Perfectly Imperfect

It had been an admittedly tough four days.  I was very down on Thursday and part of it was that my sister TP was packing and moving to Asheville.  We had moved here together, excited and confident in our decision.  She was going to marry Prince Charming and we would continue our sister journey living in the same area.  It didn't work out that way though.  Prince Charming turned out to be a warty, old frog (my apologies to real frogs everywhere) and she was left in an untenable situation; she had given up her job, moved halfway across the country and when it all fell apart, she had to make quick decisions.  Luckily, she is an awesome salesperson and her old company hired her back immediately and gave her the Asheville territory.  She packed up and moved to her new home Sunday morning.  We spent Saturday evening weeping - uncertain, afraid and sad at the turn of events.  The good news is she's only a six hour car drive away - annoying but certainly not impossible - and we were able to bond over this whole, glorious, painful, growth-inducing experience.

But Saturday, oh Saturday, was something else. It was rainy and gray for the 9th day in a row and it got off to a rocky start for reasons that I won't go into.  On top of that, I had a very painful conversation, (argument) with someone very important in my life.  By the end of the conversation (fight), we were both in tears and nothing was resolved.  My spirits were low to say the least and I had that horrible, anxious feeling that I get when I have to walk around with unresolved feelings. I do not do this well - granted, I used to be worse - I would beat a dead horse relentlessly until the subject was resolved one way or another.  The problem with this approach is that I usually end up with a resolution that is unfavorable to my desired outcome because I pushed and pushed and pushed and just couldn't let.it.go.  This has been one of my most difficult challenges in sobriety - to learn to sit with unresolved conflict.  To practice restraint of pen and tongue.  To give the situation some time and space so everyone can breathe and regroup. To count to ten....or a hundred or even a thousand or ten thousand.  I absolutely hate uncertainty and I am *certain* (heh, joke!) that it stems from the uncertainty that plagued my childhood and teen years because of my mother's alcoholism and mental illness. 

To my very small credit however, I did manage to table the conversation before it descended from merely "ugly" to "fatally corrupted" but I'd like to have put the brakes on even earlier - when it first took a wrong turn; but hey like we say in AA, it's progress, not perfection.  Anyway, there I was, a rainy Saturday, miffed and off-kilter for so many reasons and next on my plate is a project that I had been looking forward to for several weeks - my Raku pottery class.  I have been enamoured with Raku for several years and wanted to learn how to do it since I first saw it. And full disclosure, it also holds a sentimental value for me with regard to the person I fought with that day.  It was a class being given in conjunction with the Craven Arts Council Festival, and I discovered it on a fluke which of course I consider to be serendipitous....nothing happens by accident in God's world, people!! 

Despite the poor beginning to my day, I was terribly excited. I was finally going to learn about Raku and create my first pieces.  There were only three of us in the class and it was outside under a big tent in the rain.  We chose 2 pre-made, basic, unfired vases and the instructor/artist explained and guided us through the process.  One of the pieces was to be for my friend with whom I had just had the fight - it was always my plan, even before the fight.  I applied my tape on the vase in the shape of a fish - a special symbol for us and dipped the vase in the mixture that would become the glaze on the piece.  When the piece is fired, the tape melts into the pot and creates a design in the pot.  I created another beautiful piece for myself with a free form floral design and we dipped our pieces in wax to protect the bottom from the heat (I think) and then they went into the kiln.  For 45 minutes, our art would "cook".  I wandered into the convention center to see the other offerings and visit the booths of all the vendors.  New Bern and Eastern Carolina are filled with some talented artists, I was pleasantly surprised and very motivated to pursue my own artistic pursuits.  They even had a writer's corner and the local theater groups were present as well.  All the artsy things I love under one roof!  Heaven! In short order,  I was feeling better about the last couple of days.

At the designated time, I made my way back to our tent.  The instructor Candace was puttering about.  As I approached she looked up.  "How are we doing?" I chirped.  I was reinvigorated, happy - calmed by the creative process.  "Well," she said, "both of your pieces exploded."  I looked at her in disbelief.  I could not believe what I heard. "WHAT?"  I said.  "Yes, I am so sorry.  One totally exploded and I had to remove it from the kiln."  She pointed to where the pieces of one of my vases lay.  "The other is very damaged, but I think the part of the vase with the fish on it is ok..."  I just stood and looked at her and I felt unwanted tears prick my eyes and all the disappointment and sadness of the last three days come crashing back in around me.  As I tried to speak, my throat caught and tears eked out of the corners of my eyes.  SHIT.  I can't believe I'm crying now.  Poor Candace looked at me not understanding, I imagine, why in the world I was crying. "I am so sorry", I said, "it's been a tough week and this just feels like the last straw."  I stood there still crying, trying desperately to compose myself.  Finally, I looked down at my cute pink and brown Burberry rainboots and stared at them until I could speak and meet her eyes without bursting into tears again.

After a bit, I looked up.  She gave me a hug and said, "Now you know the heartbreak of Raku.  If  you still want to do this after this experience then you're hooked."  She offered to give me my money back or a discount of a future weekend workshop.  I said I would think about it.  Everyone else's vases were still being fired, so I went back into the convention center and talked to the women at registration.  I told them what happened, tears in my eyes again.  I explained that I had had a bad week and suddenly they had tears in their eyes.  "Please don't cry", one of them said - "you'll make us cry." Suddenly, the three of us were giggling at that and we agreed to see how my damaged piece came out and if I wanted my money back, they'd give it to me.  It was up to me.

Armed with a potential refund (although all I wanted were my vases), I went back to the tent again.  We tore up pieces of paper into metal trashcans; when the vases are removed from the kiln, you put them in a bed of paper and throw paper on top until the piece is covered.  The paper bursts into flames and the smoke and paper change the oxidation process, causing the piece to absorb the smoke and changing the glaze giving it a coppery, shimmery finish.  Candace and a helper removed the kiln cover and wearing thick, protective gloves and using long heavy tongs removed the vases from the fire, laid them on the paper in the trashcans while we quickly threw more paper on top watching as the paper first smoked and then caught fire.  We put covers on the trashcans and now had to wait 10 more minutes for this process to finish.  The last step would be to dip the pieces in water (where another risk of cracking still waited) and wash them.

The ten minutes ticked by.  Candace opened the trashcans and one by one pulled out the pieces.  The burnt paper clung to them but through it you could see the shimmery blues, greens and coppers of the Raku.  She then removed my remaining but damaged vase.  She dropped it in the water and I waited to hear the inevitable crack - the final destruction of what was left, but amazingly, just heard the sizzle of heat meeting water - no crack!  I went to the tub of water and peered in.  I reached in and pulled my piece out.  The bottom was totally blown out and there was a jagged hole in the back side like a cauterized wound.  But a funny thing happened; I wasn't disappointed - I wasn't even sad because it was beautiful.  The Raku process had finished perfectly on what was left of my artwork.  The fish I designed had burned into the clay - it looked like a relic from a time long ago.  The colors were amazing.  It was perfect. Damaged, broken and it would never be a vase, but it was absolutely stunning regardless. I scrubbed it clean and silently marveled at its beauty. Watchers and passer-bys including the ladies at registration oohed and aahed.  The ladies hugged me and marveled at its imperfectness.

In its imperfection it had achieved a beauty it could never have had it come out of the kiln academically "perfect".  In that moment, I saw that the piece was a reflection of me and my heart.  Cracked and chipped with few holes blown through me, but like the old Skin Horse from the Velveteen Rabbit, real.

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'

It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. Once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

That vase is perfect and real.  I am real and because I am the only one in this universe with this particular set of DNA, I am unique and beautiful.  If everything in my life unfolded perfectly, if I never faced challenges of either moral, physical or spiritual nature, I would be something that needed to be kept very carefully - full of sharp edges and broken to the point of no repair.  The lines in my face, the gray hair on my head (which I dye - look - I've earned my gray hair but I reserve the right to honor it in secret), the cracks and scars in my heart all bear witness to my becoming "real".  I have loved with open heart and open mind.  I have lost with great, almost unbearable pain.  The rabbit asked if it hurt.  It does.  But still I retain the desire and capacity for love.  I am undeterred, despite the loss and pain, on my quest for love.

I appreciate the broken yet still beautiful things in my life, more I realize, than the new, shiny things.  The broken, chipped and cracked things have a story, a history and usually a memory that goes with them.  I lug them around from place to place and when I unwrap them yet again, in another new home, each one never fails to bring a smile to my face.  With my heart it's different.  Some of the memories are difficult and painful, they hurt when I pull them out and look at them.  I must look at them though.  They are a timeline of my life and the love I've given and received.  When I look at them, I remember the love that filled my heart, that still fills my heart.  It reminds that I cannot shut my heart down, give up hoping for love again.  I know that someday, someone will look at me, broken and cracked yet still beautiful - perhaps even more beautiful because of it and see me as I am.  Perfectly imperfect.

 Perfect

The back side - a votive holder*

Bottom is top.  Let the light shine!*

* a special thank you to the bartender at Craven 247 who helped me discover alternate uses! :)

PS. I am signing up for a Raku workshop this fall and taking a wheel class - so that's that, I'm on the path.  Wish me luck as I see if I have potter skills!