“She shared it with a potter, and she’d told me I could sculpt while she painted. She turned the radio up loud to a rock station and brought out some off-white clay, put it in a mound before me. “Go ahead,” she said, patting it affectionately. Then she went to her easel, picked up her brush. “Go ahead what?” I asked. “I don’t know how to do anything.” “Make it up,” she said. “That’s what the first guys did.” I made a ball. “There.” She shrugged. “Okay.” “Well, help me,” I said. “What’s in you?” ...she asked. “What do you mean?” “Jesus,” she said. “You’ve got to loosen up.” I sat still, waiting for inspiration. I hoped I’d recognize it if it did come. I felt nothing. Finally, I said, “Okay, I’m going to make a pot to piss in. Then I can never say I don’t have a pot to piss in.” “There you go!” She worked on her painting, while I created, for reasons unknown, a dog on a raft. At one point, she came to stand in front of me.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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