| Isn't it funny how humankind likes to
personalize and humanize their posessions? Don't you get the feeling that the CroMagnon
folks had a (perhaps one syllable) name for their favorite grub hunting stick or spear
thrower? Not just an identifying grunt, an actual name or visualization. It seems like the
tools we depend on, that we use regularly, become important to us far beyond their actual
value.
Look at the decorations that were carved, with painful care, on the prehistoric tools that we find. Of course, it gave them something to do while waiting out those Ice Age winters, but then again they had to be interested enough to plan the design out. Ever go hunting for your favorite pen? Not just any pen, the one that has the good grip and that has the ink that flows well. Or your favorite cup, the one with the Far Side cartoon. Somehow, the tea tastes better in it. You know in your heart that you could drink that tea out of an old clean diet Pepsi can, but you would rather walk over worms than do it. At least I would. Familiarity and constancy breed not contempt but contentment. My father's friend is a teacher at a High School. He teaches ceramics, well, actually, he teaches High School Kids. The ceramics seem to know what to do already. He tries to get through each semester without major mishaps, and thanks his lucky stars when nothing blows up or dries out, and no one drops their eyeglasses in the glaze vat. His name is Mike. Mike tells many stories about the kids. Like how there are always a few who put their girlfriend's name on their handbuilt mug. And, even though he advises against it, they insist that their girlfriend's name is just the decoration the mug needs. Invariably, they break up with that girl before the mug is finished and Mike is left with another mug that says "Angelica" or "Leticia". He must have a hundred. He also tells about the Kiln God. If he has a particularly difficult kid, one that will NOT work on his own piece, but instead roams the room jeering at others, Mike sits him down and tells him to make a Kiln God. This usually throws the kid for a loop, since there are not a lot of pictures of Kiln Gods. Mike insists that the kid think about a Kiln God, how it would look, what it would be holding, how big it would be. Would it be happy? Stern? Faceless? And he tells the kid that whatever the God ends up looking like, it will be right. Somehow, by insisting that the kid think about this abstract concept, it makes them more tractable, almost more grounded. It must reach something, something deep, even in a city kid whose strongest bond is usually with his low rider. We have tools that we casually use, lose, and throw away. And then we have tools that reach us, that mean something. Tools that remember our hand, and our slouch. That fit us like well-worn jeans. And when we find those tools, we have the urge to keep the connection going. And, if the Ice Age ever comes back, maybe we will all have time to carve intricate designs in our favorite grub sticks. Joanie |
