It has been perfect weather here in my little section of California for days on end. I enjoy it for the ten seconds it takes to walk from my front door to my studio. Sara had a day off last week, and then called me from the beach, which made me feel very jealous. When she left the studio yesterday she mentioned she planned on spending another day at the beach, maybe I should join her. All of my usual workaholic excuses bubbled up without me even having to think about it. I'm so addicted to my work, I'm like a junkie when someone tries to take it away from me. After she left, I started thinking about how the only time I go to the beach anymore is when I'm in Santa Monica visiting my sister. And how I pay premium prices to live in one of the nicest areas in the United States and all I do is shut myself up in my studio.
I actually don't work as much as some potters I know-- and you know who you are. I take the weekends off except in crisis crunch times, which are pretty rare. Okay, sometimes I sneak over on the weekends to check on things, and I may end up... making something. But generally, I give myself weekends off to live the rest of my life. But as I was working away yesterday, I was thinking about how the weekends just ain't enough, especially when the air is 79 degrees and there isn't a cloud in the sky. I called up my girl, Christa, recently reinstalled back in the Bay Area after a year teaching at the Kansas City Art Institute. Her bedroom isn't even unpacked yet, but she couldn't resist a day at the beach, especially when I framed it as playing hooky. This is how California potters are supposed to be living!
12 hours ago