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off day in the pottery class
Tuesday, May 3 2016
I had a productive (though not frenetic) day of remote work that ended three and a half hours prematurely so I could go to pottery class. Earlier, I'd managed to jump start the Subaru, so I could use that to drive myself there. The clutch is very slippy, and I have trouble going more than 40 miles per hour up a modest grade. Still, when I saw a hitchhiker on Route 375, I immediately pulled over and gave him a ride. He was a young man named Henry who was just trying to get into Woodstock. He told me he's been forced to live here because he's on probation here for a drinking and driving charge. Funny, I just happened to be drinking a 16 oz Mountain Brew Ice when I picked him up. "My car's falling apart," I explained, adding, "I hope it makes it into Woodstock one more time." But it had no trouble getting me to the Byrdcliffe pottery studio.
I had an off day in the pottery class. I managed to throw one lopsided pot, and successfully trimmed two of my earlier works (my first trimming in this class). Then, unfortunately, I went with a big lump of clay in hopes of redeeming my earlier semi-failed throw. "You're pretty ambitious there," said Rich, the instructor. I should have taken that as the gentle admonition it was, but, alas, my nascent pot rose to a certain height and then began to twist. Soon it was a crumpled pile of useless overly-wet clay. I tried again with a smaller lump, but I was rushing so as to complete it before Rich came by with his well-intentioned pointers, and I ended up strangling it in its crib. Though I don't have much in the way of practiced skill, I'm actually not terrible at throwing pots if I can relax and not feel like I have to perform for anyone.
I met up with the other people I know in the class at the Little Bear in Bearsville (the Chinese restaurant). In addition to my friends Susan, David, and Julianna (Nancy was still in Florida), Julianna's husband Lee turned up, as did Susan and David's icy Iranian artist friend Samira, who has a residency at Byrdcliffe. A lot of our dinner conversation focused on Samira and her life's journey. She'd been born in pre-revolutionary Iran to Shiite Arab parents who eventually emigrated to the West for economic (not political) reasons. (Arabs in Iran are a widely-detested minority.) She indicated that her immigration status was a little dicey, though she occasionally returns to Iran without difficulty.
On the way into the Little Bear, I'd happened to notice Ted Cruz on the bar television grandiloquently ending his quest for the presidency. Donald Trump had just decisively won the Indiana primary, and it now seemed inarguably clear that Donald Trump really would be the Republican candidate for President of the United States of America.
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