A poem about the joys of working with ceramics.
|Day of The Potter
Waking each day with so many plans,
excited to work in her shop,
"Mary's Ceramics" hung over the door,
with a teapot and brush o're the top.
Turn on the lights; unlock the red door,
flip over the sign that reads "OPEN",
strap on the apron, then check the supplies,
fill up the gold jar you keep soap in.
Aisles full of shelving with prices displayed,
on magical tools of the art,
greenware and molds, some items to paint;
a box in the shape of a heart.
Open the mold, then carefully trim the
edges of clay at the seam,
or spin out a bowl, a pot or a vase,
create something new from your dream.
Chime rings the door, as Mary looks up,
"it's Bonnie and Tim come to play,"
they'll sit as they craft at the table in back,
and visit most all of the day.
With so many colors of glazes to pick
and powders to add that are cool,
it's fun to explore new ideas and tips,
step outside of the box, break a rule.
There's nothing more fun than making a gift
for someone to use at their place,
a soap dish for Kate, a lamp for Big John,
the reward is the smile from each face.
So fire up the kiln and time up the clock,
tomorrow new treasures you'll find,
lock up the red door and turn out the lights,
It's a potter's time to unwind.
My mother is a ceramist and ceramics instructor as was her mother before her and my three aunts as well. Most of our lamps and other household items were pieces that they created, which always gave them a sense of satisfaction. The clock in the cover photo was made by my late Grandmother.