Putting It Together

(Please click on the title for a reading aloud by the author.)

Yesterday I was talking on the phone with my sister Vic, catching up on various topics including the presentation she’s giving next week, “Seeing Through Time.” October is “Archeology Month” in New Hampshire and my sister is an archeologist. We have a propensity for putting things off until the last moment. I mentioned sometimes the best results come with the intensity of working this way. We got laughing about just how far this could be pushed – for example, could she do Powerpoint while driving to the event?

One spring semester in college I was taking a studio course in hand building clay. Class met once a week on Wednesday evenings from six to nine. Typically it would start with a critique of the previous week’s assignment followed with a demonstration by the professor, and some hands on work time thrown in for good measure. Assignments were to be worked on during the week when the studio was not otherwise occupied by other classes.

My usual method was to put things off all week, show up at the studio a couple hours before class and get the work done. One particular Wednesday dawned a beautiful day, warm and breezy, the sap was on the rise. Too beautiful to do anything but go canoeing with my girlfriend. First thing in the morning we hefted the little boat onto the roof of the car, strapped it down and took off. Where we ended up I don’t remember, but there were lots of remote spots to choose from. It was a great day, out on the water, lots of sunshine. We got naked, which might have had something to do with why we went canoeing in the first place. Time slipped by. And then I realized I had clay class that evening which I didn’t want to miss.

At about 5:15, in a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops; sunburned, full of fresh air and life and pleasantly whooped I more or less stormed the gates. Now what was the assignment again? Oh yeah, mold clay into a found object, make a series of three. I looked at the clock. 5:24. Ok, focus and work. The other students were showing up and carefully taking their pieces off the shelves. They’d been in there off and on all week, working, fussing, and for some of them, squeezing every last particle of life out of the clay and the ideas.

Ma ha! A dust pan. Like a madman I wedged up some clay and rolled out slabs and started molding pieces into the body of the pan. I trimmed the edges and created cylinders which got attached as handles. One, two, three. Hey maybe I’m on to something… brilliant! I’ll call it… the industrial… revo… oh, wait a minute, that’s already been done. The clay was raw and fresh, the handles drooped, so three little balls of clay to support them did the trick. My fellow students were all sitting around, some chatting, some scowling but all sitting like broody hens close and protective of their pieces. I gabbed a stool and plopped myself down. Done! 5:55.

The professor walked in carrying his clipboard and ratty tote bag and said hello. We all sat at attention. He scanned our work on the tables. He stopped.

“Whoa! Who did the dustpans!?!?” He zoomed over. “Those are so cool!”

“…me.” I put my hand up half way.

For a moment it looked like things were going to get ugly.

Gordon Bunker