He's reading as I approach -- it's book about how we're all connected . . .
thoroughly researched, including interviews with numerous physicists and other scientists . . .
it sounded interesting, but I've already forgotten the title and the author.
He wants to know if the shape of the tea bowl has a functional purpose
and why I call them tea bowls and not cups . . .
I reply that the shape is serendipitous, there only to make the hand feel comfortable . . .
and that for me bowls have gravitas - evoking ceremony and offering,
whereas tea cups seem flighty, somewhat lightweight, frivolous even.
I find myself explaining the process of inscribing the lines and inlaying the slip
. . . he tells me that he's writing a play.
. . . and he is trying to devise a way for someone to put a secret message on the back of the Rosetta Stone . . . a message that could be revealed at a crucial moment . . .
we speculate about clay and glue and tar and acid . . .
and what would stick to stone and what would look like it belonged.
Then we talk of making art for the love of it--
plays to be seen by friends and family,
tea bowls to be given away
sharing a joy in the process
then sharing the process with the world.
I walk away, embraced by the warm sun and the brilliant colors of the day,
filled with the contentment of a shared moment in time and space --