Pottery Inspiration Quotes

In the east," she says after a time, her gaze still downcast, "there is a tradition known as kintsukuroi. It is the practice of mending broken ceramic pottery using lacquer dusted with gold and silver and other precious metals. It is meant to symbolize that things can be more beautiful for having been broken." "Why are you telling me this?" I ask. At last she looks at me. Her irises are polished obsidian in the moonlight. "Because I want you to know," she says, "that there is life after survival.

Did you know that pottery can be repaired with gold?" Kami asked. "Then it's meant to be stronger than before, and more beautiful. Which is awesome, though it seems expensive." Her grandmother had nodded. "Makes sense to me," she said. "Why be broken when you can be gold?

You want to write a book? Make a song? Direct a movie? Decorate pottery? Learn a dance? Explore a new land? You want to draw a penis on your wall? Do it. Who cares? It’s your birthright as a human being, so do it with a cheerful heart. (I mean, take it seriously, sure—but don’t take it seriously.) Let inspiration lead you wherever it wants to lead you.

Most striking about the traditional societies of the Congo was their remarkable artwork: baskets, mats, pottery, copper and ironwork, and, above all, woodcarving. It would be two decades before Europeans really noticed this art. Its discovery then had a strong influence on Braque, Matisse, and Picasso -- who subsequently kept African art objects in his studio until his death. Cubism was new only for Europeans, for it was partly inspired by specific pieces of African art, some of them from the Pende and Songye peoples, who live in the basin of the Kasai River, one of the Congo's major tributaries. It was easy to see the distinctive brilliance that so entranced Picasso and his colleagues at their first encounter with this art at an exhibit in Paris in 1907. In these central African sculptures some body parts are exaggerated, some shrunken; eyes project, cheeks sink, mouths disappear, torsos become elongated; eye sockets expand to cover almost the entire face; the human face and figure are broken apart and formed again in new ways and proportions that had previously lain beyond sight of traditional European realism. The art sprang from cultures that had, among other things, a looser sense than Islam or Christianity of the boundaries between our world and the next, as well as those between the world of humans and the world of beasts. Among the Bolia people of the Congo, for example, a king was chosen by a council of elders; by ancestors, who appeared to him in a dream; and finally by wild animals, who signaled their assent by roaring during a night when the royal candidate was left at a particular spot in the rain forest. Perhaps it was the fluidity of these boundaries that granted central Africa's artists a freedom those in Europe had not yet discovered.

Evidently, Austronesian settlers in the New Guinea region got the idea of “tattooing” their pots, perhaps inspired by geometric designs that they had already been using on their bark cloth and body tattoos. This style is termed Lapita pottery, after an archaeological site named Lapita, where it was described.

Theophilus Crowe wrote bad free-verse poetry and played a jimbai drum while sitting on a rock by the ocean. He could play sixteen chords on the guitar and knew five Bob Dylan songs all the way through, allowing for a dampening buzz any time he had to play a bar chord. He had tried his hand at painting, sculpture, and pottery and had even played a minor part in the Pine Cove Little Theater’s revival of Arsenic and Old Lace. In all of these endeavors, he had experienced a meteoric rise to mediocrity and quit before total embarrassment and self-loathing set in. Theo was cursed with an artist’s soul but no talent. He possessed the angst and the inspiration, but not the means to create.

No domestic dispute between Franny and David had inspired the removal of their wedding rings. She would take hers off at work when she was giving scalp massages. Once she thought she had lost the ring, but she found it in the treatment room on a candleholder David had made for her during a personal failure of a pottery class he had taken the year he lost his job. After she found her ring, she started leaving it at home.

The Enchanted Broccoli Forest. Oh, what a pleasure that was! Mollie Katzen's handwritten and illustrated recipes that recalled some glorious time in upstate New York when a girl with an appetite could work at a funky vegetarian restaurant and jot down some tasty favorites between shifts. That one had the Pumpkin Tureen soup that Margo had made so many times when she first got the book. She loved the cheesy onion soup served from a pumpkin with a hot dash of horseradish and rye croutons. And the Cardamom Coffee Cake, full of butter, real vanilla, and rich brown sugar, said to be a favorite at the restaurant, where Margo loved to imagine the patrons picking up extras to take back to their green, grassy, shady farmhouses dotted along winding country roads. Linda's Kitchen by Linda McCartney, Paul's first wife, the vegetarian cookbook that had initially spurred her yearlong attempt at vegetarianism (with cheese and eggs, thank you very much) right after college. Margo used to have to drag Calvin into such phases and had finally lured him in by saying that surely anything Paul would eat was good enough for them. Because of Linda's Kitchen, Margo had dived into the world of textured vegetable protein instead of meat, and tons of soups, including a very good watercress, which she never would have tried without Linda's inspiration. It had also inspired her to get a gorgeous, long marble-topped island for prep work. Sometimes she only cooked for the aesthetic pleasure of the gleaming marble topped with rustic pottery containing bright fresh veggies, chopped to perfection. Then Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells caught her eye, and she took it down. Some pages were stuck together from previous cooking nights, but the one she turned to, the most splattered of all, was the one for Onion Soup au Gratin, the recipe that had taught her the importance of cheese quality. No mozzarella or broken string cheeses with- maybe- a little lacy Swiss thrown on. And definitely none of the "fat-free" cheese that she'd tried in order to give Calvin a rich dish without the cholesterol. No, for this to be great, you needed a good, aged, nutty Gruyère from what you couldn't help but imagine as the green grassy Alps of Switzerland, where the cows grazed lazily under a cheerful children's-book blue sky with puffy white clouds. Good Gruyère was blocked into rind-covered rounds and aged in caves before being shipped fresh to the USA with a whisper of fairy-tale clouds still lingering over it. There was a cheese shop downtown that sold the best she'd ever had. She'd tried it one afternoon when she was avoiding returning home. A spunky girl in a visor and an apron had perked up as she walked by the counter, saying, "Cheese can change your life!" The charm of her youthful innocence would have been enough to be cheered by, but the sample she handed out really did it. The taste was beyond delicious. It was good alone, but it cried out for ham or turkey or a rich beefy broth with deep caramelized onions for soup.

This book is designed to strengthen your faith and give you another angle from which to view your relationship with God.

The clay doesn't know what temperature it needs to be fired to; that is the potter's job. We don't know what kinds of trials we need to undergo to become the person God wants us to be, but He does!

Creativity doesn't stop when we get that one project right, it is ingrained in our lives--inescapable.

Stop taking your creativity for granted, or even worse, forgetting it altogether. You are a child of God! He has given you not only the right to be creative, but also the capacity for creativity!

The purpose of this book is to show the creativity of God and to reveal that He has instilled that same imagination inside you too.

God wanted us to know that He is willing to come meet us where we are, stuck in the mud, and create a new life for us.

We used art as a crutch instead of as a vitamin. we should take a dose of creativity every day! If it makes us more joyful in the experience, then why are we choosing to be joyless?

We live in a fallen world. We make mistakes. Recipes are misleading. Winging it can be dangerous if you don't know how to fly. Whatever the reason, some things just don't turn out for us because we simply aren't God.

We have the freedom to create in a world that God created because He loves us enough to give us the free will - imagination - to create.

That is what I wish for you as you move forward, to remember that God is a peace-loving God.

Have we been worshiping our own creations more than we are praising God for giving us the ability to create?

We did not earn creativity, nor did God forget to give creativity to some of us.

If we thought God's imagination and creativity for earth were astounding, just wait until God creates the New Heaven and New Earth!

I love to envision God as the Master Potter. Even though we mess up, He tells us that He is not giving up on us.

Just like the glazes, everyone is created for a purpose. Just because someone else has different talents than us does not make either of us more important.

Just like the artist chooses the clay, God chose you specifically to do the purpose He has in mind for you.

As God's creation, my job is to point back to Him. I should praise Him for making me instead of complaining to Him about how He chose to make me.

Like the clay on the wheel, we must be willing to change, sometimes drastically, in order to remain centered in Christ.

Similar to the clay on the wheel, if we are not centered in God's truth, we will be "off-centered" Christians.

The potter must do the work, but the clay must be at a soft enough state to be receptive to it.

Centering is not just for the wheel! We must also center our spiritual lives with the ways of the Lord.

You are His work; you are His creation.

In the same way a potter signs her work with a stamp, God signs His masterpieces.

We are only human and clay is only clay.

God has given us such a unique relationship with Him that can be better understood through clay.

Just as how making something for someone else blesses both the giver and receiver, so does praising God.

Even though we may think we are flawed, God has made us each exactly how He designed us.

Ever since living things have existed, they have acknowledged God's might, because He created them.

Remember, God doesn't demand perfection. That is His job.

Using your imagination allows your freedom from this world and gives you the ability to enjoy a glimpse of heaven.

God created His first human being-Adam-from clay! We are made from the earth and connected to it.

My goal is to reveal all the beautifully hidden symbols of God's love through creativity and art making.

If we knowingly choose to hide our God-given talents, then we are not fully honoring God.

God designed each of us to have different creative talents to fill different daily needs.

He gave us these gifts on earth so that we could bless others and spread the Gospel in our own effective ways.

God's artistic signature is visibly hidden inside of every breathing thing on earth.

Like the clay that has been recycled and reclaimed, our lives have the capacity for change spiritually.

I want to guide you on this creative journey to see how our creativity is Spiritually rooted in God. It is a God-given skill that we all can use to praise and glorify Him.

God created everything because of His ultimate power, wisdom, and understanding.

Here was light, and flowers, and colours in profusion. There was a loom in the corner, and baskets of fine, thin thread in bright, bright hues. The woven coverlet on the bed, and the drapings on the open windows were unlike anything I had ever seen, woven in geometric patterns that somehow suggested fields of flowers beneath a blue sky. A wide pottery bowl held floating flowers and a slim silver fingerling swam about the stems and above the bright pebbles that floored it. I tried to imagine the pale cynical Fool in the midst of all this colour and art. I took a step further into the room, and saw something that moved my heart aside in my chest. A baby. That was what I took it for at first, and without thinking, I took the next two steps and knelt beside the basket that cradled it. But it was not a living child, but a doll, crafted with such incredible art that almost I expected to see the small chest move with breath. I reached a hand to the pale, delicate face, but dared not touch it. The curve of the brow, the closed eyelids, the faint rose that suffused the tiny cheeks, even the small hand that rested on top of the coverlets were more perfect that I supposed a made thing could be. Of what delicate clay it had been crafted, I could not guess, nor what hand had inked the tiny eyelashes that curled on the infant’s cheek. The tiny coverlet was embroidered all over with pansies, and the pillow was of satin. I don’t know how long I knelt there, as silent as if it were truly a sleeping babe. But eventually I rose, and backed out of the Fool’s room, and then drew the door silently closed behind me.” - Robin Hobb | Farseer Trilogy Book 1 | Assassin’s Apprentice Chapter Nineteen | Journey

Meet Lijia Zhang, the visionary founder of Konpoto, a haven for lovers of authentic Japanese ceramics. Inspired by a deep connection to the artistry of pottery, Lijia curates an exquisite collection sourced directly from Japan's renowned kilns. Her dedication to preserving tradition while embracing contemporary design shines through each meticulously crafted piece. With an unwavering commitment to quality, she invites individuals to experience the elegance and sophistication of Japanese tableware. Join Lijia and her passionate team at Konpoto on a journey that celebrates timeless craftsmanship and the beauty of cultural heritage.

Many of us find comfort and interest in old, familiar things, while others seek inspiration or stimulation in the blatantly new or unconventional.” Charity Davis-Woodard

This is why museums are so wonderful: walking around, observing mankind's joyride from slime to WiFi, you see incredible ironwork, inspirational pottery, fabulous vellums, and exquisite paintings, and - across these disciplines- tons of fruity historical humping. Men fucking men, men fucking women, men going down on women, women pleasuring themselves - it's all there. Every conceivable manifestation of human sexuality, in clay and stone and ocher and gold.

Like a shepherd and sheep, its principle is simple, redirection towards the obligatory path, and speaking of Ozcan, he is the most proficient in this game. Watch the professionals do it in the reorientation of functional organizations. There is no need to recruit them all, it is enough for them to do what a shepherd does with a flock of sheep; blocking the roads in front of them, putting a dog in one place, standing and waving his stick in another place, to force them to take the path he wants, towards the barn. And if you spoke to one of them, it would swear to you that it is going the way it wants, which it chose with its full will, or chosen for them by their leader at the forefront of the herd, who knows the secrets of the ways, believing that they go the way they want. He decided that he should play the game according to its laws since they are sheep, so do not try to address them or convince them, but rather direct them to where you want. He did not know anything about deterministic algorithms at the time, his decision was based on his innate, something inside him. He succeeded, however, by making a butterfly flutter, far away. Some straying out of the Shepherd’s path, then another artificial flutter associated with the first to accelerate the process, and then a third, and a fourth, then the chaos ensued, and the hurricanes blew up all the inevitable of Alpha Headquarters. A butterfly fluttered where no one was watching, he studied and planned it carefully. Words by a revolutionary Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, summarized the whole story… Throw a stone into the stagnant water, rivers will break out Ring your bells in the kingdom of silence and sing your anthem And let the wall of fear break into dust like pottery

Here Teo struck out left, as instructed and soon came upon a large ditch. He stared down at its contents. There were several large mounds that had been covered neatly with dirt, but here and there an animal bone, or a shard of broken pottery, protruded through the soil. It seemed rather sad, Teo thought, that the span of a man’s life could be reduced to piles of refuse, some of which would surely last far longer than the man himself. Yet, it was inspiring too, that a man could live alone and endure, day after day, perhaps for years on end.