Today was the first day of the 40th year of the Conneaut Farmer’s Market. So said Jim. Today was also the exactly 2nd time I’ve set out my wares for sale. The first time was back in the early early 90’s at the Apple Butter Festival. Didn’t sell a single thing at that sale. Today wasn’t terrible. One woman mistook my price tags on the little blue shot glasses (left end bottom left corner of box) for $0.10 not $10. I didn’t figure that I needed to put the dollar sign on the price tag. I assumed it would be obvious. I was shocked saddened and confused all at the same time as trying not to laugh out loud in her face. This is a rough time to launch into a venture like this. In case you (whoever you are) didn’t notice, but things are really really bad and thesis will shortly feel like the Golden Age for most of us. Or maybe I’m just half crazy. Maybe not half crazy, as 3 of these little lumps of mud went off to be a part of  other people’s lives. Which is exciting. they don’t become alive until they have gone through the wash a few times.

I was taught that Pottery only belongs in the human hand. Not the Museum Pedestal. Once it goes onto that pedestal, it dies. when the vessel is warmed by the heat in my hands, or my lips pressed to the rim. This is where pottery comes alive. Where we begin to understand what life means. I’ll make a factual statement here. Having pottery in your life, will make it better. Pottery makes life better. Hand-made objects do that. Their individual flaws remind me that life is not injection molded. It’s dirty messy confusing and a bit magical. My life.

When I stopped at JT’s Bagels this morning on my way to the Market, a couple I recognize was sitting there having a Saturday at the bagel shop, and he says to me, “Nice Shelf. You make that out of reclaimed materials?” He was referring to the shelf that I had made and installed the day before that was, and is filled with my pottery, ELRONA roasted coffee (he roasts it about 3 miles from here) and the shoe box full of colorful potholders. I explained that yes, these were sawmill off cut, those were corn crib ribs, those were lathe from out on Creek Rd  in Kingsville. When I referred to the pottery, he informed me that “each one is different,” turned away from me and the conversation ended.

Someone bought a bowl the within about an hour of my putting the shelf up the day before.

I’ll put pics up next time I’m there.

People are funny. We see things how we expect them to be and any deviation from that expectation causes erratic responses. Especially when these people are looking at me and waiting for my response. (long hair giant beardo sgrnning so hard it looks like it hurts)


big stupid hat don’t help much either. Leah made sure I didn’t have any breakfast in my beard. If they could only hear the inner monologue. Life is a goofy thing.

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