Dear inspiring reader,
I’m writing a shorter newsletter this week — and next week might not been too long either (how many of you cheer?!) — because I’m travelling to the USA. When you receive this I’ll have landed in Pennsylvania, which is the state where I was born. Unfortunately, it’s a sombre homecoming because I’m attending the memorial service for my uncle (who was also my godfather).
We often return to places we intended to revisit during such sad circumstances. So, my past week has been busy with organising details with my mother for the journey.
Booking hotels, flights, trains, buses should be easier with all our technology, but it’s way more stressful, with comparison price sites for comparison price sites, authorising card payments via multiple devices, and flashing prompts warning you that you’ll lose a particular deal if you don’t click on it right now! You’ll need that excursion after the long hunt for the mythical bargain.
It’s been far too long since I visited the USA, so there’s an undercurrent of excitement pulsing under the distraction of details and mournful news.
While driving between last-minute errands I heard a person on a podcast relate how libraries saved his life, which caught my attention. Long-term readers will remember the post I wrote about my love of libraries, which still rates as one of my most popular newsletters.
In this case the person was raised as part of a tightly-controlled religion, in which he was only allowed to read a restricted list of texts. He didn’t start reading fiction until he was in his mid 20s, and he described it as a skill he had to learn.
After experiencing the loss of a friend he wandered into a library and discovered the joys of reading, and that revelation kept him from going down a very dark path. Within the covers of the books he encountered characters who had thoughts like his, even if their life circumstances differed from his own.
For anyone raised with a constant supply of fiction and entertainment from myriad sources, this late-blooming love of story is startling. It is a reminder of the profound power of art to illuminate our lives. He went on to become a writer and craft his own tales, and he also supports his local libraries by teaching there regularly.
Creative expression can be a rich joy when you allow yourself to participate in your chosen art form with abandon. In its purest output I think it is a holy practice.1 No wonder we shy away from it or even fear it. To love something and be bad at it is a terrifying prospect.
Uou only improve through trying, failing, trying and failing, and slowly improving until the next setback, so it can be a frustrating cycle. But oh, the ecstasy of the breakthrough!
There is no way to avoid it — you will not experience the triumph without the heartache.2
Generally, I’m not a fan of TV reality shows3, but I tend to be interested in those that offer a platform for people to explore and enhance a creative talent.
Of them all, perhaps my favourite is the Great Pottery Throw Down, which has been running for seven series on Channel 4 in the UK. I unashamedly adore the premise and the ethos of the show. During each episode the selected participants must create and fire a piece of pottery (and complete a second mystery challenge) under the perceptive scrutiny of master potters Richard Miller and Keith Brymer Jones, aided by light relief from presenter Siobhán McSweeney.
The difficulty of the projects increases rapidly as the show progresses. The kiln itself adds an uncertain element to every make, stressing the pottery skills of even the most experienced potter. In each episode there is genuine tension about which creations will survive the crucible and which will emerge in pieces. Elation and agony, side by side.
It is endearing to observe the good will, support and affection the assorted potters have for each other, but most marvellous is watching their confidence blossom as they produce work they never would have attempted otherwise. It’s a testament to how we may short-change our ambition unless we have a judge by our elbow eyeballing us — and cheering us on when our creations go wonky.
The season finale just aired on Sunday, and I watched it while doing chores in advance of my trip to the USA. I shed a few tears as the potters’ final works were reviewed and (spoiler!) the ceramic trophy was bestowed on Donna. Famously, Brymer Jones has a tendency to burst into tears when he is overcome by the beauty of the work his protégées produce. It’s a badge of honour to have ‘made Keith cry’. I think it’s wonderful to possess such passion for art and be unashamed to show it publicly.
The final pieces of pottery were a revelation — they began as an idea in each potter’s mind, found shape through the application of hands upon wet clay (with additional glazes and flourishes) and were transformed by a furious fire to fix the form.
Not every piece will be to our taste, but what a mysterious, courageous process! No wonder we weep, celebrating the potter’s audacious success.
I spotted a review of the show deriding its ‘cosy’ quality and implying the format was stale. How easy it is to be cynical about passion.
What’s much harder and braver is to make beautiful work (and sometimes fail) in front of an audience of millions.
Donna said of her experience:
‘I also learned that I have more resilience than I give myself credit for and that I am still as determined as I was as a twenty something year old girl. I hope that I was able to show people that you do not have to be mean to or step on other people in order to be successful - you can be successful and still be kind to others as you move towards your goals. I hope that my children learn from my experience that yes, it is hard to put yourself into uncomfortable situations but that sometimes, when we do step out of our comfort zone that’s when the really great stuff happens.’4
And yes, there are many unholy versions too!
I will probably discuss AI at some point, but in regard to its use to create art or stories from text prompts I’m struck by how it circumvents the process of learning and making. For some people it is an attractive tool because it allows them to skip the hard parts and jump to the ‘glory’. But the most sublime art comes from the rubble of your dreams. From that, if you are strong enough, you can fashion a magnificent mosaic.
This is not a judgement on others’ tastes, merely my preference.
‘Northern Ireland woman crowned champion of hit Channel 4 show The Great Pottery Throw Down’ by Clare Catmill via News Letter.