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Hurt Transitory

A shadow dot moves across the sun. The innermost planet, Mercury, is transiting. It is throwing its huge little shadow across us, two planets out.

Fallen Rome left us wisdom in her death throes: Sic [Thus] transit [it passes,] gloria [the glory] mundi [of the Earth].

¿Que pasa? ask my Hispanic friends. And one answer was my junior college newspaper, El Tiempo Pasando.

Children are wasting away in at least three global regions. Something is frightfully wrong with the way various influencers are conducting themselves, since this very moments there is so much abundance of foodstuffs that no one on Earth need go hungry.

Some of us hurt, and some of us want to hurt others of us. “That is the way of the world,” we hear. But the world is brave, and the world is new, and the way of the world is as it has never before been.

¿Que pasa?

It it up to us billions.

Today I sculpted a chess-piece perched bird, a pawn, the pawn that remembers Emily Dickinson’s description of Hope as “the thing with feathers.” And if my pawn of Hope makes her transition to the other end of the chessboard, she may transform,

Actualize,

And free us.

gather round the watering bowl

the clay-form array on the ware board looked as if

they were waiting for some water in brother bowl

..

the chess pieces are bone dry

the bowl and birds were just made

and are still wet

..

when all are dry they will be bisque fired

and then glazed and glaze fired

a continuance of a tradition

that began millennia ago

..

and when the glazed ware emerges from the kiln

perhaps there will be another gathering

around the bowl

..

perhaps some non-canterbury tales told

perhaps love made

been away from the studio &

three pieces needed glazing

so i did them all in atlantis aqua

a pawn a bishop and a knight on a dragon

then looked for clay of mine and found some

and made a bird with four variably-sized eggs

there’s an hour of session time left

but wrapping things up now

makes for a leisurely cleanup and a sooner reunion

with a sweetheart who’s waiting at home

Last week, hastily I turned a lump of clay into a semblance of a bird,  then wrapped it to slow its drying. When I took it out this morning I decided to finish sculpting it with no help from any tools. As ways the goal is to become a better sculptor.

The clay is firm but still has some flex to it. I was able to change the overall shape with careful squeezing compression with two hands. It was possible to remove a small amount of clay from the (unreal) tail section, making eyeballs for the lady’s head, but I then faced the challenge of affixing them, and I didn’t want to use saliva, finding the prospect literally distasteful. Luckily I had a small amount of perspiration around my temples, and I harvested as much of it as I could, and now I need a shower. 🙂

Fingernails came in handy for making curves curvier and sun shapes less ambiguous. I’m not too obsessed with perfection–Nature herself is loaded with imperfections–but it improves a work of art to reduce, if not eliminate, internal inconsistency.

Here’s bird-eyedly looking at you, Friends!

Menagerie

Making friends again with clay

Efferversced your mood today

Notwithstanding sky-so-gray–

Amplified that riff-strewn sound;

Gotten butterflies astound

Everyone with what you’ve found.

Raise a glass to absent friends.

Iridescent dusk descends

East to west where rainbow wends.