Today, I’m trying something new. What follows is a short sketch I wrote in a single sitting
Who among us remembers their creation? I don’t.
I know I was created, that there was a time before when I was scattered dust and water, and that later, those parts of me were brought together. Held in hands. Slammed on a table. Air left me. I was made economical, compressed. This was the time before I was me, a time I was worked into being. Molded. A man, my creator, hovered over me. He sat on a stool. His hairy hands pinched and poked, forced the bits of dirt and water into the shape he desired me to be. He pressed dimples and pulled moles from my skin. Mounds like mesas. Bumps like barnacles, and deep in me, I remembered the sea, a time when everything was underwater. When my creator decided all was as it should be, he left me out to dry. Now, air worked her magic. She pulled from me, stiffened my body. I became solid but fragile. This was the most fragile I’ve ever been.
My creator came in one day, hiccupping with joy. He spun me around. He must have thought me too bland, perhaps hapless, because he smeared pigmented dust and water across my skin, whites and browns. His fingers pulled colors down my sides, spooling creamy white in a puddle at my foot. Dark brown dribbled out my mouth.
My first memories are of the fire. This, too, reminded me of another time, not a memory, but, like the others, a sensation I held in my body of a time when there was no water, only heat. A fire so hot, I became like water and flowed down mountainsides. I rolled over plants, other dirt. I accumulated.
When I cooled, I felt like me again, a strange sensation since I barely felt like anything. I remember everything so vividly now. My creator’s pleasure in seeing my hardened body, how the pigment had become a part of me, everything crunched in the fire, so I was no longer mud, no water, no dust, but something else entirely. Here, I was the second most fragile I’ve ever been.
He submerged me in liquid. I came up breathless, gagging and oozing. He could have returned me to the kiln. Many others would have, but my creator wanted to give me the gift of glamour, so like magic, he added small bits of gold to my shape, adorning me with pieces of body jewelry.
The second firing made certain I could never return to my individual parts. I came out fully cooked, the strongest I’ve ever been. Me was me for the first time.
My creator shipped me to an old friend, someone he’d known when he was in college and living on the other side of the country. Sometimes, his friend puts dried flowers in my mouth like a trumpet. Sometimes, she picks me up and considers where I came from.
.
This came from a simple writing exercise. If you feel compelled, you can try it. Simply choose an object, any object of any material will do. Set a timer for four minutes, Study the object for the entirety of the time. Pick it up if you can. Smell it. Listen to it. Touch it. Consider where it came from. After the four minutes, write something based on the object. Today, I studied a vase made by my friend Zach Ozma. Zach makes ceramics and other artful objects.