I started my day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the last room of the Matisse show. My brother, a friend and I studied how the canvas had been re-stretched. We noted drips and choices of red and quality of line. I was struck by Matisse's assurance in brush stroke and variation in color. Still there are huge mysteries in how he captures light. I walked back to the subway in the grey mist of December, and when I arrived back downtown talked about the shape of cups on a table with a writer. I told the story of how I came to make pots. I described fluid nature when using wet clay and the angles of use when fired. I look for clarity in pale light and find answers by putting stems in a vase. When the sun sets I try to remember to catch the colors in the evening clouds.
"Every thought had a long meaning; every motive had angles and corners, and could be measured. And yet whatever she saw and thought and attempted was still fluid and vague. The shape of a table against afternoon light still held a mystery, awaited a final explanation. You looked for clarity, she wrote, and the answer you had was paleness, the flat white cast that a snowy sky throws across a room."
--Mavis Gallant (Irina from Paris Stories, 2002)