Turned into a somewhat more hectic day than I’d planned.
Ohhh well. Got a lot done. In the staggeringly selfish department, while flying across the city I dropped in at what is now the last freestanding locally owned nursery in Phoenix’s once impeccably upscale North Central district. In addition to plants, they sell house and garden kitsch, and their owner apparently mainlines Mexican pottery. And so, how could I resist this?
Ohh, cute and silly-looking butter dish!!! How is it better than a clear glass butter dish from Corning or a knockoff thereof, purchased from Cost Plus? Let me count the ways…or not.
It’s so crudely painted as to be primitive. Outsider, even. I mean, seriously: most Mexican pottery artists are very skilled. This looks like it was made by the artist’s nine-year-old. And therein lies its charm. You can hear the conversation out in the studio:
NIÑO: Papà, how do you like this leaf?
HOMBRE: M’hijito, a rose leaf is nowhere near as large as a cantaloupe. Did you intend to draw a head of cabbage?
NIÑO: Rose leaf? Ay, no! This is a BANANA leaf. (NIÑO, nearing adolescence, rolls eyes heavenward with considerable expressive élan.)
HOMBRE: Uhm…claro que sì! How could I not recognize it: a banana leaf!
OMG! Puppy just made off with my slipper and now, having lost it to the raging human, is trying to reclaim it from my foot. It’s 6:00 p.m.—donde donde DONDE m’hijto mine?—and, as you might sense from the piles of paper pictured atop the desk, I must get back to work.
How can *anyone* resist Mexican pottery. It can’t be done.