Kiss the Frog So It Can Fly

            by Tammy Vitale

Everything begins like this:
energy meets potential; o-
vals like surprised mouths open

then close.  In the clean blue, things live
above and below the moon-fire
surface, some transforming from one

shape to another with no more
thought than moth and flame give each to
each.   Every tadpole knows how

life moves always towards itself
like a bright sun’s shadow, docile
but aware of latent power

in red skies, black stars, glittering
wings hovering above the sweet
scent of new blooming hyacinths.

*****

The making and the firing is sometimes the end, but sometimes just the beginning.

  When I unloaded the kiln I thought of this poem.  It is dated 11/23/98.  Time flies. 

Kiln openings are birthdays (not for me, for the art), holidays (for me), adventure (one just never knows what the kiln imps will allow).

When glazing I broke 5 things – 3 tossed and 2 fired and I will glue them and keep them for myself or make them look like it was all planned (that’s art).  I can tell you that working this thin in clay requires a light hand (not my norm).  Now to see how much tugging it will take – mostly the focals will be done in 22 or 24 guage wire so they should be fine.  I’d actually like to do them in sterling silver, but am afraid that would price them up too much.

That’s it for today.  Recovering from a most excellent Black Crowes show last night (alas, She Talks to Angels was played Saturday night not last night.  Still, I danced as if no one was watching)(in my one foot square corner space by the back bar).

Wylde Women’s Wisdom

(okay – another poem.  You’d think it was poetry Saturday).

Declaration

Listen
the hearthlog has split at last
yellow orange flame licking clean
the splinters

Hear it singing

I tell you I am no different

What was fused
has separated and I have opened

to the place where all comes apart
laughing.

Tammy Vitale

(seemed appropriate given the head space I’m in right now.  More on that tomorrow).