(the freedom of) a chance. I look at the

glaze of a pot, and really see a surface

(on the face) That the seeing seems just

what the surface is for (wonderful celadon !)
At a painting: I look for the forms to become
intentional: images, or patterns. But the cup
(it's plain what a cup is for !) the black
breaks to kaki on the rim: thats just its nature
(clever these orientals !) so thats what I see:
nature: no faces, no targets (drink up!)

So, there seemed something right, especially
then, about pottery/pots. as things, and as
something to do, But the artschool, it was
not the right place... and neither was your
own first pottery. ..wonderful places: to play

& that personal thing: your own life (to be
played with?) it was now ajar, unfixed: and
that allowed you, by intention -- but mostly
by the luck you learned you had to trust --
brought you to...where there was work
(like at the Leach Pottery)

Slowly (quickly) these years: stomachs, heads,
hands, eyes: you discovered (uncovered) : pots.
10,000 YEARS MORE than you. THE STANDARD (of) :
most of the pots men have made. 'to be yourself'? ? ?
rather: to join the (space) race: a Man;

A POTTER. I mean, make pots.

The 'you' Ive been calling: is anyone over

there: in the direction of a couple dozen

people I know, or whose pots I know: in
potteries, theirs or one anothers, (peasantpotters
in a global village): at work (I hope): when

I get thirsty, I still drink, from a cup,

as I learned to do(less than 10 years ago)