Pot de Terre

I inherited my grandparents four poster bed and its under a blue flowered quilt in that bed that I used to dream of throwing clay while I waited for sleep. I had a setback a couple years ago and haven't been at the wheel since. But we've set it up again, repaired frayed cords and I'm back in the batter's box. When I first stared my pottery in the nineties, I called it Pot de Terre.(Pots of Earth)
Carolyn, Kary, Sue, do you remember that?

Throwing again means olive oil bottles, cups and pitchers,

and teapots. Here's one with Hedgehog setting out a pie for a tea party. Fox is bringing an egg, neighbor hedgie a rosemary tree and rabbit is flying in just in time. The teapot has a stand or trivet to rest on too, so the table won't get a mark on it.

To celebrate , we took a trip to the apple orchard.

We picked Gopher Glen , its got the very best cider and twenty seven different apple varieties
After awhile your jaws get tired from chewing all the samples!

plums, pears, and fresh picked zuchinni and squash too.

The first thing I did when we got home with our bounty was to pour a glass of cider and cut up an apple. A limbertwig. In the bowl are spitzenbergs too, seckle pears and Santa Rosa plums.

** I want to here and now say that you, my treasured friends and customers never said a word about the lack of thrown things, you have been steadfast and kept me in business and I am

a lucky potter girl to have such loyalty. That I know.

xx

Julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Early fall on the pumpkin farm

Who could possibly live in an acorn? A gnat for one. Imagine how tiny it's bed would be. It's cup and spoon would be naked to the human eye. But the acorn would be as roomy as well,
an acorn.

Some diligent farmers are already tilling the soil for new seeds next spring. While bothersome crows wait for lunch.

Owls are busy filling thier burrows with herbs and the last of the wild asters.

Interlopers are tiptoeing about with golden treasure, ready to bolt if need be.

Some unruly mice are so thrilled at the prospect of fresh pumpkin seeds, they are dancing by moonlight with very little decorum.

And this potter girl is going to put new things in her shop tomorrow.

Happy early fall from me and all the farm peeps.

xx

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Home is Best

Yes, its a potato. Right on top of a heap of russets, it's siren song called to me on the produce aisle. I brought it home, propped it against this pitcher, which brings me to my point: Home.

My first home (away from home) was a minor disaster. I moved four hundred miles north to San Francisco where one neighbor practiced jazz saxaphone very loud, the landlady had a love affair with gin and no one liked my dog. But I did take harpsichord lessons and developed an admiration for Victorian houses that has never lost an inch of ground. I'd walk the hilly streets, sketching, memorizing and admiring. And its where I made my discovery. Home is Best.

Not the fountain of youth exactly but I bet its something we can all agree about. I can see you nodding your head now.

This is a spread from Romantic Homes Magazine, September issue. It's Jen O'Connor's house.

Jen represents some all star folk artists including Julie Arkell, Laurie Messerol and Debbie Thibault.

If you squint you can see one of my rabbit domes in her corner cupboard. What's it say on the front? 'Home'. Jen has an online shop too. http://www.earthangeltoys.com/

Wonderful kitchen, Jen.

A deer whose made a home in the fern wood. A new and larger sconce for casting more reflective light as the days begin to grow shorter.

Now about that potato. I think I'll cut it in thin heart shaped slices and fry them up in olive oil with herbs, and serve with ahi steak and spinich salad. Do you think its a worthy enough homage?

xx

julie
p.s. I abandoned the harsichord lessons for pottery ones.

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

My kingdom for a button

In the warm gloom of the Fox Fullerton Theater, Iris nested down into her plush seat. Her blue dress rustled, throwing off a faint scent of violets. She wore that fragrance tonight, and the snug shirtmaker dress, because they were Roy's favorites. Roy, the pot and pan salesman who'd been her steady for two and a half years. "I want to discuss something with you, Iris dear, after the show tonight. I've got our table at Luigi's reserved." As Iris watched the coming attractions for the new Russell Crowe movie, she pictured their waiter ushering them to their corner table, followed by the chianti being poured, and Roy pulling out a small square box from his pocket. He might even kneel, though his knees would creak from the strain. But his arthritis only endeared him to her.

After all, working at the bakery all these years had given her an extra padding that made it difficult to button her dress tonight. But Roy said snuggling with her was like kissing a cream puff. How tender he was! From the screen a lovely glow filled the theatre and the music began to swell, the night was theirs. Iris took a deep breath and the button right at her bustline popped off and flew off into the dark. Her dreams turned to ash...........

Moral: Don't be caught without a replacement button in your handbag, or you may not get that ring on your finger.
**

Above is a poetry button used to fasten a cuff braclet. See that little green button on the left?

Its wooden, worn, and for some reason its my favorite vintage button.

New buttons, I'm branching out with plans to paint more strawberry buttons,

shank ones with bird portraits and even

shoes. Buttons and shoes seem to go together somehow.

Here's what I pulled from Ruby this morning. Ruby is what I call my kiln.

The buttons took up most of the room.

** Okay, Roy did eventually propose to Iris. But not that night. Iris excused herself right before the movie began, claiming a splitting headache.

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Dancing Bear at The Nightime Circus

Danny O'Dare, the dancing bear,
Ran away from the County Fair,
Ran right up to my back stair
And thought he'd do some dancin' there.

He did the Polka, he did the Twist,
He bent himself into a pretzel like this.
He did the waltz and the boog-a-loo
He did the hokey pokey too.
He did the bop and the mashed potato,
He did the Split and the See Ya Later.
And now he's down upon one knee,
bowin' oh so charmingly,
And winkin' and smilin'- Its easy to see,
Danny O'Dare wants to dance with me.

shel silverstein

The Night time Circus animals are found in the woods when off duty, often at the riverside as you can see. There is also Rabbit bareback rider, drum playing Elephant, Tiger of many stripes, and the Lion who could not roar. Admission is free, but it's difficult to find them, they keep they're preformance locations rather quiet. Next time you're in the woods when the stars are cast densely across the sky, and the moon is low, listen for shouts and laughter, oooo's and ahhh's , and you have probably found them.
Their motto is: Pour etre forte. Pour etre libre. Pour la danse!
Att vara stark. Att vara fri. Att dansa!
Para ser fuerte. Para ser libre. Para bailar!
To be strong. To be free. To dance!

xx
julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Flocks of Buttons

Is there anyone who can't recall sifting through a button box, searching for just the right button to replace the one you lost off of your favorite blue blouse? Our household button box was a green MJB coffee can. It held other artifacts too, a dented brass thimble, a liberty dime, and a tape measure that pulled out of a small red plastic crabapple.

I'm following a long line of craft with my porcelain button offerings. Egyptians liked them, and the Greeks too. But it was the Germans in the 1200's that devised the buttonhole. And more button frenzy followed;

Porcelain 'calico' buttons from the mid ninteenth century.

Hand painted Victorian birds and mammals

My idea of high fashion which is not very. More of a country cousin look, where everything appears homemade, because most of it is. My buttons are two-holed and about one and a half inches in diameter. They are lightweight, and once attached to apparel, do not like to be thrashed about in a washing machine, but rather sloshed gently in lavender scented water then hung on a line to dry in the warm summer sun, country cousin style.

Now all this button talk has made me hungry for a piece of crabapple pie.

Care to join me?

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com

Stages

Elf light, bat light,
Touchwood light and toad light,
And the sea a shimmering gloom of grey,
And a small face smiling,
In a dream's beguiling
In a world of wonders far away.
Walter de la Mare

Now sleeps the crimson petal, Now the white,

Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk,

Now winks the gold fin in the porphyry font;

The fireflly wakens. Waken thou with me.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Circus stages and woodland ones too.

Hope you have a wonderful weekend

xx

julie

juliewhitmorepottery.etsy.com