I’ve been working on the “Mending” series for a while now, since I impulsively decided to repair a pot that had cracked from drying too quickly. I ended up really liking how the pot looked and felt. In that instance I really did just cover up, rather obviously, the crack, and the repair rendered the pot as serviceable as any other pot.

This piece, and the repair to it, stuck with me. One thing I found myself thinking about was how to engage more thoughtfully with ways things are damaged and repaired. Yes, some things—and by “things” here I mean everything from a table leg to a person—can be repaired and no one will ever be the wiser. Or it can be repaired and you might be able to tell it has been damaged by looking, but the thing can still function just like it did before.

But some things can only be mended in a way that leaves the object or person fundamentally altered.

I want to make pots that engage with that latter condition, to materialize repair as an act that acknowledges that deep injury or trauma changes a thing or a person in a way that no expert repair can hide or cover up. How they actually function in the world is also altered.

So I often call these pots the “for some things but not for others” pots. You can put fruit in my big, mended bowls but you cannot fill them with soup. You can put a small gathering of flowers in one of my mended vases but not a full bouquet. I find their mended bits very beautiful, as I do mended people and other mended things.

. . .


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