Seasoned Water

We called it seasoned because it had been sitting there long enough to become something else. Not just any water. Her water. The one she had already poured and left to sit beside her. The one that had quietly reached the perfect temperature. Cool, but not cold. The glass slick with condensation. Something about the waiting made it better, water you didn’t have to make for yourself. Not flavored, exactly. Just… settled. Ready.

Later, when I started working with clay, my mother always asked me to make mugs. It made sense to her. She loved them. She used them constantly. She had a few ceramic favorites in rotation that I rarely replenished.

A little too busy with their handles and expectations, mugs always feel a little clumsy in my hands and quite often jump to their own peril.

In the Kitchen Studio this season, I’ll be be working on tumblers. Simple cylinders, hand made in small batches, the kind that sit comfortably on a table and wait. The kind that collect a little condensation when filled. The kind that don’t ask much of you except to be held.