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A little bit of a Muse

I picked up The Muse by Jessica Burton the other day.  I bought it because it was in the Sunday Times best sellers list and I needed to read something by somebody new.  It is different to many books that I have read in the past and I am enjoying it greatly.  What I had not expected was that it might resonate with my own thoughts quite so much.

I am left with little choice this week but to quote from it:

When I began receiving public acknowledgement for a private act, something was essentially lost.  My writing became an axis upon which all my identity and happiness hinged.  It was now outward looking, a self-conscious performance.  I was asked to repeat the pleasure again and again, until the facsimile of my act became the act itself.

I know exactly how this character is feeling!  A friend spotted it in me a couple of weeks back and asked what I was planning to do about it.  The truth is that I have no idea.

 

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Whilst it is hugely flattering that people like my work, I am easily bored and I fear it will soon be time to move on.

I am hugely excited and flattered that people like my current work but success brings some weird emotions.  I want to make for myself!  I miss the devil-may-care attitude and I feel cramped by the prescriptiveness of what I am making.  I broke my New Year’s resolution to include something experimental in each firing within about 3 weeks because I was working so hard to satisfy the demand for my work.

 

I am dreadfully aware of how ungrateful this sounds and I am sorry for that but I confess to being scared at the moment that this is who I am.  I have come up with an idea that people seem to like and now I am stuck on a production line.

To miss-quote Jessica Burton,

I have forgotten the genesis of my impulse; unbothered, pure creation, existing outside the parameters of success and failure.

I appreciate that this must seem rather conceited but I am easily bored and I have a feeling that it might be almost time to beat a retreat and start again before I forget why I make things.   Who am I?

Freedom

As some of my readers know, when I am in London I live on a boat.  This week we cast off our moorings and set sail on the River Thames with few plans except to go up the river. It is wonderful to be so free to chose how to spend our time.  By day two we were chugging gently past Runnymede and thought we ought to take a look around.

History is everywhere in this place.  I knew about the Magna Carta.  I had at least done THAT much history when I was at school but it did me a lot of good to read about it again and consider what the signing of this document actually stands for. Obviously there is more to it than this and I know that King John was not quite as good as his word so it was some considerable time before we enjoyed the freedoms which is lays down but I am absolutely clear that during the time since it was originally enshrined in history it has been considered a true milestone in the fight for individual rights and freedoms.

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http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/runnymede

Both the United States Bill of Rights and the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights owe a great deal to Magna Carta, to name just two.  Without it the world would be a poorer place. When I reached somewhere with a wifi signal I did a bit of searching and found this wonderful clip on the British Museum website which, for those who are interested, gives a ‘nutshell explanation’ of this incredibly important document. It is worth a look.

There are a number of other memorials in recognition of the struggle for liberty at Runnymede and so, puffed up with pride that it all started here in Britain, we set off to take a look.  Eventually we found ourselves on the hill over looking the river.  Here there is a haunting reminder of the loss of life by Allied Air Forces during the Second World War.  In one year, 1943, there were more than 30 men killed with the name Smith.  That is to say there were 30+ men with the surname Smith who were sergeants in the RAF killed in that year.  This does not count other ranks called Smith.  Nor does it include  members of other Air Forces: Canadians; New Zealanders; Australians to name just a few.  Nor does it include anyone with surnames which include ‘Smith’ and some other suffix or prefix.  as I looked at this particular column of names – one of 300 – I found myself shivering with some intangible and deeply sad emotion. More so that when I tried to digest the fact that 20,000 men are remembered on the monument.  Maybe that number is too large to comprehend.

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The combined Air Forces memorial at Runnymede.

I hate war!  I cannot understand why differences of opinion cannot be thrashed out over a plate of Nachos and a beer or two.  But the fact remains that in the early 20th century the world was plunged into despair and huge numbers of people died for the simple reason that they believed in Freedom.  I have never felt more appreciative of their sacrifice than I did standing there in the solitude as the daylight was dimming.

I need to make something very special from the small handful of clay that I picked up in a tree throw on the slope of Cooper’s Hill below the memorial.

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I want it to be as open and welcoming as possible.

I have started on a large dish which is as open as I can make it.  I want it to look as though anyone might be able to approach it and rinse their hands.  I also want it to be as fragile as possible in recognition of the fragility of the peace and freedom which we are so privileged to enjoy in this country.  If I don’t get it right the first time I shall keep remaking it until I do because this matters!