable, with the heavy burst of palm fronds on the very top of a long slender trunk.  Do the images of trees planted in childhood memories evoke special meaning of place and time for others?  They do for me.”

History is not always kind to those things we treasure and associate with our lifetime of experiences and memories.  We all know that change is inevitable and we cannot resist it.  We of course also change, the aging process does not always bring good news but we adjust as we go along.  In my pottery gallery, I can see examples of pottery that extend over 150 years, from many different cultures.  Most of the antique pottery I have has not only aged in the physical sense but also in terms of style and appearance.  That is, they are no longer creating pottery that looks like they look.  There is often an inference that what is now considered obsolete or dated in terms of aesthetic fashion also loses it intrinsic value.   Should we be embarrassed if we still find a ceramic artifact of great age moving and profound in its technique and beauty?  Are we old-fashioned if we enjoy and prize old things?

Is what ceramic artists are doing nowadays better than what they did in the past simply because what is being done is new and thus has to be better?  Can you respect and treasure the past and still wish to do original work that is not a copy of what has been done in the past?  Here I think an analogy with the trees I have been talking about in this blog might be helpful.  I can lament the wholesale removal of the oak tree, mourn the leveling of citrus groves, and miss the predominance of those palm trees, all symbols of a past that is no more.  What about the efforts to rescue and preserve those species of plants and animals that are in great danger of being completely lost?  What are the implications if we just shrug our shoulders and say that is just progress and there is nothing we can do about it?  Similarly, doesn’t the invention of plastic containers provide a justification for abandoning containers made of clay?  Are you potters out there working in a brave new world making obsolete things with obsolete materials?  If you cannot find a reason for saving oak trees, how can you then justify continuing to make things out of clay?

This whole business of what should be valued and preserved needs some serious rethinking.  I recently went to a zoo and saw that many of the animals there had signs in front of their enclosure that informed me that they were near extinction.   They displayed maps on these signs that showed the original range of their habitation, often across several continents, then a second map that showed their present range, often just a few dots in one region of the world.   Do you have a convincing story to tell about those things that never age, never become obsolete because what they offer us is invaluable and worth keeping?  Can you provide a narrative that is compelling and persuasive in terms of those things we must preserve in order to have a human culture and civilization worth living?  Does creativity always require novelty?  And is that novelty always an improvement on the past?  How can we value the past and learn from it while at the same time create refinements and innovation in our own work?  Does the new always have to betray the old and overthrow it in order to establish it’s own credentials and meaning?

I will end this blog with another quote from my book that directly deals with this question and my great concerns regarding it.

“Is there some relationship between my love of trees and pots?  Both face the same challenge.  In this very practical and pragmatic society, trees and pottery need to justify their existence and value to survive.  Both are endangered species.  I once tried to save a grove of oak trees in my community by justifying their value: the lower temperatures by providing shade, the filtering and cleaning of air, reduced need for air conditioning, etc.  I lost that struggle.  The oak grove was destroyed.  Pottery can pour beverages, hold food, receive liquids and hold flowers.  So can plastic cups and plates from Wal-Mart.  We must try to provide more convincing arguments.  I love trees and pots for other reasons.  I experience them.  The sheer sensual beauty of a tree; the Jacaranda in my front garden where I sit on a bench in its soft shade, see and hear the movement of wind through the moving leaves, the sway of branches, the sunlight filtered through the leaves and branches.  The creative form of the pot, elegant in its length and shape, cascades of colored glazes in subtle patterns, striking designs that represent natural or geometric origins.  Why is that value not more convincing or conclusive in this society?  What will happen to my trees and pottery after I am gone?  Their destiny should not depend on my partisan or personal support, but their intrinsic significance to any worthwhile quality of existence.”


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