I've unloaded my kiln and it was a bit of a blow. The bottom glaze of the above mug is not the eggshell I am used to, but rather a shade that tends more toward egg yolk. This picture doesn't really capture my point (for photography work, I usually go here, but this one I took myself). Trust me when I tell you this, my eyeballs see yellow even if my camera lens does not. Since eggshell happens to be one of my favorites, my pots were pretty well smothered in it. So it was a bit of a shock to see the yellow strangers peering back at me from the kiln. Yet, although it took a while, I have decided not to mourn the fact that the pots did not want to become white, but rather to rejoice in the fact that they chose to be yellow.
Frankly, I don't have time to be a picky artist. And thankfully, my husband tells me the color isn't the monstrosity I first imagined. C'est différent, that is all. He even prefers the yellow. Now that my eyes have grown accustomed to it, I can see the appeal. That said, with the next glaze firing, I'll be fixing my eggshell. I've made lemonade with my lemons and now I want to go back to making milk, chromatically speaking.
In other news, I had lunch with an old friend today. The last time I saw her we were both young and unencumbered. We met today each with a child in tow. The stark contrast in our circumstances between our last encounter and this one, coupled with how little each of us has changed, gives proof to the nature argument. People, I have found, don't tend to alter much over time. I'd like to think we become wiser, but experience does not change our rhythm of speech or our sense of humor. A comforting thought as my skin gradually becomes more and more unrecognizable in the mirror; at least when I stop recognizing myself, I'll still get my jokes.
I like to throw things.