Mug Shots
Mugs are the Rodney Dangerfield of tableware. Like the
proverbial zucchini-in-summer scenario, if you leave your car door
unlocked overnight you're likely to wake up to find your vehicle
stuffed full of 'em. Mass-produced mugs are so ubiquitous, they're all but
invisible in our lives. We look past them in our cupboards, or
use them without ever really looking at them. There are mugs for
businesses, nonprofits, and various agencies; mugs for clubs and
organizations; mugs for causes; and probably even mugs for mugs.
Some are fun, and some I've even gone out of my way to acquire;
but generally speaking, a commercially produced sloganeer mug has
little appeal for me.
But a handcrafted mug is a whole other story.
To hold in one's
grip something that was created by another set of hands; to feel the
warmth of a hot drink contained by fired clay; to settle in to
the color spectrum of pottery glazes -- now that is something to have and show respect for. A mug that was uniquely created comes with a person
attached to it, which is such a remarkable thing to reflect on in this
day and age of factory-made objects. Corny as it sounds to say,
when I hold a handmade mug, I feel like I'm momentarily holding hands
with the person who made it, whether I know who that person is or not.
The world feels a little friendlier when you look at it that way.
So, in the spirit of all that, I share with you on this page photos of a few of my favorite mugs. More to come over time.
This
mug, created by Johanne Otteson, was a gift to me from my parents, who
know that my love of pottery and love of trees are both large. This mug appeals to me in so many ways: the overall
pleasing shape; the beautiful blue color; those wonderful trees; and
that perfect little perch for my thumb at the top of the handle.
I drink green tea from this mug almost every single day.
Johanne Otteson is the potter who created the mug. An
artist of many endeavors, including spinning and weaving, stained
glass, basketry, and painting, she became hooked on pottery nearly
twenty years ago, drawn in by the immediacy of the form changing on the
wheel. It's fascinating for me as I hold a finished mug
to think about the point in the mug's existence when it was lumpy,
malleable, and not yet formed. It takes a pair of hands, a lot of
work, and the power of imagination to transform a lump of clay into
something solid, beautiful and real.
This mug, made by Keith Bassar, has been with me for at least
fifteen years, possibly more. For quite a good portion of that,
it was my morning coffee mug. And what a great way to start the
day: the complementary combination of the color of the creamed
coffee set against the greenish mug with its fine brown lines was as
much a part of my morning routine as the smell of coffee.
Somewhere along the line, my coffee consumption amount sneaked up
a tad, and I've had to switch to a larger mug for my daily brew.
But now this lovely mug does fine service in the evening for a
mug of red (rooibos) tea. It's a delightful mug, and it feels
like an old friend.
This mug always brings a smile to my face. The mug and the
handle both have a nice round shape, and the design on the mug puts me
in mind of birds of some sort. At the risk of sounding overly
whimsical, I see in the pattern a flock of happy, laughing turkeys.
This mug was created by Phyllis Grunewald, and I've had it for at
least a few years, possibly for as long as a decade. I use this mug
most days, but not all, because my children are so fond of it that we
sometimes have usage disputes. ("It's mine! It's mine!" "Mo-om!")
But when I can get my hands on it, it's perfect for a small mocha or a
steamy dark chocolate cocoa. It's a cheerful mug that encourages my
fanciful side.
Being used as a pencil cup is no doubt the
mug-equivalent to being put out to pasture, so I try to save that
assignment for mugs that I love but that have been damaged and can no
longer be used as drinking vessels. This mug, however, is the
exception to that rule. This mug serves as my pen cup not because
it's come up short but rather because having it in that role
serves to inspire me in my writing. Created by Jerry Reid, this
mug, a bit smaller than most mugs, has a tall but well proportioned shape and
a handle that fits just right (though when I used to use it for
drinking out of, I often as not skipped the handle and instead held it
one-handed with my grip spanning around it; it felt very
comfortable to hold this mug in that manner). Besides being
beautifully shaped, its colors are lovely to look at: the sight
of this mug always makes me feel more creative. And thus it was
assigned to Pen Duty, which I hope the mug does not consider a form of
ill-deserved penance. It sits atop my home office bookshelf,
above my collection of dictionaries, rhyming dictionaries, and
thesauri, right next to a piece of framed calligraphy which reads
"Find a quiet place, use a humble pen" (the quote is from Paul Simon,
the calligraphy by my talented sis). It hangs on to my pen (just
the one; if I put more than one in it, I manage to misplace them all)
until I'm ready to use it, and then accepts the pen back again later
without any pesky questions about whether I managed to write anything
worth reading. Quietly beautiful, this mug has quilted itself into my
writing life.
I love this bowl. It's perfect for soup. Of course, I've
used it for other things -- cereal, yogurt, ice cream, and the
occasional pudding -- but it seems to be best suited for soup.
The spoon glides along its inside perfectly, and the bowl's
shape, height, and width are just right for a vegetable stew or a hot,
creamy concoction. Created by Pamela Timmons, the color is Alfred
Yellow, and the bowl is warm and soothing. I consider it the
perfect place for something yummy and full of red lentils. Soup and a bowl as beautiful
as this one are the ideal antidote to winter.
When I had the idea for this page, it got me started doing
something I should have done all along. I started turning my
mugs and bowls over and looking for names, to see who had created them.
I'm always after my kids to pause at the title page of a book and
to
take a moment to note the names of the writer and illustrator, but it's
not a habit I'd thought to apply elsewhere. Yet it's very
important.
If we forget that there's a person
behind every act of creativity, then the created work is put at risk of
becoming an anonymous object. It loses an important dimension.
In turning this bowl over, a bowl that I've had for
several years and have always felt connected to in a way I can't quite
describe, I discovered that it was made by the same potter, Keith
Bassar, who'd made my former coffee mug -- the one shown above that
I've had and used near daily for most of my adult life. No wonder
I'd always felt about this bowl that I'd known it for years.
Because really, I had.