I saw the Philistine Captives At Medinet and Bruegel, Goya behind ongoing compositions. It is a kind of exhaustion but work anyway when last nite I lay out a field of red and brown with porcelain lights and cut strips of thick porcelain, throwing them down so they came out a kind of fleur de lis that I slashed with a yardstick and assaulted with a rolling pin, which made it worse till I cut sections of it away with a knife and got this below. Most often I work on these a couple days. This one I have to leave as is after the fight. It is not my brain but my eyes that tell me what is right, so this one which could be viewed in any direction demands to be upside down.
Broken texts relied upon as a method almost. Clay falls off the table, pushed too far. Any number of disasters befall so it can become an active means of composition, which at least brings unexpected spontaneity to the work. Is intuition in the nature of clay like the hyper grammatical, each jot and tittle mathematical? No, to me language is sound and sounds skewed, consonant assonant meanings misspelled with punlike context, corporate collective meanings with image yes, but of the sound itself, therefore flowing and changing as the clay that falls forms the pot. There are other of these tapestries to be fired, cut and formed as such.
I accept them after i have forgiven them for what they are because there were previous stages in the making, as the past in an individual life, the amorphous forethought, the making of the clay, its lamination, the molding into form on the wheel, the separate parts waiting assembly, the stretching of the clay, the assembly and its bracing, the bending, molding, breaking, the covering and hoping it won't fall, the finishing of the head, adjustments, the signing, the flattening the base so it will stand: all this precedes the bisquing and glazing when whites blend and intensities fade. Then the final firing and it cannot look like what it did before. Then I may accept them after I have forgiven them for what they are.