A Ceramic Mind

There was a man who mastered the ceramic crafts so immediately, so singularly, that he was considered a savant in art circles around Missoula. He lived at The Atlantic Hotel when I met him in a clay class. I feel confident in two-dimensional artwork, and admire sculpture as a very high form of art, but my own skill in 3 dimensions is frankly limited. When next to me the savant crafted a revolutionary piece that shocked the studio on his first go, it was clear that he possessed something through his hands even as his mind seemed wandering closer to his god, to put it kindly.

He disappeared for a few weeks once and everyone worried for him. He had gone up Rattlesnake Canyon, into the wilderness, alone with his thoughts for a fortnight. I wondered why anyone so seemingly lost in their own thoughts while in town would need to go away from society to dig deeper into himself, but he had his reasons.

As much as I admired him as an artist, as is so often the case his personality was so intense and otherworldly that it was a challenge to befriend him.

His legacy is there in the [first] floor bathroom where waves of ceramic tiles flow along the walls, the counter tops, the shower stall.