jack troy and other forms of art

after Detroit, I spent a few days in Pittsburgh with a college friend of mine, Joanna Orr, who married an Elsas, and thought to change her name to Joanna Orr- Elsas. She didn't quite , but that gives you an idea of her sense of humor. She is the mother of two little boys- she writes a blog too- thejojos@ blogspot. she made pots for a couple years too!



and then, by lucky chance, I got to meet Jack Troy.

I would guess that it's fair to say that every young, determined, and clueless potter eventually reaches a point at which they seek a reference book. Jack's book became mine, ten years ago, when I was first starting out in the ramshackle farmhouse in Minnesota. I would look at those centerfolds in Jack's book and get all tingly. Oh, right, and I read it. I could understand it- he's writing about the beauty of a stack of wood. yes! the silica and the what? clay is actually what? you mean I can't just mix colors and get purple? I can't say I memorized it- my poor teachers in grad school were remarkably patient with me- anyway, it was a start. I needed lots of help, and found it from lots of wonderful people... I remember on the drawing of his kiln, he had a little brick for a tea kettle above the firebox.

well, I got to see that kiln:
you are sitting at the firemouth. loading door to the right side. pretty curvy... you know what I like the best? just past the exit flue is a big open spot in the horizontal section leading towards the chimney. a window in the ground that the river of fire rushes through... that's hot.

and I got to see his pixiegama- that article in the Log Book has excellent photos of it, but here's the counterweight for the door:

To see the kilns and give props to the man was all I had hoped for. As it happened, he was so genereous with his time and his thoughts that I enjoyed a very sweet visit.

Next up, the Freer Gallery of the Smithsonian. I don't have much to say beyond amazing wow wonderful and thank you very much mister Freer for putting such high priority on public accessability of the archives. I did my homework and knew what I wanted to see- the Longquan celadons, of course. and the Ding ware. and those eight century chinese jars with the low handles that Neely showed me a picture of when someone told me my handles were too low... and the Iznic plates with calligraphy, and the old zoomorphic pots. and a few of the oldest pots I could see, including one from china that I got to touch! that was 4000! years old! and then I still had time! I was already floating from having been able to look up close and touch such dreamy pots, and then Tim Kirk who was my guide for the day also showed me his favorite pots- the big 'ol Shigaraki jar, and some luscious shino teabowl. good heaven. and Jack told me to check out the pots stuck in saggers. so I did that. it was a great day.

He also told me to visit the Visionary Arts Museum in Baltimore:



it's a little contrasty, but there's a giant bird in the background there, with a nest that that egg fell out of. here's a closeup:

it is the most excellent egg I have ever seen in my entire life.

So I'm basically in love with that entire museum. It is dedicated entirely to artists who NEED to make art as an expression of their spirituality. Ranging in expression from a single haunting sculpture carved at an asylum with a blunt screwdriver to an eight-foot model of the titanic composed of toothpicks, to the drawings made in a trance by a gentleman somewhere in appalacia- so gorgeous and minute that the museum provides a magnifiying glass... and then next door is a space in which they have little mechanical toys made decades ago- dragons that fly and fishes that jump. AND every spring there's a race in the harbor of the craziest amphibious vehicles powered by foot. the winner this year (came in "middle") was a twelve-foot tall pink poodle. so go there if you can!

I lingered there, and then zoomed up to Philadelphia to see the work of Frieda Khalo. except I had some engine trouble on the way, nothing like what happened in the grease truck outside Amarillo so many years ago- some of you may rememeber that story. this was a simple fuel problem. I made it in time. Another deeply inspiring women. oh my goodness. how is it possible to be so deeply honest, naked to the world, as she was, with such subject matter... it was an extremely moving exhibit. And I am compelled to say something here about the brief explanation provided by the museum at the beginning of the show. I know that it is a very touchy subject, but given the nature of her work, I chide the museum for not being more direct in explaining the exact nature of the accident that she suffered. I think that to give a medical context for her difficulty in carrying a child would have been appropriate. I think it would have helped put her work into context. Perhaps they were more detailed in the docent tapes...

From there, it would have made sense to go to New York for the night, just surprise Leana by tapping on her door. But my buddy Dianne was waiting in Duram. So, through rush hour and through Baltimore I go, past a police blockade on an interstate and around DC I go, awed by those who must have some kind of i-will-never-be-arrested government position that allowed them to blithely go fourty over the limit instead of everyone else just twenty over. madness, I say. after a few hours of this, I slide into the dark lanes of Virginia, put on some platinum breaks, and flip on the blacklight....