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greenstormSo writing is a thing I've always done. I did pottery awhile ago too, but didn't keep it up really. Writing is easily invisible and it's also a form of something most people do: string words together. It's possible to characterize this as "getting it all out" or "journaling" or whatnot depending on the audience even if I do decide to mention it as something I do.
I've never really had interest in listening to podcasts about writing, or reading writing about writing too much -- I do love reading poetry, but that's not the same thing.
Writing has a lot of technical elements that I may not know words for but tend to be able to easily recognise, and if given a word for some technique I'll understand the referent easily.
Some of the autistic bits of my mind contribute ultra strongly to my writing:
Echolalia, where sounds echo in my head
Synesthesia, where sounds manifest as a physical shape/feeling of motion in my body
Pottery, on the other hand, is more esoteric. That is, it's deeply based in chemistry and physics that we don't interact with in our everyday lives, and that I didn't grow up learning about, and that aren't always apparent in the final piece without some knowledge to deconstruct it. So I've of course been tracking down learning to understand it better and for me the best way to do that is audio. So I've been listening to podcasts.
And... pottery isn't pottery. I've avoided the "I am a writer" as an identity world. Pottery podcast people are the "ceramics community" which is it seems a reasonably close community but very university-degree-based. There's definitely a level of homogeneity, and I think of that beginning "hey, we need representation" thing going on, but on a base of liberal arts folks, so that's interesting. It does seem like a super inward-looking community; almost all of the podcasts are professional ceramicists interviewing
other professional ceramicists about their feelings and life path, and that's not what I'm after.
I'm after silica and calcium and temperatures and analysis methods and practicalities and absorption and that kind of thing. I've only been doing actual hands-on once a week in the studio, but with my bathroom ripped out I'm considering putting the wheel in there and making it into a bit of a studio until I can afford to replace the shower.
When I do I'm thinking about putting words on my pottery. Echolalia is good for that: I get good phrases that come to me and I think would fit some of the forms well. And on some bigger pieces (someday I'll be able to make a slurpee-cup-sized tumbler even after drying and kiln shrinkage) I can fit a haiku or more. One of the fun things about that is I get to go through a lot of words, so none need to be perfect (this I also loved about the poem a day thing).
Things like:
every blossom falls
twice: a blizzard of of petals
then sweet ripened fruit
frost crisps the mornings
smoke and blaze in afternoons
unfurling green leaves
aspen and roses
air alive, sweet and complex:
scent-drunk with each breath.
(switch first and last line?)
our world is ending
the sun continues to rise
leaving us behind
cats bathing
open window rain
warm blanket
cupped warm between hands
heady swirl of scent and sweet
every morning's tea
Biggest roses grow,
Lushest leaves, sweetest fruits, all
From soil that drank blood
So much depends on
Sweetest roses growing from
Blood at the kill stand
First scent of warm green
First day to seek cooling shade
First crisp yellow leaf
First fireside blanket with tea
Your familiar voice
Wakes me from the daily round
Even from afar
Wine, bread, honey, you:
Starving-deep I drink and drink
Never paused for breath.
I've never really had interest in listening to podcasts about writing, or reading writing about writing too much -- I do love reading poetry, but that's not the same thing.
Writing has a lot of technical elements that I may not know words for but tend to be able to easily recognise, and if given a word for some technique I'll understand the referent easily.
Some of the autistic bits of my mind contribute ultra strongly to my writing:
Echolalia, where sounds echo in my head
Synesthesia, where sounds manifest as a physical shape/feeling of motion in my body
Pottery, on the other hand, is more esoteric. That is, it's deeply based in chemistry and physics that we don't interact with in our everyday lives, and that I didn't grow up learning about, and that aren't always apparent in the final piece without some knowledge to deconstruct it. So I've of course been tracking down learning to understand it better and for me the best way to do that is audio. So I've been listening to podcasts.
And... pottery isn't pottery. I've avoided the "I am a writer" as an identity world. Pottery podcast people are the "ceramics community" which is it seems a reasonably close community but very university-degree-based. There's definitely a level of homogeneity, and I think of that beginning "hey, we need representation" thing going on, but on a base of liberal arts folks, so that's interesting. It does seem like a super inward-looking community; almost all of the podcasts are professional ceramicists interviewing
other professional ceramicists about their feelings and life path, and that's not what I'm after.
I'm after silica and calcium and temperatures and analysis methods and practicalities and absorption and that kind of thing. I've only been doing actual hands-on once a week in the studio, but with my bathroom ripped out I'm considering putting the wheel in there and making it into a bit of a studio until I can afford to replace the shower.
When I do I'm thinking about putting words on my pottery. Echolalia is good for that: I get good phrases that come to me and I think would fit some of the forms well. And on some bigger pieces (someday I'll be able to make a slurpee-cup-sized tumbler even after drying and kiln shrinkage) I can fit a haiku or more. One of the fun things about that is I get to go through a lot of words, so none need to be perfect (this I also loved about the poem a day thing).
Things like:
every blossom falls
twice: a blizzard of of petals
then sweet ripened fruit
frost crisps the mornings
smoke and blaze in afternoons
unfurling green leaves
aspen and roses
air alive, sweet and complex:
scent-drunk with each breath.
(switch first and last line?)
our world is ending
the sun continues to rise
leaving us behind
cats bathing
open window rain
warm blanket
cupped warm between hands
heady swirl of scent and sweet
every morning's tea
Biggest roses grow,
Lushest leaves, sweetest fruits, all
From soil that drank blood
So much depends on
Sweetest roses growing from
Blood at the kill stand
First scent of warm green
First day to seek cooling shade
First crisp yellow leaf
First fireside blanket with tea
Your familiar voice
Wakes me from the daily round
Even from afar
Wine, bread, honey, you:
Starving-deep I drink and drink
Never paused for breath.
