The fine art of cooking be warned: can also lead to fine art! As one becomes creative in the kitchen, the beauty of presentation begins to call, and then serving pieces, surrounding art on the walls, and the music that drapes the backdrop of the meal all come into focus. If life has been a series of windows and value meals, be prepared for re-entry into the culinary center of the home to awaken a sense of art that is unquenchable with a TV remote.
When you have that little voice inside that says paint, make a pot, plant something, sew, embroider, quilt, create a shelf to display the new cups you got for Christmas, it’s the Divine voice that is beaconing us to draw within to re-capture that lost part of us that wandered into oblivion when we were told to do something substantial enough to bring home a paycheck. Albeit, those paychecks are important, the art within is just as important. It makes the “paycheck getting” more satisfying. It’s all right to have a “real job” without being made to feel that “real art” is something that must be sacrificed in order to have it.
Tonight, I am beginning my first pottery class since I was in high school. This is the eve of my 49th birthday. I have carried the torch for the spinning wheel of moldable clay since I was sixteen. That is how long I have resisted my inner-art. With the birth of my cookbook, and remembering the joy of creating in the kitchen, the overwhelming pull to make the serving dishes, plates, and mugs in which to serve my culinary explosions was too much to ignore. I talked of wanting to take a pottery class constantly to my best friend, until this year for my birthday, she drove me to the local pottery studio and said, “Happy Birthday – you are signed up for a class. You have to go. You are committed. They are already paid for.”
So here I sit, watching the Zen of the spinning wheels captivate those here. My class begins in one hour. I came early to absorb the vibe. I watch people come in and don aprons, and begin getting muddy as life’s cares spin away. Men and women let go of the world’s expectations and silently begin smiling as they create bowls, herb garden planters, or simply pound away at gray marbled clay. One lady’s back after six months of being absorbed in re-building her flood ravaged home. One man talked animatedly about the stupidity of local politics while constructing the most beautiful swirled handles to a new serving bowl.
They just called my name. I feel the excitement of a well-percolated dream about to enter my heart. This is what creativity feels like. It’s new and joyful. It’s a stress reducer. It’s a time machine. It’s the beginning of a new me. I’m thankful for a best friend who knew I’d just put the dream off for another year if she didn’t get me these classes! Yesterday I made creamy jambalaya pasta and remembered the beautiful ceramic colander I saw here when I was signed up for classes. Today, perhaps I will learn the basics for creating something to serve that jambalaya in next time. Tomorrow, I might just create new curtains for the kitchen. I have no idea where this creativity will go, but I do know from this feeling in my heart that I do not want it to stop. This was the tugging I’ve been resisting. We are all creative, born and bred that way by a most creative God. I urge you to listen to that voice within you. If you have listened, help someone else listen to theirs. Then we can all be a synergistic force of creativity and the world becomes a more colorful, artful, beautiful, delicious place overnight. – created 1/17/11 by Devon O’Day at Mud Puddle Pottery in Pegram, TN. Thank you to Kim McLean and Will Johnston for this most excellent gift!
mysouthernfood
