(Art)efacts: Crafting history with my dad

I'm always delving into history as I find the past far more interesting than the present; It's amazing what interesting things come out of the past and what one can learn from them.

In this image you can see one such thing, an artefact, from the past...But not from just anybody's past...But from my own. It's my contribution to art and history and is an artefact that will probably outlive me.

Artefact:

An object made by a human being, typically one of cultural or historical interest.

Art:

The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power.

I made this pot...cup...jug...pencil and pen holder...Thing at the age of 5 years old, from clay. I remember rolling out the soft clay, shaping it, even carving those lines you see into the base area with a pallete knife. I can't really say why it took on its specific form however somehow it turned out as you see it. Once glazed and fired it was complete.

I came across it today at home in a box of stuff from my childhood and I pulled it out to shoot it for this blog. It's not really very good is it? I mean it's wonky, lumpy and not incredibly aesthetically pleasing although it sit's nice and flat on the base. Thank heavens for small mercy's yeah?

What makes it a treasured artefact from my past, my history, is that my dad helped me make it. I can still recall him showing me how to work the clay, form the shape, glaze and fire it. You see, my dad was an artist, an accomplished artist with oils, acrylic on canvas, pencil, charcoal, pen and ink and had some skill with sculpture and working in clay also. Oh, he could paper mache the shit out of stuff too. He was very creative.

My dad was always painting, drawing or doing something artistic; Dad creating something is one of my most vivid memories and to have the memory of creating this piece of pottery with him is something I cherish.

He will be gone someday...Well, in truth he sort of is already being a dementia sufferer. Dad is not the same person he once was, the person I recall from my childhood, teen and adult years. I have to resign myself to that fact which makes the memories I hold, the history, more valuable.

My wife and I don't have children and whilst that didn't cause too much stress for me in years past now, as an older man, I think about it more. I recall memories from my own childhood, the good and bad times and the upbringing I was given and feel I could impart some of that in a positive way, if only I had my own child(ren), but I'll never have the chance to teach my own children anything.

Looking at that pottery yesterday brought the memories of the day it was made rushing back; The excitement I felt at seeing the finished product glazed and shining before me, the culmination of my efforts. It made me think of dad too, my childhood and the effort my parents went to in giving me the best upbringing they knew how to. Was it the best upbringing? I don't know the answer to that because I've never been brought up in another way so have nothing to compare it to.

My pottery is probably not going to have any cultural or historical interest to anyone but me and could it even qualify as art as per the description above? Probably not. In taking it from that box though, handling it, I was left with a feeling of value, a sense of pride and a jolt of memory that otherwise may have stayed in some dark recess of my mind.

It's almost like the clay has absorbed the essence of the moment in which it was crafted, my life at that exact time, and had locked it deep within the clay through the heat of the kiln, forever capturing that moment within its shape. A simple touch brought it all out infusing me with the emotion and feelings, the memory, from all those years ago...And people say history is boring.

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Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default
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