Studio News

Empty Bowls bowl, this, one of mine. Heading into the bisque kiln:



You'll never guess what these are:



Okay, you guessed it. They're toilet brush holder prototypes. I was going to handbuild them, but at the last minute decided to just go ahead and throw them. I've since cut holes in them where the brush fits in and they're drying now, slowly, in an effort to keep them from warping too much (which they will do in the firing anyway, I'm sure.)

Familia News

And my mom was in town last weekend so we all got together for a couple of meals. I didn't get any pics of us all together, darn it, but I did get a few pics of my little cousin, seen here perfecting his Pee-Wee Herman impersonation.



I gave him a handful of change from my (old, gone) car's ashtray and it was like pennies from heaven to him. Man, being five years old and having a pocketful of pennies, nickles, dimes, and quarters is like owning the world. You can buy anything! Almost! Or at least some candy!


Trades, No Trades Back!

Miss Laura! Here are nine of the better ones for you to chose from. The smallest hold about 10 oz., the largest roughly twice that. (I apologize for the cell phone photos. Not my best.)


I shoulda thought of some numbering system? But I'm sure we'll manage. Just let me know which two you like.


(They're not so blurry in real life, I promise!)
)


Monsooner Rather Than Later

Big wind and hard, cold pelt-y rain today. The big sunflowers swayed in the wind and the shade cover over the tomatoes was rocking and rolling. The big cracking thunder send Gray Kitty running for cover under the bed, but Saba headed for the door to check things out. (She was very disappointed when I closed the door against the rain and, as soon as it mostly abated, she ran outside to check the score. Rain, 1, Patio umbrella 0.) Ah, New Mexico monsoons.

I stayed inside reading poetry on the internet. Here's one:

Happiness
I sent you this bluebird of the name of Joe
with "Happiness" tattooed onto his left bicep.
(For a bluebird, he was a damn good size.)
And all you can say is you think your cat got him?

I tell you the messages aren't getting through.
The Golden Gate Bridge is up past its ass in traffic;
tankers colliding, singing telegrams on strike.
The machineries of the world are raised in anger.

So I am sending this snail of the name of Fred
in a small tricolor sash, so the cat will know him.
He will scrawl out "Happiness" in his own slow way.
I won't ever stop until the word gets to you.

--William Dickey