Is every art form a metaphor for another art form? Film makers catch light and motion, edit it frame by frame. Potters throw clay, handling each curve like a lover.
Film makers catch.
You love that word: throw.
You want to place your hands on it, feel its softness in the center of your palms, the webs of your fingers.
Do writers throw words on our partner, the page, you wonder. Running our fingers, the backs of our nails along the spine, pressing pads of our thumbs into the lower back of the sentence?
Do writers catch words—grasping, angling ourselves into position to capture the gasp moment passing too quickly?
Your friends in Denver make a documentary about an artist. Derrick and Christy Collins of Wild Bridge Films feature the potter Sarah Veak of Veak Ceramics. She is the subject of their first “Artist Portrait.”
The film opens close on Sarah as she drives to her studio—the morning light filtering gold through her messy bun. She describes her relationship with her art and media:
When I started with clay, I remember being so awed by the process.
With clay, it was like we were made for each other. There was just this sense of being. I could sit at the wheel, and I could throw and throw…
Throw. That word has caught you again. When we write, we throw and throw and throw and throw.
Camera over Sarah’s shoulder, the humming of the wheel grows louder while she speaks the voiceover: It felt, as cheesy as it sounds, something like a song.
The humming reaches its highest pitch. The camera is close on Sarah’s muddied fingers molding a cup as the wheel sings.
We all have our lovers alike. We throw and throw and throw.