Way West...

In a moment of spontaneity, I did get on that airplane and flew to San Francisco. Every part of the trip fell into place perfectly...

I was met at the airport by the ultra-talented Diana Fayt, whose blog, One Blackbird, inspired mine. Let me say now, that everyone should have one of Diana's pots and they're just a click away... We have been pen pals for the past couple of years, but we had yet to meet face to face. Without her encouragement, I don't know that I would have made this trip. She picked me up at the airport, and hosted me for the first few days of my journey. It was so great to meet her in person and I found that we had the ease of old friends meeting again after a long time. She lives in a lovely apartment right in San Francisco. When walking out her back door, you are greeted by a courtyard garden, which was already in bloom and the lemon tree branches were heavy with fruit.


Everyone kept apologizing for the cold weather, but when I mentioned that it was 13 degrees when I got on the plane in WV, they quickly realized that I was finding the San Francisco weather to be down right tropical, even if it was only 59 degrees! Diana made sure that I experienced some really wonderful food, including the creamiest ice cream I've had-yum.


We visited her studio which is tidy, orderly and full of her lovely pottery. I also met other interesting people who have space in her building, including a piano builder and a harpsichord maker-the dildo maker had just moved to a bigger space, so I missed meeting those folks. People make their living in the most interesting ways there-anything seems reasonable. Next we were off to Heath Ceramics, which was established in 1948 by Edith Heath. Because I was with Diana, we were given a leisurely tour of the factory and show room. It's located right over the Golden Gate Bridge in Sausalito and it was the perfect primer for the workshop I was there to attend.

Finally, it was time for the Andrew Martin workshop at Fourth and Clay. Again, I met for the first time internet pen pal, Josie Jurczenia, who has also encouraged my writing. She is the owner of Fourth and Clay and shares her space with Christa Assad and Rae Dunn. Plus, Whitney Smith was there. Yes, everywhere I went, I was surrounded by stars of the clay world.

When I walked through the door, it was announced that the "east coaster" had arrived and things got going. Andrew Martin did an excellent job at sharing his wealth of knowledge. Rather than using a wheel to make his pots, he makes plaster molds of his work, which he then slip casts. I have never worked in this way, but I can see the definite benefits of understanding something about this process. Like anything else, it would take me lots of time to figure out all of the inevitable glitches, but while watching a master, it seemed quite effortless.


Andrew has a very relaxed sort of energy. He told us a story about another potter, who likes his demonstrations to go perfectly. Andrew wondered why, since nothing in the studio actually unfolds in that manner. These musings were the perfect set-up for what was about to happen... At these sort of events, there are always the people who get right up front, and this workshop was no different. All the usual suspects are up front, inches away from the font of knowledge, pens poised over notebooks, book bags and purses wide open from plundering for the pen. It was at this point that Andrew offered to show the consistency of his plaster. As he hoisted the bucket up and over the table to give everyone a glimpse, something went wrong... All of the plaster flew out of the bucket, into the laps and bags of the front row people and then continued on to the empty chairs and floor. The first response was to laugh and then everyone went into action mode. In no time at all, the place was clean, though some remnants did remain on the participants. After all of the commotion, we decided to break for lunch.



During our lunch break, I was approached by Christine Weis Daughtery, who lives on the east coast too. She asked, "Where on the east coast?" I told her that I am from West Virginia, and she said, "Really, me too. Where do you live?" When I told her Charleston, she said that's where she lives. In keeping with the weird symmetry, her last name is Daughtery and my studio is on Daughtery Street...how unlikely. She lives in California during the winter and returns to the mountains for the summer and fall. We plan to have tea together once she comes back east. Small world, huh?

After the workshop ended, Diana dropped me off at glass artist, Lynne Rachel's house. I met L.R. when she moved to Huntington to work for Pilgrim Glass in the eighties. We hadn't seen each other in fourteen years. Again, I was well cared for by another great friend. During my time with her, her neighborhood had a transitional dinner, where each family hosted a different course at their house. We visited five houses, where I had the chance to get to know Lynne Rachel's neighbors. How fabulous to see inside all of those lovely Arts and Craft houses, with exquisite light fixtures and rich wood.


With Lynne Rachel, I rode street cars, walked on the beach, climbed mountains and had breathtaking views of the city and the ocean. The air was so crisp and fresh. L.R. pointed out that the air we were breathing had not been consumed by humans since leaving Japan. Makes you take a deep breath, doesn't it?

Earlier in the day, I had coffee with WV transplant potter, Barbara Edwards, who has been living in California for many years, but still thinks of herself as a West Virginian. She found my blog a while back and leaves me encouraging comments...Another fine first meeting of an internet friend and a friendship blooms...

In another stoke of good luck, my friend, Pete, who lives in Charleston, but is often on business in San Francisco, happened to be there during my visit. He took me to two fabulous restaurants, Absinthe and Aqua. When I mentioned my destination to locals, they said, "Your friend is very nice." And in fact, he is. Without his guidance, I never would have visited these fine eateries. The experience was a window into a world of culinary feats-the perfect foam surrounding the impeccably prepared fish, to say nothing of the fine wine.



After dinner, we went for drinks at Tosca, where the Rat Pack used to spend time. Nothing has been changed for the eighty years it's been in business. The bartender was quite distinguished looking in his crisp white shirt and perfectly pressed pants. The jukebox was full of opera, another first for me. Have you ever found a jukebox that offered opera? It was at Tosca that I enjoyed my first martini. Yes, I've martinis before, but notice I said enjoyed.



They were so cold and perfectly prepared-thanks Pete! After a memorable evening, Pete hailed me a taxi and I returned to L.R.'s, where I had a wee bit of sleep and then it was time to pack up and head to the airport.



Her daughter, Amalia, gave me a chocolate she had saved for me-quite a gift from her. It came in handy once I learned that my flight out of Chicago was going to be delayed for four hours. Just when I was about to melt down, I remembered the chocolate. I felt better once it had melted in my mouth. I landed at 2am and was met by a bizarre wind storm, which had been the cause for delay. I drove home, stumbled into bed, my head full of wonderful memories and the knowledge that San Francisco is full of lovely people and a great place to be.