This is a splatter of pieces I’ve been working on, since I began learning how to pot in October 2015. (This page will always be a work-in-progress)
It’s been a revelation (and clearly, pottery and poetry go together).
Syncopated Centres
There’s an almost irony
To the language of pottery.
Perhaps more a complex affection
for the foibles and fragilities
Of human be-ing.
Who can miss the je ne sais quoi –
for instance – in the illusion
of control
that is steadily constructed
by the potter’s wheel. An almost satire,
if you will, in the uncertainty
between one moment and the next.
The measured breath, the contradictions
of rhythm – the rapid centripetal motion
of what lies beneath the clay, offset –
(almost offside) – by the slow moving jazz dance
in the mind, beating a ‘not yet’.
And yet they all: jazz, clay, free form
evolution – seek the sanctuary
of the centre. Even if, syncopated,
at the end.
