Row of Pitchers

Here is the row of pitchers on my windowsill. There are five of them, plus a sixth pot. I made the five pitchers and the small lidded jar was made by Jim Makins. I can see them when I sit at the kitchen counter, where I write. They remind me of something I did once, but no longer do. There are people who find a profession early in life, and stick with it until they retire. Some of those people are following a calling, but many are just sticking it out, unwilling or unable to make a change, or try something else; I am not one of those people. I didn’t make these pitchers when I was a potter (which I was) but a few years ago when I decided I wanted to go back to making pots for enjoyment.

I first learned to throw on a wheel when I was fourteen. My family spent a week at Chautauqua Institution in upstate New York, and I liked it so much I returned for two summers when I was sixteen and seventeen. I spent my days at the pottery studio and fell in love with the entire process. My parents (my mother in particular) weren’t happy that I wanted to go to Alfred University  and become a potter. That wasn’t what happened, I ended up at NYU with a degree in Art History (a little more refined than ceramics, but slightly less useful) and promptly opened a pottery studio with two friends.

When we were kids my sisters and I used to tease my brother and tell him we’d found him on an ice floe, and adopted him, but I was the one who didn’t fit. I come from a family of brilliant intellectuals, I am the dope of the family. I’m not saying I’m a dope, though for many years, I believed I was. I’m saying that relative to my relatives I am significantly less intelligent. They think; I make stuff. I spent my teenage years making soup and bread, and pottery. I followed the rules and got my degree, then went back to making pots, then back to making food.

Making stuff is satisfying, and in the past few years writing has become another way for me to make stuff. I love to sit and write while I look at my row of pitchers. Of the five, two are kind of awkward, one is a pretty shade of pale green, and two look almost exactly like I wanted them to look. When I have company I’ll often use one or two for sauce or as a creamer. Using them pleases me greatly. During the day the sun shines on them and at night they are bright against the darkness.  I don’t know if I will ever take up pottery again, but I will always make stuff and no matter where I live I will have my row of pitchers on my windowsill.