I created a vessel as part of my Groundspring series this week but somehow the symmetry and shape of the opening didn’t feel dynamic or interesting. I followed an impulse to cut into and across the top of the vessel, which would require cutting into a large surface area and ripping/tearing the clay.
I didn’t know how the clay would respond or how it would go so it took me a couple of days before I could centre myself enough to take a chance at possibly destroying a vessel that took me days to complete.
When I spoke with my friend, and Japanese brushmaster, Ari, today she described the sensation of being in front of a blank paper with her brush. The paper was expensive and Ari knew she needed to approach her first movement with calm centred presence ~ movement had to come from deep within and be exact. One mistake and the work would be destroyed. It’s not like she could paint over her work (or I could reform the clay without starting all over). Ari described the feeling as standing at the edge of a cliff and preparing to jump. I reflected on what happens during a geological fracture when a separation occurs in a rock formation due to stress exceeding the rock’s strength, causing it to break apart. The tension that must build up prior to separation was something I felt in my body as I prepared to create a large fracture/separation in the body of the vessel.
Aware of the tension, and remembering to breathe, I picked up a serrated tool and cut into the top surface - not all the way through but enough so that when I ripped the clay off it would leave a jagged fractured edge. I followed my hands as they carved out an oval shaped opening across the diameter of the vessel. Slowly and exactly I removed the clay in a way that left a raw edge.
I felt a release of tension, as relief, after the opening was complete. It was raw, jagged and more imperfect and beautiful than I could have imagined.
