As recommended, I stopped off in Santa
Clara. The objective was to find some pottery.
I pulled into the parking lot of the first roadside gallery
that had an "Open"
sign with the front door open.
I entered the gallery (which was more of a shop) and
was greeted by the son of the chief artist. An artist
himself, the son first detailed the lineage of the pottery
located in the counter-top display case. Then he proceeded
with his heritage that was displayed in the glass case
behind my right shoulder.
My budget did not grant me Chief status. The pottery--the
ornate symbolic detail etched into the kilned clay,
plus the fire-accented coloring set precisely within the
etched lines, made his asking price a steal.
Me, ever so the Modernist,
lost interest in the symbolism that emanated from the
spirited pottery.
I turned around and spotted two plain, small, black vases.
"My nieces," he claimed. He shared with me
their ages as represented in the height of the vases.
Both were appealing. I settled on the smaller of the
two. The vase was offset, but globular, whereas the other
vase was oblong and prissy. The vase I purchased reminded
me of an Alvar
Aalto golden original--a "great glob of glass."
Yes, I purchased the work of a twelve year old--and
I probably paid too much. But what I purchased was not
the artifact, but part of the Chief's heritage.
While finalizing the transaction, I peered to the left.
Placed atop an office desk were four plain black vases.
"How much for those," I asked rabidly with
(Isamu)
Noguchi in my mind.
He sighed distressed knowing that he was going to miss
an opportunity.
"Those aren't for sale yet," explaining the
reasons why.
Me, in full gallery must-have mode as if I was on a First
Friday hop in Old City, Philadelphia, inquired
about the Chief's pottery technique. I started with the
basics:
"What's this made out of?" (Duh!)
"The
red clay from the land."
"And the kiln process?"
"The clay, once molded by hand, is placed in a ....
To get the black color ... is used. To etch ... is used.
To get the different colors involves ...."
I sighed very pleased. The Chief knows his pottery and
he has taught his son well--and the tradition is being
passed along to his nieces.
I shook his hand in gratitude. He accepted my earnestness,
but stood petrified and looked away as if history
was being replayed.
I secured my bubble-wrapped purchase in the trunk of
my rental. Got into the car, put the key into the ignition.
As I turned the key, I thought to myself, "Pilgrim."
Ed/Ken/daddy
