Don't take, don't take, don't break my amateur art
I heart my art
Don't make, don't make, don't make a joke of my art
Ne plaisantes pas avec mon art
My fabulous, magnificent, terrific sister comforted me with a hint to the great song by Robots in Disguise quoted above when I complained about some odd remarks by my claymates, that confused me. It was nothing they meant in a nasty way and they had no intention to hurt me and at the time I was rather amused. Nevertheless their words creep into my thoughts and I wonder why of all things the first that came to their minds when they saw the textured bowls shown in my previous post was to tell me, that food will get stuck and dust might collect in the indentations and that they saw something like that to prepare garlic. Garlic? Dust? Do these bowls look as if I ever had the intention to use them for food? And, seriously, I couldn't care less about dust. Do I rate my ceramics too highly when I consider them to be works of art? But to entitle it art leads to another subject matter that drains my energy, the prejudice that art in general is worthless and useless, an opinion that casts unjustified doubt when I need encouragement and that I had to face so often that it blocks me in my work because I can almost hear it hissed into my ear while I'm crafting.
Still I heart my art.