On the heels of my previous post, this seems like a good pot to mention. It has an odd story. The first time I saw it, I hated it. But I kept visiting it, and kept looking at it, and became intrigued by it. (I didn’t hate it anymore, and, two years later, it eludes me why I hated it in the first place.) I do recall that I bought the bowl so I could spend more time with it.

It was always on a shelf at eye level, so this is how I always saw it.

It continues to occupy an enigmatic place in my life. It’s 5″ across and 3″ tall, which is a bit large for tea. But for me it demands something simple, so tea it is. I’ve come to love this one – I’ve had it for two years, now – but I question even that. Is it because in our time together I’ve come to know it so well? Or because, despite our time together, it continues to mystify me?

It has a great foot, by the way. Bowl by Kowkie Durst. I was told that it’s c.01 salt.

A lengthy writing about a NYT article on Ken Price, a blog post critiquing the NYT article, Price’s work, and why I care.

Photo via NYT

I was excited to find this blog article at Glasstire. It’s about a New York Times article entitled “The Blobs Aren’t Talking,” on ceramic artist Ken Price’s current exhibition.

But why am I excited?

Well, I make objects. And while I spend a lot of time thinking, I am not maniacally intellectual about my object-making. Maniacally visual, moreso. The viewer might not know what I was thinking about or what those questions are. I don’t know if I care if he does know. I do know that I would like the work to stand on its own, to not be dependent upon a wall-mounted placard.*

“Se don’t view artwork for knowledge, but rather experience,” argues Glasstire writer Chris Jagers. Well, that’s encouraging, though I don’t know that it’s true. (Why do you view artwork?)

“If I am anything,” I began a recent essay, “I am a maker of object and experience.” I am quite concerned with experience. It’s something that distinguishes me as an architect, and perhaps as an artist too. Meaning isn’t so important to me: though there may be a story of how something came to be, the seed is merely the origin. There is an object and a viewer and a relationship between the two. I care about that.

In response to the NYT author wondering what the work means, Jagers asks, “Would you ask that question about any work of art?” I was shocked: lots of artists seem to have explanations for what their work means, whereas I don’t have an explanation for what my work means. Jagers continues, “to pretend art is simply a vehicle for some message reduces viewers into passive recipients rather than active experiencers.” What an excellent distinction! It does place upon the artist the burden of intent, and surely many artists intend art as a one-way means of communication. But not this one.

The NYT writer spent some time with Price in his studio. The quotes, surprisingly few, are notable:

In an era when most contemporary artists produce elaborate statements to justify their works’ being and explain the intent, Mr. Price operates in a state of chosen uncertainty. “I don’t really know what I’m going for,” he said with a touch of defiance.

A touch of defiance. I wouldn’t be surprised if Price bristled a bit: I might be a little defiant if continually badgered about what things mean. It does get tiring: I work at a community art center and know a lot of people there. They see me making my work and ask, “what are those? what are they for?” Another comment I enjoy is, “oh, so you’re the one making all those!” (Often followed by one of the questions above). Though the same questions get old, the reactions are a sign that I’m doing something right. There’s no easy, obvious explanation for what I’m doing or the objects I’m making, yet people are drawn to them.

And yet, we humans have a compulsive need to categorize. The NYT author describes Price’s works as “quintessential examples of biomorphic or formless art” and as “blobby and sluglike.” Further indicating descriptive difficulty, the online slideshow is entitled “The Oddball Shapes of Ken Price.” When it comes to writing, Price’s work defies easy definition.

Many of the recent works at his website – gallery here – use cylindrical shapes, curved about, often with half-spherical ends. This calls to mind two more common forms: sausages, and the long balloons used for balloon animals. Among the recent works, pieces like “Kitsy” and “Eeezo” move one away from easy association, thus pushing the viewer into viewing the object as an object. His older works, accessed through the Sculpture and Object page, are still less easily described. The forms speak to gravity acting upon viscous material, and could be described as “fleshy” simply because that’s the closest common analog. This, however, fails to describe the detailed surfaces: one’s understanding of them changes with viewing distance.

Though he avoids concrete statements, Price’s forms and surfaces aren’t random acts of chance: he refines several pieces while spending time with his interviewer. (Whatever Price’s reasons, I can relate to his reticence.) I close with a quote from the NYT article:

[Price] would rather discuss jazz or the Dodgers than his technique or implicit meanings in his work. . . . “What I’m shooting for is for something to look right,” he said with a shrug.

*To be clear about wall-mounted placards: I have nothing against them, but want their place to be supplementary to, not necessary to, enjoyment of my work. I also have nothing against esoterica, like pots best appreciated by potters. If it seems that I just contradicted myself, allow me to compound the apparent contradiction. I recognize that context is crucial to properly understanding all sorts of things (Modern architecture, for example). My own preference is to see something and enjoy my reaction, to not care what the thing is, or who made it, or why. I want these details to only deepen my appreciation, which exists independently of them.

If you wonder what I’ve been working on lately: it’s nothing like the previous project that comprises most of the fall 2009 gallery…

…this is a hint.

(Oh yes, I did.)

I picked one of my favorite bowls today to heat some leftover pho… and figured it’s a good time for another installment of Pots and Life. (A series name that is descriptive, if not imaginative.) This is one of my favorite bowls, the one I sometimes force myself not to use, in the interests of giving somebody else (another bowl, that is) a turn.

A couple quick photos later: I wanted to show you the bowl so I took a photo of the bowl. But when I got over to my desk, I realized that I spend most of my time looking at the bowl like this, and that I quite like the view.

To state that it’s a favorite begs the question, why? Here are a couple of observations; by no means a complete explanation. It holds a lot, and the walls are steep enough that it won’t slosh as I carry it from kitchen to wherever I eat. This is convenient. At 6.25″ x 6″ x 4″h. it’s pretty big, but not too big. It can be carried with fingers under the foot and thumb on the rim, full of hot liquid, without burning oneself. This is also convenient. The wall isn’t quite vertical: the bowl opens slightly. I like this. It’s not round. It is convenient that it’s not round. I can drink from a smaller-radiused part. In short, the object has many conveniences from a utilitarian standpoint, and it also very nice to look at.

I surely didn’t buy it for any of these reasons, and I expect that the design was mostly concerned with the visual qualities. I picked it in late 2007 at an Empty Bowls event, as an object that attracted me, and probably because it felt good cradled in two hands. (If you are wondering, this bowl is made by Jay Strommen.)

More general observations: the more I eat from handmade work, the more I think of the food as completing the composition. It’s an interactive installation art, as the food disappears and is rearranged… don’t tell me I’m the only one who unconsciously moves and reorganizes food as she eats? (Okay, soup does not count: I did not arrange the soup.)

…funny how the photographs we take of vessels utterly fail to convey the experience of using them!

I finished reading Robert Tichane’s book Clay Bodies about a week ago. At the onset, I wondered what I was in for: the guy’s a PhD and former head of Corning Glass.  But I want to learn, and with me, the more technical stuff, the more geektastically wonderful.

Clay Bodies was very readable, while providing a lot of detailed information. The end of every chapter has a reference list, for those who want more information. It’s cleanly organized. The margins are big. Everything is in Celsius, which meant that I ended up making a Celsius – Fahrenheit – Orton cone chart as I read along. (Important ones: 900C = c.010, 1200C = c.6, 1250C = c.10.) Not what I’m used to… but the rest of the world works in Celsius, so I may as well learn, right?

I’m going to have to read it again to try and digest all the information on silica. Silica above 50 microns, for example, acts more as a filler, because it won’t go into solution well… not enough surface area. (This is between 250 mesh, at 53 microns, and 325 mesh, at 44 microns. Another thing I had to look up.) Another fun fact I picked up was water separation: different particle sizes fall through water at different rates. But the big surprise was that silica kept coming up in different ways, and size matters.

My next conquest: Daniel Rhodes, when I can procure a copy.