A selection of pottery made by Fr. Theophan. Photo by Fr. Theophan Mackey
BY FR. THEOPHAN MACKEY
St. Job of Pochaiv Orthodox Church
As I am nearing a full half-century on this planet, and as I have a wife who is concerned that I spend at least most of the second half of a century alive with her, I went to the doctor today for an annual checkup. For convenience’s sake, we scheduled my daughter’s physical as well, right before mine. As expected, she’s in much better health than I am.
While we were waiting to take a second blood-pressure reading (hoping in vain that it would come down a little), I found out that our doctor dabbles in pottery. Some of her work was displayed on the shelf behind her desk. We compared notes and bewailed the lack of time available to throw.
It turns out that she has one of my mugs, a gift from my wife who often “goes shopping” in the garage for my pottery.
There is something real and good about hand-made things. Drinking my morning coffee out of a mug I bought at the craft fair or the Fuller Lodge, or one of my own, is so, so much better than a Target or Walmart purchase. I really can’t explain it, other than a metaphysical connection to an actual person. Someone with a soul, not a corporation or factory half a world away employing near-slave labor.
I buy things from Amazon. Occasionally those things are from China or Indonesia. But when it comes to the small things that I use every day, I would much rather meet the person who made them. Sure, they cost more, but when you buy from an artist, you’re not just paying for the materials. Clay is cheap, and although glazes can be expensive, you don’t use that much on each pot. Making the bowl itself might not even take that long, so where does the “value added” come from?
When you buy my clay vessel, more than the cost of the labor or materials, you are investing backward in the hundreds of failures, the thousands of hours of practice, and the years of experimentation and learning. Without those, that pot you’re considering purchasing would not exist.
New pottery students (at least the ones that I went to school with) will often quickly become concerned with their emerging and yet non-existent “style,” or at a minimum, who they want to emulate in their work. Any instructor worth their salt quickly disassembles that armature.
“Learn the basics.”
“Become proficient”
“You’re not that good…”
Sometimes, if they are kind, they will add, “…yet.”
The novice guitarist, full of enthusiasm and not much else, learns the introduction to Stairway to Heaven, and then realizes that the effort doesn’t translate to real proficiency. Repetitive scales and chord practice and the development of painful callouses still await.
Every discipline begins with the basics, with the hard but vital stuff: scales, diagrams, charts, equations, etc. which all need to be internalized before creativity and freedom can come to fruition.
That pot, that exquisite jewelry, that poem, that song, if it moves you, was made by someone who became free in that medium. And that is a precious thing.