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Georgette Ore Introduces Rascal Ware

Chapter Two

The question is still open. Some people think Rascal Ware is the artistic product of a deep affection…but others believe that the better word is infection. So there was some uncertainty when the staff met to plan our first public exhibition. Present were Junior Bucks, the owner; Mosley Bunkham, the business manager; Don Pilcher, the other potter; Shakespeare, the shop dog; and yours truly.

We discussed our project for hours. Junior kept repeating how important this event was. Pilcher talked endlessly about all the ceramic stuff he knows…emphasis on endlessly. He’s a retired professor and it’s as if he thinks and speaks in fifty- minute blocks of time. When he comes to certain subjects, like deflocculated kaolin and engobes, his speech quickens and he breaks out in perspiration on his upper lip. What a load.

Mosley doesn’t say much because he’s new. But when he screws up he always covers with this, “The sun don’t shine on the same dog’s ass every day.” That passes for philosophy around here. About Shakespeare; although he has a large receptive vocabulary, he doesn’t say anything either… naturally. It’s too ironic. They should have named him Harpo. I hate irony.

That’s five males and it makes me the only woman here. Honest to god, some days I look up from the wheel and all I can see are bricks and dicks. This is not an easy environment since we all live and work in that small, dark space between Pilcher’s ears. That’s a load also.

Short oblong pottery with wide base with greenish colorPilcher said we could knock this show out in three weeks. He suggested one clay, two throwers (him and me), three glazes and four shapes; bowls, plates, jars and vases. Yuck! He also noted that wood firing was very hot right now. I’m not sure he got the pun. Sad. I told him “Wood fire’s plenty fine, but not all the fucking time.” It took some doing but I eventually sold them on this: As a first exhibition we should do something out of Genesis…like the story about the ark. So we made all the pots in pairs- two of everything. We included earthenware, bone china, porcelain, lead glaze, salt glaze, overglaze, underglaze, lusters, oxidation, reduction, single fire, multifire, overfire. No raku…I hate raku. Junior said I threw 467 pots in all. He would know.

Which brings me to the “Thrown Thrown” pair. Junior hums constantly; usually the old Gershwin standard, Do It Again. It’s ironic because he has a pretty clear case of obsessive compulsive disorder. I bought him a book on OCD, which he’ll keep forever but probably won’t read. In response to his humming, I thought I’d double throw some pieces, first on the wheel… and then on the table. Since I was hired at RW to provide the creative spark, I thought the idea had some merit. And kind of funny too. Junior didn’t agree and said, to my face, that these pieces had exceeded anything like a creative spark and were now mired in a godless trench where they could be rescued only by the ghost of Peter Voulkos.

I told him these pots were actually in honor of his agreeable ways and the perfect propitiation of the RW motto- “We’ll make anything.” Junior bought it. He sees himself as an intellectual and all you have to do is wrap your argument in a six-dollar word and he’s yours. It’s kind of sad. But he pays on time and his check is always good.

In the end, what we have for you is a potter’s primer, an exhibition for other potters. Our work may be easier to appreciate when illuminated by a remark Shoji Hamada once made when viewing a diverse group of pots, “Yes, they are all the same…all different.” We find his conclusion inscrutable and improbable, but amazingly potent.

 

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