Intervals

It's strange how "spaces in time" can misdirect one's focused attention.

For me, creating with clay is a mood paradigm quite aside from the hustle and bustle of "reality". It's almost like being in an parallel universe where time, distance and any form of measurement is unreal.

The moment one steps into regimented routine, one loses this focus, or un-focus as it were.

Which is what happened in early November when i helped out in my son's office. True to my nature, (as Robert Rubin states it so well):"I tend to invest myself very deeply in whatever I do . . . and find almost everything interesting."; i immersed myself in day-to-day practical affairs -- and quite lost contact with my creative self.

Home now and trying to engage the disengage. Puttering. Searching for the arrangement of hours which had worked well for me before. Trying to re-adjust the pace from "out in the world" back to being in the "inner world".

Checking the damp-dry box, for i quite remembered that i'd been working on a piece before the office expedition.

But what totally blew me away -- was that upon opening the box and holding the last piece created -- it was as if "anyone" had created it, but not necessarily me! I felt no identity with it.

There was the vague recollection that i'd been working with 2 new clays and had decided to intermix them in the same piece to see what effects could be produced. But there was no emotional involvement with the piece.

Strange. For usually i value each line, curve and contour; each feeling of movement within the piece itself, as if life was expressing itself through the work.

But this piece, set hastily aside in preparation of different endeavors, lacks all but disinterested viewership when held in my hand.

How can that be?

Chae

P.S. Have a great Thanksgiving everyone and may it be a happy occasion for all.