Those Ubiquitous Plastic Bags

People have been making pots for millennia, but sometimes I wonder how they did it before the advent of the plastic bag. I go on about simplicity, sustainability, and environmentally-sound compost so I fear this blog will disillusion one and all when I admit my reliance on those big flimsy plastic bags that I collect, recycle, and cherish after my rare trips to the dry cleaners. Stuck, that’s where I would be without them-- quite literally. My clay would be stuck to whatever I was using to shape it. Let me explain this incongruous dependence on the ever-present plastic bag.

As a handbuilder, I use all manner of objects to shape my pots. I make them over bowls and in them, over pumpkins and soccer balls and whatever other form inspires me. Lengths of PVC pipe, leaves, and plastic animals are a few favorites. What prevents my clay from sticking in undignified and frustrating ways to my chosen shape—be it metal, glass, wood, vegetable, or some other material—is that thin layer of plastic.

This is an issue peculiar to handbuilders. Potters’ using wheels depend on water to keep the clay slippery, smooth, and malleable. In contrast, I paddle shapes, apply contrasting clays, maybe add leaves or stamped images. I want my pieces to support themselves so I can safely remove any formative molds sooner rather than later because, as the clay dries, it will shrink and crack.

People sometimes describe my stoneware as sculptural, but in reality it blends those properties with traditional pottery techniques. Although I hardly ever use commercial molds, nearly everything in the world around me is subject to being used to help shape my pieces. Between the clay and some supportive and guiding object, and sometimes even between the clay and my hands, that very thin layer of plastic works its smoothing, separating, and simple magic. I wonder what I would have done in times prior to this ubiquitous resource. Use a layer of grease, perhaps, or some thin textile? Cornstarch, maybe, or a large leaf? The bottom line is that, while I scoff at that “better living through chemistry” mantra so pervasive in my youth and preach recycling with zeal, I am thanking the stars for my dusty, battered, oft-used plastic bags.