#6 summer shards

As a beginning potter I made many covered jars. It seemed like part of the vocabulary of what a potter should create, but every jar once brought home to my parents lost its lid. It was as if my family did not understand the concept of enclosure. Sometimes I thought they looked better without their lids, so I took it as a criticism of my potting abilities.

As a kid I liked the idea of jars with labels. I liked the organization that it represented. The sugar was on the counter or the cookies were there for after school. But now as I make lidded jars I like their poetic potential. I have considered them capable of capturing tears. Our friend Mikio once told me he was going to keep secrets beneath his woodfired lid. The other day a friend stood in our kitchen and took the lid off of a soft gray jar. She was surprised by the bright yellow stash of my daily vitamins hidden inside. Once another friend brought a film maker for a visit and she made sure to point out the multi-sized jars on the wooden cabinet that stored the dog food, cat kibble, and rice. Loading the kiln several weeks ago the smallest lidded jar got tiny clay wads to keep the lid from sticking. My helper asked, “What are you going to use that for?” I told her it was to hold my wish for peace.