Fontanini - Andrew the Potter

5” Andrew the Potter.
“Let us see your work, my son.” Andrew’s father swung open the doors of the kiln. Rows of water jars, lamps and bowls lay on the shelves inside.

Eagerly Andrew looked for the pitcher he had glazed. For many months now Andrew had been learning the trade of his father. Watching and practicing, he had mastered the art of shaping clay on the wheel in the back of Bethlehem’s pottery shop. He could flute necks and apply handles seamlessly. “It is time to learn the other half of the potter’s art – the decoration,” his father had told him.

Andrew learned how to mix and grind pigments and how to make the special brushes needed. He followed his father’s lead, incising geometric patterns and rings to be filled in with color. Yesterday’s pitcher was the first piece for which he had done all the ornamentation and coloring.

The pitcher stood in one corner, behind some perfume vessels. Carefully Andrew brought it into the light. The bright reds that were the central part of his color scheme had turned a dull brown. The glossy finish, brushed on so carefully, failed to cover certain areas, and bubbled in other places. Andrew stared at the pitcher in disbelief. He had put so much time and thought into it and it looked nothing at all like what it was supposed to be.

“Look at this, father – I don’t understand.” Andrew’s voice showed the depth of his disappointment. The older man examined the pitcher in his clay-spattered hands. “It’s really not bad for the first piece. Red is a tricky color to get correct. I know – I had many failures when your grandfather first taught me. It took me awhile to get the hang of glazing, too. The clay really soaks it up; you’ve got to use three or four coats.” He pattered Andrew’s shoulder. “We’ll do some more decorating after we finish unloading the kiln. I can show you some things I’ve learned, if you like.”

“I’d like to smash this pitcher!” exclaimed Andrew.

“Better to keep it and learn from it,” advised his father. “It will show you just where you need to improve.

Reluctantly Andrew brought the pitcher back to the workshop after storing the other fired wares. He set it on a low shelf where he could see it as he painted a replacement cross-legged on the floor. He forced himself to work slowly and deliberately. When he finished, his father inspected the piece. “It’s as good as a potter can make it,” he told him. ‘The rest is out of our hands.”

The next morning, Andrew held his breath as his father opened the doors of the kiln. His father reached in and handed Andrew a shiny pitcher, brightly accented in red. “Thank you father, “ Andrew grinned. “Thank you for your lesson in patience.”