If I tell you my story, will you listen?
Part of my story lies beneath my skin, beneath my clothes.
Listen if you will.
Friday, April 2, 2021
Who Was Upstairs?
"Who was upstairs?" is the title of this cup.
Like many of us who use ceramic clay these days, I utilize surface of my functional ware as canvas for graphic expression. The main room of a Polish castle I visited in a vivid 1981 dream is a space whose mystery lingers with me still. Large game heads hung with fresh dangling sinews on the wall across from the entry. The space was vast, and our hostess was kind. I didn't sense that this unusual installation was in any way extraordinary in these regions, and I accepted their presence without fear.
Stairs were on this wall behind the heads (See cup.) We didn't go upstairs in my dream; we went left into a room with a coffered ceiling where small prized possessions of the dead levitated just below each coffer.
I believe my Polish biology, my DNA, released these spaces to my visual mind.
Someday I would like to visit Wawel Castle in Krakow. I want to know who's upstairs.
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