By Georgette Ore
Chapter Ten
P - O - U - R. Whisper it slowly. Feel your breath move over your lips. It’s onomatopoeic – gentle and kind. For over ten thousand years, people everywhere have gathered in communities to pour out; pour out water, wine or the milk of human kindness. Pouring may be one of the three legs of love.
For young potters, the vessel that pours is the Holy Grail of function. If you can master the necessary variables - a proper weight, artful proportion, effective flow, a spout that matches the viscosity of the liquid, a color that is sympathetic to the aroma of the beverage, a sanitary surface, a form that cleans easily and thoroughly, a comfortable handle (and make all this for less than fifty dollars an hour) - then you have truly learned something. You are qualified to pour your consummate skills and young talent for an eager public.
Unfortunately our Rascal Ware crew is no longer young and so our pouring has slowed, literally and figuratively. We used to pour, then we dripped; now we just seep. Years ago we poured coffee, tea, even bourbon. But now we seep, we seep the milk of human kindness; lovely enough, but awfully real and rather awkward for our viewing public. We’ve made our own necessary accommodations to age and its attendant seepage. For example, speaking literally, the studio toilet seat is now in the “down” position - permanently, this in spite of the fact that all of my colleagues are male: Junior, Hairy, Mosley, Pilcher…even Shakespeare. You know them. Their age has now affected their flow, their eyesight, their judgment and their aim. (I say without excessive pride that MY aim is as good as ever.) The “down” seat position solves all these problems, save judgment.
In the rest of our studio activities, it’s a different matter. The solution is not so simple. When applied to pottery making, the boys’ failing eyesight, uncertain aim and lapses of judgment produce results that are unpredictable…make that un-pre-dick-table. These lapses in judgment are evidenced by their new kindness toward anything that comes out of the kiln.
These guys have come to love everything they make. Their artistic integrity has been replaced by artistic license. They can’t reject anything they do and now clearly suffer from what can only be termed “selectile dysfunction.” Just look at those spent spouts and love ick. What they call seminal is closer to senile. The only mitigating factor is that the boys can’t produce the way they used to. Their pottery count is way down. And without medication, it’s going to stay that way.
Still, I’ll give them this: Even if they can’t tell a good pot from a bad pot, everything they make is made with passion, blind passion… all-inclusive and earnest. To my own surprise, I’m coming to accept their earnestness in lieu of their former excellence, not that I have a choice. We are all getting up there. Chasing your youth when you are old can be pitiful; nobody here is doing that. We think it’s better to embrace the inevitable and love what you have left, which you can see from these pots is not that much. Besides, it’s not as if these senile seminal sensations are the first lame products of the American studio arts movement to have people lining up. With a little help, Beatrice Wood was pulling chains and cashing checks when she was a hundred years old. So, like Ms Wood and regardless of our age, we’re not afraid to show a little ambition and tempt our public. As you surely know from day-time television, if you want to specialize in a branch of geriatric marketing, it does help to have some influential name promoting your product. Hairy calls it “pimping pottery.” He’s right.
That’s where I come in; I can move this product. I know I called these pieces lame, but that’s not the same as worthless. Quite the contrary. Look around. Most potters, even the old pros, limit their pouring practices to that list I offered at the beginning. Fine enough, but miles short of the seminal essence poured forth in these unique combinations of anatomical vigor, reproductive aspiration and ceramic alchemy. The Rascal Ware boys can still perform some magic…and they do it with the seat down. God bless them.
We’ve discussed whether these pots deserve some special rating. Not XXX because they are modestly colored, don’t require batteries and have no moving parts. Yet some sensitive individuals may be offended by nearly authentic recreations of narcissistic male reproductive parts seemingly embarrassed, fatigued or dispirited by a recent misfire. In deference to these gentle souls, we’ve decided to employ our technique of a few years ago, a generic wrapping so obvious in it’s simplicity as to assure something special inside. View these at your own peril, delight or amazement. You have my guarantee; this is magic and it’s available only from Rascal Ware.
