I don’t really collect things. Perhaps because I find it too difficult to define why I would want to own certain objects within a given category but not necessarily all. I remember a time during my childhood when a dear aunt of mine was known for a collection of owls. Not living owls, but rather owl-inspired objects. I can visualize owl cookie jars, owl pillows, owl statuettes, owl jewelry, even owl towels. What happened, if I remember right, was that she was inundated with owls. She had to make it very clear that her owl days were over.
At some point I began to appreciate pottery. It used to be that I would see a sign on the side of the road in a tourist town proclaiming “Pottery” and I’d be itching to stop. Pots, pots, any pots. Now I could keep driving. What’s happened is I’ve stopped seeing all pots as equal. They’ve begun to speak to me, and only some of them are saying things I understand.
We used four new reams of packing paper when we packed our boxes for Oxford. One entire ream was all in one small box, labeled Pottery. In this box are some of my most precious personal possessions–a small group of pots all by one potter. I first met this artist because she is a prized friend of my husband’s family. Her name is Emine, and she lives and creates in rural Connecticut. Her studio is one of my favorite places to visit, even after I once accidentally demolished a gorgeous urn with my mammoth purse. I still love to return to the scene of the crime.A visit to her studio is, in some ways, like a rummage through a creative mind. Evidence of her imagination is everywhere. There is a fanciful, sometimes almost humorous emphasis in the way she forms her sculptures and vessels. I had an art professor in college who defined the main aspects of visual art as shape, line, color, texture, and form. The elements in Emine’s work that capture me most are form and texture. The way the pots fit in your hand, the contrast between the rough exteriors and the smooth interiors, the tracks in the clay.