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
